Steamroller

A lot of people needed them done. It was the final for Communication 301, Presentation and Speeches. Everyone had to take that class as a junior, but as a sophomore, I wasn’t there yet. I was still getting all my 201 classes out of the way.

“You got it?” he barked without waiting for my answer. He tapped the counter with his knuckles like that was all he needed to say. Since I was already taking an order from the lady in front of me who was making flyers for her dog grooming business, I picked up the flash drive and tossed it at the closest trash can.

“Color or black and white?” I asked Mrs. Baker, who would even clip burrs out of a dog’s fur for only sixty bucks. It was a steal, considering it took me three hours to get them out after my friend Darla’s mutt, Bird, got into some. “I think you—”

“Dude, what the hell? I saw that!”

“They’ll look better in color, and I could run one on a glossy stock so you could see what it looks like.”

“I’m talking to you!”

“And I’m talking to her,” I said without glancing at him. “You can wait if you want to place an order, but just so you know, we’re done printing oversize for the night since it’s ten already. So if you want it in the morning, I suggest you run over to the Rose Street store that’s open twenty-four seven and see if they can fit you in.”

“But Alex—”

“Doesn’t work here anymore,” I said quickly, turning around to my production people behind me. “Luce, bring me the proof on the color copier.”

“Coming!”

“I need it!” the jock yelled.

I turned to look at him. “You’re wasting time here when other people are gonna hop in line in front of you at the other location. You need to go there.”

“I need this done!”

“Here you go,” Lucy said from beside me, sliding me the proof for my nice doggie-lady customer.

“Listen—”

“Wait, just wait,” another voice said.

I turned, and beside the jock was now a leaner one, an athlete too, I was betting, but built more like a swimmer than the defensive lineman his friend so obviously was. What was nice was that his voice wasn’t reaching the same decibel level as the enraged refrigerator with a head.

Even without anyone telling me, I knew I was right about Pretty Boy’s athletic prowess. He had to play some kind of sport with all those beautifully defined muscles outlined by a T-shirt that clung to bulging biceps and triceps, delts, traps, and a chest that was… God. The man’s hard pectorals should have been cast in bronze. The package was nice; the rest was… well, to be fair, that was damn fine too.

“I actually need it, not him. Just tell us what we have to do to get this done,” the pretty one said.

“Go to the other store,” I told him. “We can’t do it, and you’re wasting your time here.”

“Alex told my buddy that any—”

I bristled. “Again, Alex got canned for this very thing. Go. To. The. Other. Store.”

The jock was getting really pissed, and it was there in his tone. “You’re kind of a—”

“Luce.” I stopped my coworker before she could leave my side. “Sign ‘go to the other store’ for these guys, ’cause they’re not hearing me.”

She looked at them and signed it for me. It was good to have someone studying to be an auditory therapist on staff and also sometimes fun. She had taught me lots of curse words in American Sign Language.

The jock snarled, “You think that’s funny, you—”

“Don’t,” Lucy warned the big muscle-bound guy. “I get to throw you out if you swear.”

“Everybody calm down,” the pretty boy said, trying to soothe his friend as well as Lucy.

“I am calm,” she snapped.

“You need to help find a solution,” hottie boy told me.

“I did.” I smirked. “Run on over to the other store.”

“You’re kind of a jerk.”

“I heard him make a suggestion,” Mrs. Baker chimed in on my side.

I gestured to her.

“Ma’am,” the jock began. “We—”

“It was just an observation,” she stated politely.

“He,” the Neanderthal growled, pointing at me, “doesn’t get how important this is.”

“At least I understand English.” I snickered.

He leaned on the counter, hoping, I was certain, to intimidate me. “Listen, you need to get my buddy’s flash drive out of the trash and do the work for me. At this point you have no choice.”

I was reminded that it wasn’t even his project. All his bullying had been on Pretty Boy’s behalf. I scoffed. “Luce, grab the drive.”

“Scott, get the flash drive Vince just threw in the recycle bin,” she yelled over her shoulder.

“This is your idea of good customer service?” he mocked me.

“Yep,” I assured him with a smirk, still putting Mrs. Baker’s order into the computer.