This choice: Customer service skills are tested. • Go Back... Well... You'd just experienced the most demeaning job orientation of your life.
No sooner had Ashley gone off to get dressed than Cynthia turned her gaze on you, her warm, motherly demeanor giving way to an icy chill. She made it quite clear just how little she thought of tinies as a whole, how she believed all tinies were ill-suited for jobs meant for "normal" people, and how she was basically taking on a huge burden by even hiring you in the first place. Oh, sure, she tried to follow it up by saying she didn't have anything against tinies, just that they should "stay in their lane", but her contempt for you and tinies in general was so palpable you wondered if her words were really meant to reassure you, or if she was trying to convince herself she wasn't prejudiced.
Cynthia had then placed you on the front counter next to the register and told you that you'd be handling the customers up front while she and Ashley handled the "real work." Beneath the counter was a dazzling glass display case filled with beautifully decorated, sugary confections. Cynthia walked you through the basics of using the register and the microphone on top so you could let her and Ashley know when customers arrived to pick up specialty orders. Obviously Cynthia hadn't purchased a register meant for affected use so you were forced to crawl around the keypad and push buttons by hopping on them. Cynthia forced you to open and close the register several times to prove your competency.
Afterwards she told you the sickeningly saccharine welcome you were to give each customer, forcing you to recite it over and over again, each time with some new perceived flaw. After your tenth recitation, she let out a loud sigh and grumbled, "I suppose that'll have to do."
When you asked her how you were supposed to do things like bag orders or navigate the store to help customers, Cynthia just rolled her eyes.
"I'm not going to do your job for you, Mark," she'd said. "If you can't hack it, you can leave. But if you are a shameless quitter like the rest, at least do me the courtesy of informing me in person. The last tiny I had man the counter just left without a word. Another $50 uniform gone for good."
Oblivious to the horrific implications of that sentence, Cynthia departed to the kitchen without another word. You hadn't even had a chance to tell her your name wasn't Mark.
So there you stood, alone atop the counter, trying to do everything in your power to convince yourself you wouldn't end up as just another missing $50 uniform. The bell above the door jingled and you inadvertently flinched at the sound.
The first customer of the day was a girl about your own age with creamy white skin, bright blue eyes and fiery red hair. She wasn't as ludicrously curvaceous as most of the women in your life, but she was undeniably as beautiful as them. The modest curves she did possess on her small and slight build were firm and well-toned from exercise. She looked familiar, and it took you a moment to recognize her as Mari's co-worker.
Viola.
You'd seen her a few times before--usually while squashed flat somewhere on Mari's body. You'd never really spoken to her before, but from the snippets of conversation you'd overheard, Viola had come across as the most reasonable of the Oasis lifeguards. At the very least she frowned on Hanna's flagrant abuse of affected. That made her practically saint-like in your estimation!
Viola's eyes alighted on you atop the counter and her eyebrow arched inquisitively at the sight. Taking a deep breath, you spoke the greeting you'd been taught.
"Welcome to Just the Sweet Stuff, where the sweetest treat of all is the smile on a happy customer! How can I help you today?"
Viola's mouth quirked in what could've been an amused smile. "Impressive. You managed to say that without sounding dead inside. You've already got the last girl beat, Mister... Jackson?" Viola had bent down to read the name on your uniform and now blinked in surprise. "Strange. I could've sworn your name was Matthew Jacobs. Or is Mari's memory worse than I feared?"
"No," you chuckled. "She's not that far gone. My name's Matt. There was just a little mix-up with the uniform."
"Hello, Matt. I'm Viola."
"I know. We've, uh... met before."
"Yes, but it's hard to determine if the term "met" is still applicable in situations where one party is too flattened to respond to the other. In any event, it's nice to officially meet you. Mari's told me all about you."
"All good things, I hope?" you laughed.
"Hit-or-miss, actually," Viola said bluntly. There was no malice in her voice, she was just stating a fact. Still, that didn't make it sting any less. Perhaps sensing this, Viola continued, "Mari obviously cares a great deal about you. If she didn't, she wouldn't still be with you. However, you may want to ask yourself how long she's willing to stay with you if you keep getting into these mishaps I've heard so much about. Her patience isn't infinite. But she's proud of you for taking this job, even though it's not the one you dream about. It's a good first step towards becoming self-sufficient, which is a goal everyone should strive for whether they're in a relationship or not. Keep improving."
For a moment, Viola's expression turned almost wistful, as if she wasn't really looking at you anymore.
"It'd be a terrible thing to lose someone so precious by not acting when you have the chance."
You wondered what the reason was for the somber shift in Viola's tone, but the redhead's expression changed back to one of professional courtesy quickly.
"It's, um, good advice. Thank you," you said awkwardly. You could tell Viola was honestly trying to help, but you'd gotten more than enough accusations of being insufficient from Cynthia, and you really just wanted to change the subject. "So, how can I help you today, Viola?"
"I'm picking up an order. It's under the name Walker."
You climbed up the register, flipped the switch on the microphone and as you spoke into it you heard your grainy voice coming out of the kitchen speakers. "Pick-up for Walker order."
A moment later, Cynthia burst through the kitchen doors holding two pink and purple bags in her hand. At the sight of Viola, she was all smiles.
"Vee, dear!" your new boss said, pulling Viola into an emphatic hug which the younger woman accepted politely if not enthusiastically. After several seconds, Cynthia held her at arm's length and looked her up and down. "Are you eating enough, hun? You look so thin!"
"I appreciate your concern, Ms. Morrow--"
"Call me Cynthia."
"--Ms. Cynthia, but I assure you I'm eating more than enough."
"Is that so?" Cynthia asked, smiling teasingly. "Don't think I don't know who this order of vegan chocolate donuts is really for." Was it your imagination or was there a trace of a blush in Viola's cheeks? "Honestly, you spoil my daughter almost as much as I do! So it's only right I spoil you in return. I know how much you like my strawberry strudel, so I have two piping hot fresh ones for you free of charge!"
"Ms. Mor--Cynthia, I couldn't--"
"Nonsense, you're my daughter's dearest friend! You're like a sister to her!"
You were shocked to see an almost wounded expression flash across Viola's face before it was replaced by one of bland politeness. Cynthia, however, didn't notice. Instead her eyes went wide as she saw a customer through the window approaching the store. The bell rang again as the newcomer entered.
She was a middle-aged woman with long black hair tied back into a loose bun and painfully fake tanned skin. She wore a gaudy pink tracksuit that may have fit once but was now much too small for her, the top unzipped, showing off a black tube top that was putting up a valiant but futile effort to contain a titanic pair of breasts. Her pants had slightly more success in covering up the vast curvature of her hips and butt, which, from her reflection in the mirror, you could see had the words "Juicy" written on it in rhinestones. The woman's large sunglasses were currently perched on her forehead, exposing her green eyes. She was loudly smacking on a piece of chewing gum and she held her cellphone like a weapon and she's not afraid to use it.
Cynthia gave the woman a pained smile that was clearly hard to maintain.
"Karen! You're here for your order?"
"I certainly ain't here for the company," the woman replied.
Cynthia laughed as if it was just good-natured ribbing between friends.
"Of course, it'll be ready in just a few minutes--"
"What?" Karen asked, narrowing her eyes. "It's not done yet?"
Cynthia tried to give off a patient smile. "You said you'd pick up your order at 9 am. It's 8:40--"
"That's practically 9!" Karen said, not letting a little thing like facts get in the way of her indignation. "Jesus, Cyn, you'd think with all the money I throw around here, my orders would be a higher priority than others."
Cynthia's left eye twitched slightly. She struggled to maintain her smile as she took a deep, calming breath before responding.
"I'm sorry, Karen. We're, of course, grateful for your loyal patronage. I'll make finishing your order my top priority. It shouldn't take me more than five minutes."
Before Karen could levy another insult, Cynthia quickly disappeared back into the kitchen.
"Can't believe the nerve... Thinks she can coast by on good food alone, but service matters too... I should knock a star off my review of this dump..."
Karen was grousing under her breath as she looked at the display case below the counter. You tried to ignore the angry mutterings as you worked. Viola had seized her opportunity during Cynthia and Karen's discussion to pay for her order. Unfortunately that meant you needed to break a $20. You were still in the process of rolling out pennies for Viola when Karen finally noticed you.
"What. The. Fuck?"  You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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