“Finally,” Addy sighed, the glass door swinging closed behind her.
She looked up at the dark, overcast sky. It was fitting for her mood. She began the long walk to the station, her feet slightly dragging beneath her. An idle thought that she might resemble a zombie to passersby flitted into her mind. Her shuffling pace, the dark circles and bags under her eyes, and her wrinkled uniform gave the impression of a corpse that had died at least a week prior.
She removed her hat and let her hair down, shaking it out as it fell. She kept it in a short bob so it would be easy to deal with. No sense trying to maintain long hair when it ended up smelling like grease and ketchup after every shift. The thought made her shiver. Not many would be nauseated by the smell of ketchup, she imagined.
Addy pushed through the turnstile and glanced up one more time before she headed below ground. The sky, while still dark, was turning dull gray. The sun would be up soon, which meant that she had about six hours until her next shift.
Walking past people hustling in the opposite direction, she was briefly tempted with envy for their suits and briefcases. Although they were hurrying to work before the sun had even risen, they probably never had to work a double shift.
She shook the thought away. It was pointless speculation. For all she knew, they were worse off, and envying their suffering would not alleviate her own, regardless.
A smoldering ember ignited in her chest, her thoughts turning to the sixteen hours she just worked as she descended the stairs. She indulged in her simmering anger for just a moment, savoring the simplicity of the emotion before allowing it to pass behind her, imagining the coal falling from her body and settling on the last step.
She leaned her back against a tiled pillar rather than using one of the benches positioned around the platform. She had performed this particular dance enough to know that sitting down would only make getting back up harder. This was far from the first shift she had to cover because her coworker was “sick.”
The train screeched into the station, the sound so routine that she barely registered the micro damage repeated exposure was likely doing to her ears. She worked to convince herself that Vanessa was really sick and needed to stay home. She should be grateful that Vanessa had at least called rather than simply not showing up.
She tried to convince herself that it was understandable that none of the other shift managers had picked up the phone when she called to find a replacement. Of course, there would be no answer—the third shift started at 9:00 pm. Addy would probably ignore her phone if it rang that late, too.
She boarded the train, grabbing onto one of the handholds near the door—a luxury that would become rare as the morning rush approached. The lack of crowds was one—perhaps the only—silver lining to her situation.
Of course, the store manager would also be unavailable. It was 9:00 pm when she called, after all. Again, Addy herself probably would not have picked up the phone.
Of course, she had to stay for the second shift. She was the only shift manager available, and if she left the employees on their own, the regional manager would have her hide.
Sure, the store manager and the other shift managers would get their share, too, but if Addy deliberately abandoned the employees when no one else was available, even termination could be on the table.
She shifted her body slightly, leaning this way and that with the train's motion as she tried to convince herself that her exhaustion was inevitable. It may be unfair, but it was simply the reality of the situation. She made it to the shift manager position specifically because she did what needed to be done without being told.
Sure, it was only a couple of dollars an hour more than a crew position at minimum wage, but it was still progress. Besides, the overtime pay would be nice—would make up for this lethargy she felt deep in her bones.
She tried to call up a memory from her childhood, some wisdom from her parents to push her through this trying time. A memory of her father, motioning to her with a bottle in his hand, sprang to mind.
“Adelaide, I don’t have time to deal with you. Go find your mother—”
Nope. That was not what she was looking for. Oh well, there was probably something she could find if she dug far enough, some sagacious nugget just waiting to transform her worldview.
The train skidded to a halt, the journey having passed largely without her notice. She exited the car and ascended the stairs on autopilot, her conscious thoughts having nearly ceased. Her emotions, already muted with exhaustion, had retreated after only minor processing, and now her only thought was of home.
Addy walked down her familiar street past a barrel with flames roaring over the rim. Mr. Wilson smiled at her, throwing cardboard into the barrel fire, and she nodded to him as she passed. He was at it early this morning. He must have seen a realtor or something.
He was always ranting about gentrification and such to anyone that would listen, and the trash fire was only the most recent in his long list of tactics to combat the real estate moguls—or whoever it was he was fighting. He figured he could either scare them off or lower the property value enough that they would eventually give up.
She thumped up the six flights of stairs to her apartment, not even glancing at the elevator, which had been broken since she moved in. No big deal. It was exercise, and exercise would keep her healthy.
Health was critical to her. She could barely afford a bill from a routine doctor visit, let alone a hospital stay.
She unlocked her door and pushed it open, the screech from the hinges threatening even the subway’s racket. Throwing her clothes in the cuboid washing machine attached to her kitchen sink, she sat down at her desk wearing only her underwear.
She desperately wanted to go to sleep, but the washing machine only washed. It had no drying function, and if she wanted her uniform to be clean for her shift, she would have to hang it over the balcony’s railing.
The thought of the little railing across her window being a “balcony” made her chuckle. They were closer to prison bars, making sure she didn’t jump, than a platform to stand on.
She resolved simply to remain awake. She could grab a Blue Bull on her way back to work in a few hours. Or maybe she would get one of those zero-calorie Creatures—the white ones, in the big can. She would need every milligram of that taurine or whatever.
She pressed the power button on her massive PC tower, by far the most expensive thing in her apartment, and also the largest—excluding her bed. It dominated the space, demanding attention in the absence of anything else to grab the eyes. This was where the majority of her savings went. She kept her apartment clean, but it was also nearly barren.
The walls were spotless save for the cracks where the building continued to settle. The counter and sink were clean and reflective, just a couple of feet from her well-made bed. The studio apartment was hygienic enough to eat off the floor, not that she would. She kept things clean, but no need to tempt fate.
She sighed as the monitor lit up, double-clicking the shortcut for her favorite game with relief. Prelude was her one place of peace, her one bastion of solace in this overbearing world. Losing herself in the pleasures of escapism always helped settle her nerves and ease her anxieties—or maybe just push them away for a while.
She was happy with either case, especially since she would already have her hands full fighting sleep.
The loading screen appeared, and she watched the bar fill eagerly, her head resting in her hand. Her eyelids grew heavy, and her head began to slump. It may be fine to close her eyes for a brief moment. She was going to be staring at the monitor for the next few hours until her shift, after all. Her eyes would thank her later if she rested them now.
With her last conscious thought being anticipation of her favorite game, she drifted peacefully away.
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