Page 6 of Rich and Bossy

Hazel

“Honey?”

I jolt when Mom touches my shoulder, which makes her jump, too.

“Sorry!” She gasps, laughing. “Iknewyou couldn’t hear me talking to you.”

“Sorry. Just absorbed in this.” I look down at the open textbook I was supposed to be studying from, knowing damn well I was just zoned out.

“You hungry? I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, it’s okay. I mean, yeah, actually I am a little hungry.” I didn’t even realize I was hungry until she said something. It’s so bizarre how the body and brain work like that.

She runs a hand over my hair, the way she’s been doing since I was a kid. It’s the same shade of brown as hers, though I’ve always wrestled with curls that don’t want to behave. “You work too hard.”

“Could you write a note to my professor? Tell him that? Maybe I could get out of midterms.” I force a smile, because I want to smile, but I’m so exhausted.

Her laughter is as gentle as her touch. “I think notes from parents stop carrying weight after elementary school.”

“Sounds about right.” I manage to maintain a grin.

It eases some of the worry lines on her forehead. “I’ll make you a sandwich, that work?”

“Yes. Thank you so much.” I take a deep breath. “Should probably get back to this.” I gesture with my head toward the textbook.

The book looks so daunting. Probably because I’ve read the words and can’t remember a single one of them tonight. I could blame it on the fact I finished a shift already. That I’m tired and cranky and don’t want to be putting in the work on my studies, and that’s why.

It’d be a lie.

I know exactly why I’ve stared at the book, mind on edge, hackles raised. I know exactly what’s distracting me from focusing on what I need to do to get this done.

Once Mom walks off to the kitchen, I push away from my desk, throwing my arms overhead in a desperate attempt to stretch out some of the tension that’s built up. Tension that has nothing to do with how many boxes I packed today, but everything to do with what happened at my job.

I had him right in front of me. It was the opportunity I’d been waiting for.

I said what I wanted to say. Said it for all my coworkers; the only reason I’m still working there. I mean, I like the extra money, but I could make extra money anywhere with a lot less work. They’re like a second family to me.

All he did was smirk and snicker, talk down to me like I’m a spoiled brat. That was my chance, the last shot we had at getting something, anything to change down on the warehouse floor.

He wasn’t supposed to be a complete asshole and laugh it off. He wasn’t supposed to treat me like a joke. In all the fantasiesI’ve had about finally cornering the CEO, I hammered him with complaints to the point he couldn’t believe it. Then he started firing everyone making these changes and everything went back to when workers had dignity and respect. In those fantasies, he asked all of us to forgive him. Then he’d pledge to implement changes at all the warehouses, and treat all the employees with the respect portrayed on pamphlets and to the media, about a family-friendly workplace where everyone gets along and works toward the life they want for themselves.

I knew my version was a pipe dream, but I thought he’d at least take it seriously. At best, he’d start asking questions and making inquiries. At worst, he’d say something apologetic and then we just wouldn’t hear anything back and nothing would change.

When he treated it like a joke, I just lost my cool. I have no doubt I’ll be written up for it, but I don’t care at this point. I have enough padding on my work record to absorb a write up and keep my job. If they fire me, I’ll be sad, but I can find more work.

It needed to be said. Someone has to stand up to this company. They’re bullying people.

At least I got the last word in and got to see him look a little worried. That was the only part that happenedtoo fast. I still can’t believe he didn’t fire any little jokes back at me.

So that part was a small victory, but in the grand scheme of things, I got my ass kicked.

It wasn’t even a fight, just a comedy show. That jerk! I couldn’t believe it. How could he stand there and make jokes about stuff that affects so many ofhisworkers?

Because he’s rich and hot, duh. The worse he treats everyone, the more money he makes.

Cheryl tried to look normal during her shift, like she wasn’t in pain every second she’s away from her baby. Anyone with half a brain could tell it was an act. I just kept looking over at her andgetting more and more angry by the second. I even tried to see if we could band together and cover her shifts, everyone do an extra hour here and there. Everyone would do it, hands down, no questions asked.

We were told no, that it’s against blah blah blah company regulation, etc. She has to work so many hours a week to still qualify for her health insurance and keep her full-time status. Yeah, it can’t be relaxed one time? Give me a break. Basically, it would probably mean some extra clerical paperwork for someone in an office, and we can’t have that now, can we?

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