Daily Flash Fiction Challenge

My hairnet net is sopping wet. Working fries is the pits. Little spittles of oil burn my fingers.
“They don’t hire you here to make friends.”
That’s Jen, the supervisor, the owner’s daughter, and my personal nightmare, breathing down my neck.
I need to clock off early tonight because I have an essay to finish for uni. My credits are low and my lecturer is out for blood.
This being my first chance to ask, I jump in with both feet.
Yes, I know. I have to choose my moments, but I swear on all that is holy that if I don’t blurt it out, I am going to forget it, or leave the door open to it being too late.
This is Jen’s pet phrase. It is so Jen - like walking about with her clipboard held up high just so or flirting with customers – the fit ones that is.
“It’s too late now to change you over to the till,”
“It’s too late to change you from the burgers.”
“It’s too late …”
Blah, blah, blah.
Like give me a break.
Well, it turns out we have a stock take. She gives it the gab: we are a team; we all have to pull together.
"Will we be paid overtime Jen?"
"Do this look like a charity to you?"
She says this like I am doing her a favour working minimum wage to get by.
"It looks like a fast foot chain, Jen."
Well, hearing that her face screws up, she does this wild 90 degree turn, and she walks off with a sassy wiggle.
"Have you figured it out yet?" says Mike by my side.
I have.
There is absolutely no way Jen is ever going to forgive me for being her boyfriend’s ex.


word count: 295