5
The Part-Time Job
IDENTIFYING CHARACTERISTICS: Occasionally demeaning work that one would never choose to pursue save for a specific financial goal.
HABITAT: Typically occurring in places with sticky floors.
“Welcome to the Bone Yard!” the midday hostess said with a bright smile. She couldn’t have been out of college and was wearing the same signature white tee and red apron featured on every page of the BBQ joint’s website. Norris had done his research, and the Bone Yard was by far the least offensive of his options. The staff seemed young and diverse enough (by local standards), and the restaurant was within walkable-ish distance of their apartment complex. He had to start somewhere. Tickets to Whistler were not cheap, according to his online searches, and he wouldn’t let some last minute “money’s tight after the move, Norris” argument keep him here for spring break.
“Hi, yes, hello! I’d like to apply for the server job,” Norris said.
“Great! You need an application and—”
“I downloaded it from the website,” Norris interrupted, handing her a manila folder containing the application, filled in in his best handwriting, along with his one-page résumé.
“Well, aren’t you prepared!”
His résumé amounted to his name in a thirty-four-point font, along with his email, cell number, school, and the seven “additional skills” he could think up that morning: Microsoft Word, Microsoft PowerPoint, Microsoft Excel, typing speed of ninety words per minute, on-foot stamina, bilingualism (soaked in yellow highlighter), and people-person. Four truths; three lies. The last one had been the biggest stretch, but whatever, he could fake it if need be.
“Oh, great! Thank you for your interest in joining the Bone Yard family.”
And just like that, the folder was already out of Norris’s hand and under the worn-down wooden booth.
Hell no. It had taken Norris fifty-five minutes to trek the two and a half miles that separated their apartment building from the Bone Yard. He wasn’t leaving without a goddamn job.
A few seconds passed, and the hostess, name-tagged Tracy, looked up from her phone to Norris again, now with a concerned frown.
“Um, did you need to use the bathroom? Are you okay?”
“Overactive sweat glands. It’s fine.” Norris fanned himself with his T-shirt. “But could I get that folder back, actually?” Norris asked. “And see the manager?”
“Is there a problem?”
“No, no!” Norris quickly answered. “It’s just, well . . . my mom worked in the service industry for years, and she told me how other waiters would sometimes throw out people’s résumés because they didn’t want to have to train somebody new, or share shift hours and all that. She said it’s always best to hand your résumé to the manager yourself.”
“Well, I wouldn’t do that,” Name-Tagged Tracy said, sounding way too insulted. Oh, Name-Tagged Tracy absolutely would do that. By the needlessly affronted tone, Norris could tell that Name-Tagged Tracy had probably done it twice that morning already.
“I know,” he said. “But if the manager is around . . . In fact, I think that’s his office up there, right?”
Norris nodded to the staircase by the gift counter that seemed to lead to the only office on the premises.
“He’s very busy right now.”
“I’ll be quick, I promise.”
“Look, I think he’s in,” she said. “I’ll go ask.”
“Thanks, Name-Ta—err, Tracy. I appreciate it.”
Name-Tagged Tracy sighed and handed Norris his folder back slowly, as though reaching under that booth was the most grueling task imaginable. She made sure not to roll her eyes, though there was a twitch there.
Tracy disappeared up the stairs, and Norris was left standing alone, fidgeting. It was a good résumé; Norris had even sprung for the fancy beige paper stock. He’d be damned if it was going to go into the trash with a bunch of misprinted receipts.
Most of the actual restaurant appeared to be around the back. Waiters moved between picnic tables and large fire pits of smoking barbecue under burnt orange patio umbrellas and an extensive network of Christmas lights currently turned off. Giant industrial fans encircled the area, making it surprisingly cool. Norris had to admit that it had a certain feel going for it.
“Jim is upstairs and real busy,” she said.
“I just—”
“But I told him you insisted,” Tracy said with another smile that didn’t betray a hint of her annoyance. What was it with Texans and this apparently innate ability to fake the most genuine smile while also obviously telling you off with their eyes?
Norris followed Tracy’s nod up the creaky wooden staircase.
“Hello?” he called ahead, taking the partially opened door as permission to enter. “My name is Norris Kaplan, and I—gah!”
As soon as he entered the small, wood-paneled office, Norris was instantly handed a pink infant by an equally pink man he could only presume to be the manager.
“Jim McElwees,” the man said as he handed Norris the . . . being. “Can you take him for a second? Thanks.”
Okay, so maybe Name-Tagged Tracy hadn’t been lying about Jim’s hands being full at the moment.
“Yeah,” Norris started as diplomatically as he could. “I’m not great with—”
“Nonsense,” Jim said as he crashed into his chair and immediately got to typing on his desktop. “He already likes you.”
“Um . . .”
The baby looked to Norris as if it did not seem to know if the change of hands warranted a fit but clearly had one in store, just in case. After a moment, it settled for slight spittle onto its already-stained blue sweater.
“I love him, I do,” Jim continued, eyes on the screen and fingers going at way over ninety WPM. “But when did grandparents become a twenty-four/seven babysitter fill-in? Hmm? His dad is on the golf course right now. This one’s already my least favorite of the two, tell you the truth.”
“Two?”
“Behind you,” Jim said, finally giving Norris a glance from behind his glasses. Lying on a blanket was another, mirror-image infant, this one in a green sweater and sleeping soundly on its back.
“Yeah, that one deserves the better Christmas present,” Norris conceded.
“Sorry, I had to send this order two hours ago,” Jim said, still typing, nodding for Norris to sit. “So, you want a job, right?”
“Um, yes, sir,” Norris stumbled.
“I suppose I can skip the part about this being a family joint,” Jim said, smiling at his least favorite grandchild on Norris’s lap. The baby smelled equal parts dirt and baby powder and seemed fascinated by Norris’s chin at the moment.
“Um, y-y-yes,” Norris stuttered. “I’m a hard worker with an impeccable work ethic an—” Wait, was this the interview? “I’m sorry, is this the interview?”
“Ain’t that what you wanted? Tracy said you were pretty adamant.”
“I just wanted to introduce myself and give you my résumé in person today,” Norris said, wiggling his shoulder to highlight the manila folder that had been stuck under his arm when he’d been handed a child.
Jim raised an amused eyebrow. “It’s a busboy gig with occasional fill-ins when one of our servers is out. How many steps did you expect this process to take?”
“I brought a couple of number-two pencils for the written portion.”
Jim smiled.
“You’re still in high school, right?”
“Junior year, sir,” Norris said as he moved his chin away from a deceptively sharp fingernail.
Jim clicked his tongue. “We typically try to get college kids.”
“Oh.”
Norris knew he shouldn’t have shaved last month. The shadow of a shadow of facial hair that began to appear after twenty-two days had a way of killing some of his face’s prepubescence.
“I mean—” Jim started but didn’t get to finish because just then, a wild Madison appeared.
“You!” Norris couldn’t help erupting the moment he recognized the cheerleader. It was the skinny one, the one legally named Madison.
At the moment, she looked thoroughly unimpressed by the sight of Norris.
“Me.”
“Friend of yours, Maddie?” Jim asked, fingers finally off the keyboard and pressed under his chin, watching Norris like a hawk. Did they have hawks in Texas? Regardless. The point was that Jim was looking at Norris like some bird of prey that enjoyed the taste of meat. Norris got the impression that most boys within a mile of Madison got the same look.
“He goes to my school,” Madison said before throwing Norris a dismissive look. Diplomatic.
It was only then that Norris noticed her white polo and red apron.
“Um, her high school?” Norris emphasized. “Meaning, she’s the same age as me and she has a job. Not to make a federal case out of this but . . .” Norris pointed to the uniform Madison was wearing.
“Family joint.” Jim simply shrugged. “All my kids have worked here since they were yea high.”
“That you could probably make a federal case about,” Madison added.
“Hush, you.” Jim waved her off.
“You’re the one that called me up here!” Madison said to her father.
“I did? Oh, right. That was like half an hour ago!”
“The afternoon rush started early.”
“I need you to take the boys for the rest of the day.”
“No way!”
“What I think you meant there was Yes, sir, boss, sir,” Jim said.
“Dad, no. I’ve got plans. I’m clocking out in like twenty minutes.”
“But I have to get down to the construction site,” Jim McElwees all but whined.
“Unbelievable!” Madison scoffed, but nevertheless took the child from Norris’s lap and moved to the couch.
“You’re my favorite, Maddie,” Jim said with a grin, standing up and grabbing a pair of keys out of a bowl of what appeared to be mostly breath mints. “I mean that!”
“Twenty bucks,” Madison answered coolly, raising Green Sweater high, which earned a delighted coo out of the little gargoyle. “Per hour until they’re off my hands.”
“They’re your nephews!”
“They’re your grandchildren.” She shrugged in return.
“That’s three times your rate here,” Jim tried to haggle, an attempt that was betrayed by the fact that he had already put on a faded red cap that carried an older logo for the Bone Yard in blocky white-threaded letters. “It’s extortion!”
“Again, I can also just leave,” Madison countered.
“Unbelievable.”
“Sitting here . . .” Norris singsonged under his breath.
“Yes, why is that?” Madison asked her father. By the look Jim McElwees gave, he had sincerely forgotten about Norris’s presence.
“Norris Kaplan! He wants the busboy job!” Jim answered after a beat, snapping his fingers at the recall. Call it a hunch, but Norris suspected that in a drawer somewhere were a lot of used day planners gifted to him by employees, family, and friends. “But he’s still in high school . . . I worry we might become a little too fast-food of a joint if too many of our employees have SAT note cards peeking out of their apron, y’know.”
God. The SATs: another fun American milestone he now had to worry about.
“I do all my SAT prep online!” Norris chimed in. “And, unlike some, I would address you with the proper respect due from an employee to an employer.”
“Kiss ass,” Madison inserted.
“I was hoping to see a few applicants,” Jim said, clicking his tongue. “Maddie, should I see a few more prospects?”
“We did get a lot of applicants . . .” Madison mused as she picked a toddler-size blanket from the floor, shook it once, and placed it around the sleeping twin on the couch, throwing Norris a smirk as she did. Oh, she was enjoying this.
“But I have practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays this semester, so you need someone to cover those shifts,” Madison added. “Not to mention, we’re always swamped on Fridays with Julio gone.”
“Hmm. That’s all true, I suppose . . .”
Jim McElwees’s eyes narrowed at Norris. He felt as if the man was taking inventory of every cell in his body through sight alone. Every secret, every incognito-mode porno browse, every nasty thought; the man could read all of it right then and there, Norris was sure of it.
“Fine,” Jim eventually said with a short nod as he unexpectedly grabbed and shook Norris’s hand.
“I’m, like, employed? Just like that?”
“I don’t have time to meet all these kids, and she’s got a good eye for people, my girl,” Jim explained, nodding to Madison before exiting the room. “Leave your email or phone number or something. I’ll be in touch. . . . Honey?”
“Yes, I’ll tell Mom you’ll be late,” Madison preempted. “No, I won’t tell her it’s because of construction stuff again, so she doesn’t kill you.”
“You’re going to be the favorite till the day I die, Maddie!” Jim shouted as he barreled down the stairs. “Day I goddamn die, I tell you!”
And just like that, Norris was left alone with Madison and the twins; gainfully employed. She was smirking at him, ready to collect some gratitude. Norris liked to believe that he was pretty good at reading people’s intentions but at the moment, he was drawing a blank at what had motivated this strange act of kindness.
“Thanks for the job,” he offered, confused but grateful. Each paycheck was a step closer back to home, even if it would just be for a couple of weeks.
“Nepotism for good.” Madison shrugged, casting Norris a once-over meant to convey that he was nowhere as pleasant of a sight as the baby.
“Sorry for . . .”
“Calling my best friend a bitch and using my name as a synonym for all vapid, brain-dead cheerleaders of the world?” Madison continued casually, eyes still on the baby.
“Right. That.” Norris sighed. “So, is that it, then? Did you hire me to make my life hell or something?”
“Hmm, I hadn’t considered it,” Madison said. “Interesting idea.”
Norris scrutinized her. Something about the fact that she had a baby in her hands made her all the more terrifying. Like one of those lean lionesses that nuzzle with their cubs, with antelope blood still drying around their mouths.
“Oh, calm down,” Madison finally said, rolling her eyes. “I’m mostly kidding. We just need all the help we can get, that’s all. Dad will put off hiring someone for another two months if I let him.”
“Mostly kidding?” Norris asked, eyebrows raised.
She glanced at the clock and got up from the couch on which she’d pretzeled herself. “Follow me,” she continued, putting the baby down and covering him with a blanket before picking up a baby monitor. “I guess I have time to give you the grand tour before practice.” She snatched Norris’s résumé from her father’s desk on her way out of the office. “C’mon, Canada.”