chapter 2 con't
Nov. 2nd, 2002 09:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smackenzieBesides, it was cloudy and looked like rain, or possibly snow, and who was going to walk around in that?
Sam looked up at the clock. Half an hour before his shift was up, and then he'd have just enough time to get a bus to the Bluebird, change his clothes, and warm up. If he was really lucky he'd get there with enough time to have a drink and possibly something to eat. They had a very limited menu - they just served your basic upscale bar snacks - but he and Teddy and Scott could usually coax at least a sandwich or something from the kitchen.
Sam had already eaten dinner, which was two slices of pizza and a Pepsi from the pizza place down the street, but that was an hour ago and he could always eat more. He was occasionally a bottomless pit. His mother, when she came to visit, bought him enough food for a month, took him out to eat, cooked enough food to freeze, and generally tried to make sure he ate like an adult for a while. He didn't. After she went back home Sam reverted to his normal state, which was that of your basic twenty-two-year-old guy who had just moved out on his own and was suddenly wholly in charge of his own feeding patterns.
"You eat like you just learned how to cook for yourself," his cousin Spencer said, to which Sam always answered "I would if I actually cooked." He was a big fan of the frozen pizza. He liked pizza.
He could cook, in fact. He wasn't completely helpless in the kitchen. He could make omelettes (his dad had taught him how) and spaghetti bolognese (which he'd learned from his mom) and pretty much most kinds of breakfast food. His Uncle Kenny had bought him a waffle iron when he moved into his apartment, because Uncle Kenny thought every home should have a waffle iron, because Uncle Kenny really liked waffles. (Uncle Kenny's wife, Aunt Maggie, had become a waffle expert.) The plates on Uncle Kenny's waffle iron were reversible - the other side of each plate was flat, for pancakes, which meant you had a 50% chance of getting either if Sam decided to make you breakfast.
Of course, he could decide to make pancakes and bacon for dinner, too. He'd done that before.
Oh, now he was hungry, thinking about whether or not he'd get to the Bluebird in time to beg something from the kitchen.
"Hey, Marley," he yelled towards the back office, where Marley had gone to eat his dinner, "I'm gonna go get a snack, ok? I'll be back in, like, ten minutes."
"Don't you dare leave this store," Marley yelled back. "I'm sitting in here until I'm done with my food, and while I'm sitting in here, you're standing out there. Got it?"
"But I'm hungry!" Oh, great, Sam, he thought, whine at the guy. You sound like you're three.
"Don't whine at me. You sound like you're four years old. Suck it up, Mackenzie." Sam sucked in an exaggerated breath, even though Marley couldn't see him and could even less hear him, and so the joke was wasted. But someone came into the store and did a double-take as Sam blinked and let his breath out in a loud rush.
"Someone's here, ok, I'll stay." He left the counter and walked up to the customer, who was young and pretty and female, wearing a long camel-colored wool coat and a knit hat striped in several shades of brown and tan, with some purple and yellow thrown in for good measure. It was an ugly-ass hat, but the girl was cute.
They chatted for a good fifteen minutes about music, mostly alternative stuff, what Marley (and Bruce, and sometimes Sam) called alternachick music - Tori Amos, Ani DiFranco, Sarah McLaclan. After fifteen minutes the girl hadn't bought anything but Sam was fifteen minutes closer to getting out of the store, so it was ok with him. Besides, she knew enough about the music she liked to be able to hold an intelligent conversation, and in fact had carried the conversation a few times. Sam wasn't up on his Tori Amos.
By the time the girl's friends had come to collect her, Marley had finished his break and joined Sam in the main part of the store, and Sam straightened the rows of jazz CDs until it was time for him to leave.
"This late shift thing seems kind of stupid," he admitted to Marley, who nodded. "I mean, we got, what, one customer in an hour? And she didn't even buy anything."
"Bruce should've waited until spring," Marley said. He shuffled the jazz CDs Sam had just straightened. Sam made a face and quickly hid it. Marley did that a lot, redid something you had just done as if you'd done it completely wrong. All Sam had done was alphabetize the CDs, and how hard was that?
"He should've started last year, during the Christmas season. Everyone's doing their shopping late. They decorated the street, made it all festive...."
"We got out of work earlier," Marley pointed out. "But you're right, that would have been a smart time to start."
"You tell him that," Sam suggested. An evil part of his brain suddenly hinted that he could possibly get Marley fired by encouraging him to talk back to the boss, although as bosses went Bruce was pretty easygoing and probably wouldn't mind. That was mean, actually, trying to get your coworker fired, and Marley wasn't a bad guy, just occasionally insufferable and with a superiority complex. Just because he'd been there longer than Sam had....
"Don't you have to catch a bus?" Marley said, shaking Sam out of his thoughts.
"Oh, shit. Yeah. I'm off tomorrow, see you the day after."
"It's gonna rain, you got an umbrella?" Marley yelled as Sam dashed out the door carrying his suit and sax case. Sam was in too much of a hurry to answer. If he was late, and he might be, Scott would kill him, and that would suck.
words: 1,007
total words: 6,803
Sam looked up at the clock. Half an hour before his shift was up, and then he'd have just enough time to get a bus to the Bluebird, change his clothes, and warm up. If he was really lucky he'd get there with enough time to have a drink and possibly something to eat. They had a very limited menu - they just served your basic upscale bar snacks - but he and Teddy and Scott could usually coax at least a sandwich or something from the kitchen.
Sam had already eaten dinner, which was two slices of pizza and a Pepsi from the pizza place down the street, but that was an hour ago and he could always eat more. He was occasionally a bottomless pit. His mother, when she came to visit, bought him enough food for a month, took him out to eat, cooked enough food to freeze, and generally tried to make sure he ate like an adult for a while. He didn't. After she went back home Sam reverted to his normal state, which was that of your basic twenty-two-year-old guy who had just moved out on his own and was suddenly wholly in charge of his own feeding patterns.
"You eat like you just learned how to cook for yourself," his cousin Spencer said, to which Sam always answered "I would if I actually cooked." He was a big fan of the frozen pizza. He liked pizza.
He could cook, in fact. He wasn't completely helpless in the kitchen. He could make omelettes (his dad had taught him how) and spaghetti bolognese (which he'd learned from his mom) and pretty much most kinds of breakfast food. His Uncle Kenny had bought him a waffle iron when he moved into his apartment, because Uncle Kenny thought every home should have a waffle iron, because Uncle Kenny really liked waffles. (Uncle Kenny's wife, Aunt Maggie, had become a waffle expert.) The plates on Uncle Kenny's waffle iron were reversible - the other side of each plate was flat, for pancakes, which meant you had a 50% chance of getting either if Sam decided to make you breakfast.
Of course, he could decide to make pancakes and bacon for dinner, too. He'd done that before.
Oh, now he was hungry, thinking about whether or not he'd get to the Bluebird in time to beg something from the kitchen.
"Hey, Marley," he yelled towards the back office, where Marley had gone to eat his dinner, "I'm gonna go get a snack, ok? I'll be back in, like, ten minutes."
"Don't you dare leave this store," Marley yelled back. "I'm sitting in here until I'm done with my food, and while I'm sitting in here, you're standing out there. Got it?"
"But I'm hungry!" Oh, great, Sam, he thought, whine at the guy. You sound like you're three.
"Don't whine at me. You sound like you're four years old. Suck it up, Mackenzie." Sam sucked in an exaggerated breath, even though Marley couldn't see him and could even less hear him, and so the joke was wasted. But someone came into the store and did a double-take as Sam blinked and let his breath out in a loud rush.
"Someone's here, ok, I'll stay." He left the counter and walked up to the customer, who was young and pretty and female, wearing a long camel-colored wool coat and a knit hat striped in several shades of brown and tan, with some purple and yellow thrown in for good measure. It was an ugly-ass hat, but the girl was cute.
They chatted for a good fifteen minutes about music, mostly alternative stuff, what Marley (and Bruce, and sometimes Sam) called alternachick music - Tori Amos, Ani DiFranco, Sarah McLaclan. After fifteen minutes the girl hadn't bought anything but Sam was fifteen minutes closer to getting out of the store, so it was ok with him. Besides, she knew enough about the music she liked to be able to hold an intelligent conversation, and in fact had carried the conversation a few times. Sam wasn't up on his Tori Amos.
By the time the girl's friends had come to collect her, Marley had finished his break and joined Sam in the main part of the store, and Sam straightened the rows of jazz CDs until it was time for him to leave.
"This late shift thing seems kind of stupid," he admitted to Marley, who nodded. "I mean, we got, what, one customer in an hour? And she didn't even buy anything."
"Bruce should've waited until spring," Marley said. He shuffled the jazz CDs Sam had just straightened. Sam made a face and quickly hid it. Marley did that a lot, redid something you had just done as if you'd done it completely wrong. All Sam had done was alphabetize the CDs, and how hard was that?
"He should've started last year, during the Christmas season. Everyone's doing their shopping late. They decorated the street, made it all festive...."
"We got out of work earlier," Marley pointed out. "But you're right, that would have been a smart time to start."
"You tell him that," Sam suggested. An evil part of his brain suddenly hinted that he could possibly get Marley fired by encouraging him to talk back to the boss, although as bosses went Bruce was pretty easygoing and probably wouldn't mind. That was mean, actually, trying to get your coworker fired, and Marley wasn't a bad guy, just occasionally insufferable and with a superiority complex. Just because he'd been there longer than Sam had....
"Don't you have to catch a bus?" Marley said, shaking Sam out of his thoughts.
"Oh, shit. Yeah. I'm off tomorrow, see you the day after."
"It's gonna rain, you got an umbrella?" Marley yelled as Sam dashed out the door carrying his suit and sax case. Sam was in too much of a hurry to answer. If he was late, and he might be, Scott would kill him, and that would suck.
words: 1,007
total words: 6,803
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2002-11-02 08:04 pm (UTC):D
Very nice stuff, hon.