Brandy stormed off, so furious she wanted to cry.
No one looking, she stroked the gold chain and felt better. Stroking the thin gold chain always had a calming, soothing effect. There was nothing she would not do to protect that chain, to keep it in the family, in the hopes of one day passing the heirloom to her own daughter.
On her way through the winding maze, Brandy spied a fat woman with long hair down to her hips, long denim dress down past her knees. The woman was asking one of the employees for help.
He told her he would be along to help her in a minute.
Then he turned his back on her to answer his cell phone.
His name was Mark, according to his nametag-another punk kid: no surprise there. Whether his thin beard growing in patches was the result of a recent choice to grow one, or because he was still too young, she wasn’t sure.
No, she decided, it was because he was still too young.
Frustrated, the poor lady walked away. Brandy followed her out of the maze, into the warehouse. Waiting at one of the bins was the woman’s fat mother.
Why were there so many fat people in America, Brandy wondered?
Together, they tried unsuccessfully removing one of the giant boxes from the bin.
As they did, a man passed by with a cart, said, “Need some help? Here, let me help you with that.”
He was late thirties, Brandy guessed. Not much older than her, and handsome. The ladies thanked him-bless his heart, they said. They cautioned him against straining his back.
“No problem,” he smiled.
Bless his heart, they said.
The kid’s phone call was more important than doing his job.
Thank you for doing Ikea’s job, because that is the level of professionalism you can expect from Ikea.
So go fuck yourself Ikea! Fuck you in the ass!
Brandy stopped the rant playing in her mind.
Stroking her gold chain, she felt better.
*****
Twenty minutes late, the #65 bus still had not arrived. Brandy stroked her gold chain. She hated waiting on the bus almost as much as she hated dealing with punk kids. She wondered what more could go wrong today? When would the day end?
She looked to all the Marks, the Ericas, crowded at the bus stop. Badly, she wanted to whack them with her shopping bag.
They gossiped about Justin Bieber’s love child; the latest Twilight film. How Lady Gaga’s keen fashion sense, latest fashion statements, were all the rave:
I’m team Jacob!
I’m team Edward!
How a meat dress was so nouveau- risqué.
Jesus Christ! When was the fucking bus coming?
