I keep telling myself I'm a waitress, but here I am scrubbing the only toilet in the men's washroom.
“Hey Anya! You in there, baby girl?“ slurs a drunken male from the other side of the stall door.
Lord. It's Bobby Lee. I don't want to answer, but I know he's not drunk enough to miss my shoes peeking out. Thank God, I locked the stall door.
“I'm a little busy right now,“ I reply as I scrub the bowl harder.
“Aw, come on. Can't you make time for me?“ Bobby Lee asks in his Arkansan drawl. “You still haven't told me your answer about seeing that new movie Friday night.”
I roll my eyes and try to ignore him.
The door to the stall shakes from Bobby Lee's repeated, clumsy knocks.
“Damn it, Bobby Lee. I am freaking cleaning the toilet. Unless you want to do my job, leave me the hell alone!”
“Fine. I'll try again tomorrow night. Good night, baby girl.”
He takes a long leak before finally leaving. I don't even want to know the state of the three urinals outside. Not my problem. After a ten-hour shift at John Jack's, Plumerville's one and only bar, it's time to go home. But my manager, Lorie, told me to finish the bathroom first. If I didn't need the money, I'd have told her to do it herself. She promised me cash at the end of the night and after three bounced paychecks, I gave in.