Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
The display isn't quite right but I can't figure out what's making it look off-center, despite the fact that I've stacked the cans perfectly.
"Maybe it's the logo making it look weird," I mutter, as I close one eye and shift my position to look at it from a different angle.
"That looks amazing, Kaylee."
I turn and give Mr. Gillis a soft smile. I won't disagree and point out how wonky it looks because he'll only tell me it's perfect. He's one of the kindest men I've met since moving to Las Vegas a couple of years ago. He's a stickler for the rules and lack of punctuality is one of his pet peeves, but since I've always been a timely person, it's never been an issue for me.
"Think you'll have time to work on the cereal display next?"
I pull in a deep breath, lifting my arm to look down at my watch.
I don't want to tell him no because he also has a rule about no overtime, wanting to keep his labor costs as low as he possibly can, but I hate not helping people when they ask.
"My shift was supposed to be over half an hour ago."
His lips form a flat line.
"I covered Meegan's morning shift today," I explain. "On my day off."
I don't bother to mention that it won't get me close to a full forty-hour work week because he'd never allow for it.
"Yes. That's right, dear," he says. "I forgot."
"I can get on it first thing tomorrow when my new shift starts."
"Thank you, dear," he says with a hint of mild disappointment on his old, wrinkled face, before turning and shuffling toward the front of the store.
I'm not the same person who moved to Vegas a few years ago. That Kaylee would've clocked out and done exactly what he needed without getting paid, but at the end of the day, this is a job. I'm not here helping a friend or an elderly relative, and as much as I like Mr. Gillis, he doesn't exactly reward my work ethic and hard work with anything more than my paycheck. If anything, he piles on more work and increases the expectations because he knows I'll get it done.
I don't dislike the man for it. It's natural to lean on those who you know will get a job done and get it done correctly. But when my very first yearly evaluation came up, he seemed to have completely forgotten all the extra things I had done for the store, smiling like he did something spectacular with a raise that didn't even cover the increase in the cost of living, so I stopped being the one always available.
I pull in a deep breath as I walk toward the back to clock out, knowing that the person I face in the mirror each morning, demanding that she grow a backbone and quit letting people run all over her, isn't the same person who walks through that front door every day. If we were one and the same then I would've done something on my only off day this week other than cover Meegan's day shift.
I pull my timecard from the rack and push it into the ancient machine, waiting for it to register the card and stamp the time onto it before placing it back in the rack. I fight the urge to press my head to the wall and pray for my life to change.
I go to work and I go home. Hell, I even do my grocery shopping here, turning my paycheck right back into more profit for Mr. Gillis rather than taking the time to drive a little deeper into town and buying my groceries at one of the less expensive box stores. That would mean, however, that I had to inch closer to the more touristy part of Vegas. I'd rather claw my own eyes out than mingle with arrogant and entitled people from out of town who all think that the locals are only here to do their bidding.
After making my way out of the back, I stand just inside the double doors separating the overstock room from the customer shopping area of the grocery store, deciding if I'm going to do a little shopping before leaving or if I'm going to be lazy the rest of the day and run by a fast-food place for dinner before going home.
I step to the side when I see a couple walking past the doors. As much as I want to complain about tourists, the locals who have been shopping here for decades are just as expectant and wouldn't care one bit that I'm not on the clock.
Once those customers have passed, I step out, having decided that a couple of tacos from the place on the corner is the best decision I've made all day.