"Next time give it to me." "Yes, ma'am." My dad sent me a smile. It was so cheerful that all I could do was shake my head and smile back in return. * It was close to lunch time. Dad had probably made something healthy for lunch today since I caught him red handed this morning. He'd been doing good though, I thought with a smile as I opened the filing cabinet to look for an old work order the customer had requested to get a record of. Other than Dad's occasional ice cream late night snack, his diet was healthy. Might be quinoa, fish and some healthy greens like his usual, I thought, dropping the heavy folder on my desk. I didn't feel like eating that today though. I was craving mushroom burgers. Maybe fries and a milkshake. Maybe I'd dropped by that vegetarian restaurant down the street for lunch. I was leafing through the folder containing work orders from customers with last names starting with S when my hands froze. In front of me was the work order from hell. It was for an order for a motorcycle part. I stared at the paper, willing my heartbeat to slow down. It didn't. With a snarl, I grabbed it and was about to rip it when I stopped myself. I'm more mature now. Definitely not bitter. And definitely not petty either. With extreme difficulty, I put it back in the folder, straightening it out. I grabbed the customer's file I was looking for and locked the folder away into the depths of that dusty filing cabinet. I chewed on it for an hour. It poked me in the back, on my arms, at the back of my neck, my toes. Fed up, I marched back to the filing cabinet, growling as I pulled the work order from hell out of its folder again. And with all the maturity I had gained throughout these past few months, I ripped it in two. The sound it made gave me fervent satisfaction. The shredder might be better, but it wasn't as satisfying. Rip, rip, rip until it lay in small pieces on the floor. "Hey, I've been waiting here for a while. Any chance I could get my car today?" I looked up. A customer waited at the counter, watching me with a should-I-come-back-later look on his face. Funny I didn't hear the bells at the door. Was I that consumed with ripping...paper? "Sorry about that." I gave him my best smile, gesturing at the pieces of paper on the floor. "Guy owed me big time. Didn't pay his bill." He didn't smile back. Ten minutes later, I was scowling at him, arguing about every cent on his bill. "Why do you have to charge so much?" he snapped. "You can afford to remove my taxes and maybe give this part to me for free if you're charging me this much. Give me a discount too. I've been supporting your business for years. I come here all the time." This was his first time here. There were no records of him coming here before. But that didn't matter. His attitude did. And he wasn't done with his rant. "Do you think I have all the money in the world? I'm broke! You should understand how important vehicles are. I work so hard. I need my car for work. Take off the taxes!" I was about to blast him to outer space when the bells on the front entrance door jingled, indicating a new customer. I looked up automatically, did a double take at the woman who entered. "Hello. I'm talking to you," he said, rapping his knuckles on the counter. I gritted my teeth. Did he think we have a unicorn in the attic shitting gold bars to pay for our expenses and give shit out for free? He works hard? Did he think we just sit on our asses, sipping coke and rum all day? We work our asses off all day everyday. Entitled, selfish little shit. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Do you think I'm the one who puts these taxes on our customers' bills?" I said. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Zen, find the Zen. "If I did, I'd add an asshole tax just before the idiot tax. Especially for some people." I arched an eyebrow, tossed my hair behind my shoulder. It was at that annoying length where it went just past my shoulders so even when I flipped it, a lock of hair fell forward again. I made a note to set an appointment to get it done soon. After I was done with this buffoon. "Not saying it's you, but if you don't pay for our service, you don't get your car. Just try it," I warned when he reached for his keys on the counter. "Try driving that car out of this lot without paying your bill, plus taxes. I assure you, sir, you might get away from me but not from the cops." He made sputtering noises, sort of like crickets chirping at night. I lifted my gaze to the woman behind him, sent her a reassuring smile that I wasn't a psycho. She smiled back, shifted her eyes to the buffoon and wrinkled her nose. And that right there, I liked her already. Eventually, the buffoon paid his bill. "We appreciate your business. Have a nice day," I sang. He sent me one last glare and left. "Bastard," I hissed under my breath. "Be gone, negative energy. Whew. Hello, there, gorgeous. Here to pick up your car?" She was stunning, but that wasn't why I studied her face. There was something about her that made you want to look longer. Maybe it was her eyes. They were mesmerizing. Shaped like a cat's, dark, and brooding. They had a certain look about them that gave me the impression life had dealt her a hard hand, but she wasn't done punching back yet. She shook her head. "Sorry, no. I'm here to hand in my resume, if the cashier position is still open. I saw the ad online." I frowned. Did she get the location wrong? "What ad?" I reached for her resume, skimmed it, impressed by it. I looked at her again. She was smiling. "I'm Veronica Strafford." I smiled back. THE END.