It All Leads to One Thing
Then, a ridiculous crush forms.
Waking up at two in the afternoon, Samantha thought, was a win-lose situation.
On one hand, that’s a lot of sleep, which is something she would never turn down; on the other hand, it leaves about a half hour for her to wake up completely, shower, get dressed, and eat before she must leave to go in for work.
Win: a full twelve hours of sleep. Lose: hair that looks like a cat slept in it, a bruise from running into the corner of the dresser in the haste, and having to go back not once, but twice, because the keys are hiding from her again.
Really, then, mostly a lose situation.
This hits Samantha even harder while she is driving away in her newly-bought used car, which is cherry red from the shame of all the collisions it had been a part of in its earlier life, after she realizes she forgot to dress into her uniform, how can that even happen? Thank god she is still close to her apartment; otherwise, she would be completely, unbelievably screwed.
So, after a quick—if she’s proud enough to admit it, screeching—turn around, a brisk walk through the February air (and, oh, that’s why she needed her gloves), and a slightly frantic changing period, Samantha is back in business, even if she is speeding just a bit.
Once she reaches the grocery store parking lot, Samantha is mostly calm; after, she’s only five minutes late. This could be much, much worse. Janet will probably get on her a bit, but when doesn’t she? That old woman has hardened with age, and really, forgetting to stock the shelved so that everything lines up perfectly is enough to set her off. Paul, the store manager, may say something, but he’s soft like a kitten, so that should work itself out.
And, true to form, as soon as Samantha steps into the store—as soon as, this is not an exaggeration—Janet says to her, “Back when I was a girl, it was customary to show up on time. Well, I don’t know if I just had higher standards or was a more reliable person in all, but I was always five minutes early to the job. Maybe you should try that out, huh?”
Okay, right, that’s easy enough for Samantha to brush off, if she sounded in awe of Janet’s unrivaled wisdom, “Oh, you’re absolutely right. Tomorrow, it will be my goal”, and walk away, just walk away, Samantha.
Paul waves when Samantha passes him by to clock in, so she figures that the fluorescent lights have already gotten him hypnotized; usually, an hour into his shift and on, Paul is too busy focusing on not throwing up his last snack to be a complete hard ass.
When she opens the door to the back, the breeze wafts the smell of daisies and happiness right to her, and Samantha feels her stomach drop. Well, guess that means Callie is working today. Shit, Samantha really needs to start looking over the schedule more thoroughly.
Okay, no, she can do this. Samantha is totally a suave machine, totally smooth; she’s got this.
That was a lie; Samantha runs into a stack of cereal boxes, and they all somehow manage to fall, each dull thud louder than the next. Well, shit, so much for incognito. Why does this always happen to her?
“Why does this always happen to you?” Callie asks, laughter escaping into the question, as she walks over from another, larger, stack of cereal boxes somewhere to the far right.
Samantha wonders vaguely if Callie does this to torture her. It’s a totally valid question, too, because why else would Callie always be there, looking happy and nice and gorgeous? Why, other than to torture her?
“Oh, um. I don’t know. Um, I guess I’m really clumsy?” and that. That was right out painful. The best thing to do at this point is to cut her losses and get out before she looks completely stupid.
Callie gives her a look that says ‘maybe I should have just stayed over there because talking to you is like talking to my five year old brother’ and says, “You’re not that clumsy.”
And why does she have to do that? Samantha is having a hard enough time just breathing right now, and then Callie has to do something amazing, like not call Samantha out on being completely ridiculous around her—which she is, so that would be an accurate thing to say—and then Samantha gets even worse because holy shit, Callie is the best person ever.
Instead of being the normal, sometimes charming, lady Samantha knows she is--she is, okay-- Samantha mumbles something along the lines of, “Oh, okay, thanks…” and walks away.
And as she walks away, Samantha tells herself, “Tomorrow, tomorrow will be the day. I will stop being pathetic and ridiculous and stupid, and I will talk to her, and everything will be glorious. Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow sounds like a promise on her tongue.
On one hand, that’s a lot of sleep, which is something she would never turn down; on the other hand, it leaves about a half hour for her to wake up completely, shower, get dressed, and eat before she must leave to go in for work.
Win: a full twelve hours of sleep. Lose: hair that looks like a cat slept in it, a bruise from running into the corner of the dresser in the haste, and having to go back not once, but twice, because the keys are hiding from her again.
Really, then, mostly a lose situation.
This hits Samantha even harder while she is driving away in her newly-bought used car, which is cherry red from the shame of all the collisions it had been a part of in its earlier life, after she realizes she forgot to dress into her uniform, how can that even happen? Thank god she is still close to her apartment; otherwise, she would be completely, unbelievably screwed.
So, after a quick—if she’s proud enough to admit it, screeching—turn around, a brisk walk through the February air (and, oh, that’s why she needed her gloves), and a slightly frantic changing period, Samantha is back in business, even if she is speeding just a bit.
Once she reaches the grocery store parking lot, Samantha is mostly calm; after, she’s only five minutes late. This could be much, much worse. Janet will probably get on her a bit, but when doesn’t she? That old woman has hardened with age, and really, forgetting to stock the shelved so that everything lines up perfectly is enough to set her off. Paul, the store manager, may say something, but he’s soft like a kitten, so that should work itself out.
And, true to form, as soon as Samantha steps into the store—as soon as, this is not an exaggeration—Janet says to her, “Back when I was a girl, it was customary to show up on time. Well, I don’t know if I just had higher standards or was a more reliable person in all, but I was always five minutes early to the job. Maybe you should try that out, huh?”
Okay, right, that’s easy enough for Samantha to brush off, if she sounded in awe of Janet’s unrivaled wisdom, “Oh, you’re absolutely right. Tomorrow, it will be my goal”, and walk away, just walk away, Samantha.
Paul waves when Samantha passes him by to clock in, so she figures that the fluorescent lights have already gotten him hypnotized; usually, an hour into his shift and on, Paul is too busy focusing on not throwing up his last snack to be a complete hard ass.
When she opens the door to the back, the breeze wafts the smell of daisies and happiness right to her, and Samantha feels her stomach drop. Well, guess that means Callie is working today. Shit, Samantha really needs to start looking over the schedule more thoroughly.
Okay, no, she can do this. Samantha is totally a suave machine, totally smooth; she’s got this.
That was a lie; Samantha runs into a stack of cereal boxes, and they all somehow manage to fall, each dull thud louder than the next. Well, shit, so much for incognito. Why does this always happen to her?
“Why does this always happen to you?” Callie asks, laughter escaping into the question, as she walks over from another, larger, stack of cereal boxes somewhere to the far right.
Samantha wonders vaguely if Callie does this to torture her. It’s a totally valid question, too, because why else would Callie always be there, looking happy and nice and gorgeous? Why, other than to torture her?
“Oh, um. I don’t know. Um, I guess I’m really clumsy?” and that. That was right out painful. The best thing to do at this point is to cut her losses and get out before she looks completely stupid.
Callie gives her a look that says ‘maybe I should have just stayed over there because talking to you is like talking to my five year old brother’ and says, “You’re not that clumsy.”
And why does she have to do that? Samantha is having a hard enough time just breathing right now, and then Callie has to do something amazing, like not call Samantha out on being completely ridiculous around her—which she is, so that would be an accurate thing to say—and then Samantha gets even worse because holy shit, Callie is the best person ever.
Instead of being the normal, sometimes charming, lady Samantha knows she is--she is, okay-- Samantha mumbles something along the lines of, “Oh, okay, thanks…” and walks away.
And as she walks away, Samantha tells herself, “Tomorrow, tomorrow will be the day. I will stop being pathetic and ridiculous and stupid, and I will talk to her, and everything will be glorious. Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow sounds like a promise on her tongue.