Short Fiction 1: Employee of the Month

Erica Brennen’s forearms were laden with burn scars – little pink zig-zag ridges traveling up her wrist to the inside of her elbow. Sometimes, if she looked at her left arm from a certain angle, it appeared as if she had “VII” branded onto her. She used to joke that she did it on purpose to commemorate her seventh year as an employee at Delilah’s Diner, but most people squinted their eyebrows apprehensively and mentioned something about how they used to cut when they were younger too.

“Oh, don’t lie, I was a teenager once too,” a woman had said to her earlier – a twenty-something with hair so blindingly red Erica thought Ronald McDonald had stumbled into the store looking for directions.

“Did you work in a restaurant?”

“Pardon?”

“Or a fast food place or something?”

The woman squinted, focusing on Erica’s nametag. “No. I was depressed.”

“Oh. I worked with a lot of deep fryers. When I was fourteen I couldn’t even lift the damn things, not to mention manage six of them at a time! That's how I got all these burn marks. But yeah, sometimes I just tell people I did it on purpose because it looks neat, don’t you think? I probably could have paid to have this done to me, you know? Kids are always getting weird things done to their bodies nowadays.”

“That’s cool. Can I get a chai?”

Erica was used to people not paying attention to her, especially people who wore pea coats and ordered chai tea. It was four AM now, her seventh hour at work, and she scrubbed the table nearest to the window diligently; it was coated in ketchup and spilled salt. Though she put ketchup on almost everything she ate, the smell of it alone nauseated her.

“Erica, can you change the lightbulb above that table too? Then you can go home. Thanks, babe.”

Her manager, Amy, was ten years younger than she and had been working there four years fewer. She had a college degree, long legs, and long strawberry blond hair. Erica always figured that if her own legs weren’t so stubby and her own hair weren’t so brown and short, she would have been the one to get promoted, with or without a bachelor’s degree.

“Sure, hon.”

“Hey.” Amy suddenly appeared across the table. “Thanks for all your hard work. You know everybody really appreciates it.”

“Oh, sweetie, it’s my job. I just do the best I can.” Erica was still scrubbing away at a brown ketchup stain on the edge of the table.

“But really, this place would go to shit without you. I just don’t want you to feel like you’re being taken for granted. You work too hard. You should have a day off, really. How about tomorrow? You can hang out with your family or something.”

Erica paused, growing faint. “Can you excuse me for a second?”

Before Amy had a chance to respond, Erica dashed to the restroom. Inside, she locked the door, leaned against the cold tiled walls and breathed heavily. She felt her heart beat anxiously as she caught a glance of the “Employee of the Month” sign beaming at her from across the room. Her sloppy, sideways smile in the photograph mocked her, her hair matted down to her face with sweat.

October 2006. Erica Brennen has been a member of the Delilah’s Diner team for seventeen years. A customer favorite, she enjoys reading, watching baseball, and knitting.

She rushed out of the restroom as quickly as she had rushed in, nearly knocking over Amy as she thrust open the door.

“Erica? Are you okay?”

“Of course, babe. I don’t mind working tomorrow at all. Actually, I can stay today until seven if you need me.”

“Are you sure? That’s a lot of hours for two days. When are you going to sleep?”

“It’s fine, Amy, really. I want to.” She spit the words out quickly as she shuffled back to the table by the window, certain that she had missed a spot.


draft one : work in progress