First, my alarm didn’t go off, so instead of being awoken by the rooster and tree frog combo my overpriced Brookestone alarm came with, I was roused awake by a worried cashier calling me wondering where I was. It seemed that my store had been chosen for, and was in the middle of being hit by, a surprise cleanliness inspection. My store was always immaculate so that never worried me, but the fact that I was late and now had a company inspector awaiting my arrival didn’t sit well with me. Those men were known to drop scores if pissed. Arriving at the store by eight took some quick maneuvering from me on the I-95. Traffic had been bumper-to-bumper no matter where I turned, and it took reaching deep and embracing my inner Floridian to make it on time. I cut people off; changing lanes, and flipped a few the bird. But I made it to work within thirty minutes of Carrie’s call. “Morning,” I called out to the floor. My crew, ever the polite fuckers in front of the public, waved at me and resumed working.
