“Don’t forget to bring a towel…”

September 11, 2007 at 12:15 pm (Cussed Dumbers)

Last night ended on a scary note. I got one of those phone calls at work that no one wants to get.

I am a lowly peon at work, the night cashier. That said, I have more years experience than a lot of the other cashiers have been alive, so I am turned to if something breaks, or in case of emergency. The bosses realize my usefulness, and I make a nice buffer between upper management and the regular workers.

Boss Whitney appreciates my efforts, and dropped off a gift of appreciation last night. “Did the boss call you?” He was referring to Master P.

“Yeah, he did.”

Soon after I’d arrived, Master P called. “Just who I was looking for!”

“Uh-oh.” That always makes him laugh.

“Yes, you’re being volunteered for something. I need you to come to the manager’s meeting on Wednesday.” He mentioned something about phone cards, and they want my input.

Boss Whitney gave me a cat-ate-the-canary smile. “Invited to the manager’s meeting, huh? Maybe *I* should worry…” He rustled around in his shoulder bag, and pulled out something black.

“I brought you a present.”

Whit and I talk music a lot, and are fellow KUFO groupies. I’ve told the tale of my visit to the Paranormal Party, KUFO’s annual Halloween party many times. (I will share with you, too, when Halloween gets a little closer.) This year, Korn is the headliner, and I joked that I’ll probably win tickets.

He offered something black. “It’s not tickets, but maybe it’ll tide you over…”

I unfolded it. It was a hand towel/waiter’s towel, embroidered with a couple of candy corns, and the phrase, “Corn to be wild!” (I can see ThatGirl spazzing as she visualizes this…)

“Aww… for me? You shouldn’t have.” I fanned myself like a southern belle.

His ride was waiting so I bid him adieu.

As the night rolled along, I would get calls from another clerk, every time someone misbehaved. The fourth call came about eleven PM.

“Help! Call the boss! Call Whitney! I’m bleeding!”

I could sense his panic. “What happened?”

“Help! Call the boss! Call Whitney! I’m bleeding!”

“Calm down,” I said. “Call 9-1-1.”

“I did! Call the boss! Call Whitney! I’m bleeding!” He hung up.

I could hear sirens in the distance. I called the emergency beeper, then called Grinder and left a message. A few minutes later, Whitney called. I told him what I knew, and promised that if I got done early enough, I would do a walk-by on my way to the bus.

Cop cars circled my store, and lots of sirens were going off. The worst part was not knowing. Had he been shot or stabbed? Was this a robbery?

The reliable graveyard guy showed up, I filled him in and took off. As I approached the other store, the usual gang of idiots weren’t hanging out front. There was broken glass by the door, but no blood.

I stuck my head in, and asked the other graveyard guy, (the one who didn’t show for me the other night) what happened.

“When I got here, and getting ready to count in, Kim was outside smoking a cigarette. Some guy hit him up for a cigarette, Kim said something back, and the guy punched him in the nose. Kim threw a bottle at him, and then got a towel to catch the blood.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know. He was advised to seek medical attention. Maybe that’s where he went. I locked his till in the safe.”

“Good. Leave it for the bosses. Have a safe night.” I made tracks for the bus stop, dialing Whitney along the way. I filled him in, providing way more information than he’d been able to get over the phone.

What happened to Kim? Will he come back? There was no mention on the news, but we are quick to mop up any blood. It puts the paying customers off…

I’m glad the new graveyard guy had things cleaned up.

It would be a shame to mess up my new Corn towel…

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