It's time like these I wonder what I've done in my past life to deserve this trauma.
I arrive thirty minutes early to my first shift at the haggard down restaurant. "What do you want?" barked out the bartender, cigarette hanging loosely out from her mouth. The entire counter was sprinkled with ashes. She was either having a family get together with her cremations or is oblivious to the purpose an ashtray holds.
"It's my first day in the kitchen." I begin to take off my jacket and stretch before sitting down. Her demeanour began to change. "Another one? Shit kid, you're probably the fourth one this week. Most of you amateurs can't take the heat." I sheepishly smirked, twirling my toothpick around my mouth.
"I guess time will tell." She wasn't pleased with my response, but truthfully I could care less. I'm not going to let some trailer trash latchkey kid with a prosthetic leg get into my head. I'm here to make my money and bounce, this is nothing new. I'm going through the motions, same old song and dance.
"You've got an attitude, kid. I like it." Her pupils began to dilate, I think she misread my cavalier attitude as a sign of playing hard to get. "So, what brings ya to this part of town?" before I could respond, the manager walks in. For what it's worth it should have started pounding thunder because his aura was beyond repulsive. Without him uttering a word I'd probably suggest taking the complete opposite route of action he'd taken to get to his point in life.
"You must be Xavier..." I looked him in the eyes and nothing stared back. "Yeah, that's me." As he inched closer, I extended my hand to greet his but was ignored. "I don't shake hands." Great, I'm dealing with a messiah. "Fill out these papers and meet me out back in five minutes." Before I knew it, I was paralyzed by his rancid breath. I was being flogged to death.
It's the kind of breath that you can taste for hours on end after the initial attack. In a fight or flight response I learned to synchronize when to hold my breath as he spoke. "Oh, and another thing - don't get so comfortable with my ex wife. You're already off to a bad start."
This must be the ninth level of Hell Dante was talking about. I'm already fantasizing as to how I'm going to quit. Problem is, I have a ten thousand dollar debt on my name to the local biker gang. I can't commit any felonies for them to clear my name without tarnishing it in the eyes of the law.
I fill out the papers and begin walking towards his office. I'm convinced this place is haunted. Still trying to figure out what the defining moment was that lead to such a demise, working these shitty minimum wage jobs with no prospects or future.
An angel must have been watching over me, because while I was brooding I slipped on the mercury that was dripping from the ceiling. My left boot slipped off and I broke my neck in three places. This must be paradise. Not only did I not last longer than four days but I'll get a healthy insurance payout as well.
As I'm on the floor, the bartender makes her way towards me with her prosthetic leg. "Fantastic, we've got another carcass to use for the meat grinder." My mood oscillated back to despair. There's really no such thing as catching a break in this morbid life. I knew I should have gone to college.