"Lemme get, uhhhhh, extra banana peppers on that..."
"We don't have banana peppers. Just jalapenos."
"Oh, uh, then extra jalapenos. And some of that oil and vinegar."
Bianca Hayden, or Bee to her friends, was ringing this idiot out for his sandwich. It seemed like that was all she did nowadays post-grad, tell clueless idiots that they couldn't get their subs toasted because the toaster was busted.
"That'll be $7.29."
"Oh, lemme add a cookie to that."
She thought about just telling him no, but the manager wouldn't like that. It was only a minor inconvenience, but Bee's life felt like an endless series of them. "$8.78."
The dude handed her a 10 dollar bill. She flashed a fake smile as she handed him his change. "That'll be up for you at the end of the counter."
***
Bee washed her hands after using the restroom like a good little employee, looking at herself in the mirror as she scrubbed.
Bianca was a hard girl to miss in a crowd for a number of reasons. The most obvious reason was her height; at 6'4", she towered over most women her age and up to this point was taller than every single one of her romantic partners. She used to be a bit self-conscious about it during middle and high school but as college rolled around, she learned to own it, almost never going to a party without a pair of high-heeled boots.
Another attention-grabber was her goth-inspired personal aesthetic. Bee wasn't one to straight-up identify as a goth, she didn't like the music or the culture or the over-the-top look of the more "serious" goths that she'd see on Instagram, but it was hard for her to deny the fashion similarities. She had short, dyed black hair, naturally pale skin, a little nose ring in her left nostril, a stud in her bellybutton, a penchant for applying heavy black makeup around her eyes and on her lips, and a number of edgy tattoos on her arms and legs. Nevertheless, she preferred "punk" as her descriptor. Instead of the frilly, leathery goth dress code, she often wore Japanese hardcore or black metal tees and skinny jeans. Right now though, she was in her work uniform: a black t-shirt with "RANDALL'S SUBPORIUM" on the back and a pair of blue jeans.
The last major standout feature of Bee's was her figure. Bee was the epitome of what the kids called "thicc" nowadays and frequently got a lot of often unwanted attention because of her big booty and wide hips. If she had a nickel for every time some douche came up unsolicited and tried to touch her ass at college parties or at the bar, she'd be a millionaire. That being said, she liked sexual attention aimed at her butt from the right people and liked to wear tight or revealing clothes to show it off in case somebody wanted to be polite and get to know her first before trying to dive between her cheeks. Her breasts weren't too shabby either, a full double D cup, but they were far from her center of attention. Bee had a bit of a tummy, too, and was generally a pretty soft woman. She weighed in at around 220 pounds, but about 60 of those pounds can be attributed to her just being pretty damn tall. It goes without saying that she carried most of that weight in her lower body, her chunky thighs and cute belly going together nicely with her booty fat.
As Bee was throwing away the now wet paper towels she used to dry her hands, she noticed something out of place in the trash can. Nestled between another paper towel and a tampon wrapper was a folded up lottery ticket. Huh, odd. Why would someone just throw this away in the bathroom? Whatever. She slipped it in her back pocket. Could be lucky, right?
***
Bee took a bite from her turkey and bacon sandwich. Of course, it was absolutely delicious. That's part of the reason why Bee kept working at this dump: she got half-off sandwiches and Randall's had the best sandwiches in town. You could say Bee was a "foodie". You could also say that Bee had a... thing for large amounts of food. The feeling and pressure of fullness, the incredible, overwhelming taste, the vibration in her throat when she released a deep belch, the hedonism of at all... Let's just say that Bee tried to keep her portions down when she was on break at work; she didn't want to have any embarrassing mishaps. This lead to an odd dichotomy in her mind. She had a genuine interest in sampling food from around the world, tasting the complex flavors of the finest quality ingredients, but if she ate too much, well, she'd really, really wanna fuck.
As she ate her food and scrolled idly down her Instagram feed, the general manager, Rosario, came over to the table. Rosario was a slightly short Latina woman in her 40s. Her demeanor was often cheerful but she ran a tight ship. "Hey, Bianca? Can I ask a favor?"
"Mmm?" She looked her in the eyes, mouth full of sandwich.
"I hate to tell you this, but Brian just called off. Says his car's busted and can't get a ride over."
She swallowed and rolled her eyes. "Goddamnit Brian."
"Yeaaaaah... Can you stay until close tonight? If you can't it's okay, I can find somebody else."
She sighed. "Yeah, it's fine. I can stay, I don't have anything going on." In fact, Bee had planned on buying and subsequently stuffing a whole McDonald's dinner box into her face tonight, but she supposed that could wait.
Rosario breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh God, thank you. You're a lifesaver." She looked at the clock: time to pick up her kids from school. "I'll leave you alone now. Call me if you need anything, it's not like anybody comes in here after 3 though. See ya tomorrow!"
After Rosario left, Bee continued to munch on her sandwich. Yummy.
***
A couple hours of daydreaming and occasional sandwich making later, a suspicious, out of breath customer burst through the glass door. Outright ignoring Bee's flatly delivered greeting of "Hi there, what can I get ya?", the crazy-haired lady pretty much jogged her way to the women's bathroom. Eh, whatever. Randall's got its fair share of people who came in exclusively for the public restroom, and she couldn't give less of a shit.
Soon, the lady re-emerged as frazzled as ever, jogging to the counter where Bee continued to stand. She leaned over the counter, breathing heavily. "You didn't happen to find a lottery ticket lying around, did you?"
Oh shit. If there was a question to answer with a lie, this was it. "I didn't, no. Why?"
"Shit. The winning lottery ticket was sold today at the gas station down the street and they can't find who bought it." She stopped to catch her breath for a moment. "I bought a ticket earlier but I lost it. Are you sure you didn't see anything?"
Bee's heart was pounding, but she had to conceal her nervousness. "Sorry, I didn't."
"Okay." The lady removed a pad of paper from her purse and ripped a sheet off, scribbling her phone number down. "Call me if you find it. Please." She smacked the paper down on the counter and stormed off.
The lottery ticket was suddenly burning a hole in Bee's back pocket. Could this be...? She rushed into the office behind the kitchen where that lady wouldn't be able to see her, even though she already left. Precautions must be taken. She pulled out her phone and the ticket and looked up the winning numbers. The ticket was for the MegaBall, which according to the Google search had hit its largest jackpot of all time. And...
Oh my God. They matched.
The numbers matched.
Bee held in her hand a winning lottery ticket which after taxes would net her around 750 million dollars.
750 MILLION DOLLARS.
She didn't know how to handle this information, but she KNEW she wasn't gonna call that woman. This was hers. She HAD to claim it.
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