Thundercat needed a job, so he walked into the CVS on the corner of Clark and Kinzie and demanded one.  He marched right up to the photo counter and told Keisha the Night Manager that she’d be crazy not to hire him on the spot because he was the best cashier in Cook County and would increase the store’s profits by ten, no, eleven percent in a single month.

“Whatever, dude.  Fill this out.”

Keisha slid a clipboard and pen at Thundercat and pointed to the row of chairs in Pharmacy, told him to take his sweet time with the application.  Thundercat sat down next to an eight-year old in a Blackhawks jersey and did his best to remember all the odd jobs he’d worked over the years: roofer, Subway Sandwich Artist, softball referee, gyro vendor…  He decided that none of those jobs mattered much to him and wrote “Self-Employed” and “1974-Present” in the Work History section.

Thundercat smiled as he returned his paperwork.  Keisha put down the stack of CD-RW’s she was about to restock and picked up the clipboard.  She shook her head as she flipped through the application.

“You start tomorrow at five.  Here, this looks your size.”

Keisha reached under the counter and grabbed a slate-blue polo shirt with the CVS logo stitched in red.

“Wear this.  And no jeans–put on some khakis or some shit.”

Thundercat took his new uniform from Keisha and held it up against his chest.  Then he tucked the shirt under his arm and winked.

“You got it, boss.”

***

Thundercat was glad that his first day on the job was December 11 because that meant Christmas was only two weeks away and customers would be buying lots of wrapping paper and bows and ribbons and Scotch tape.  He could ask them how their shopping was going, make comments about the recession and how times are tough all over.  He could make small talk, something he couldn’t do with his roommate, Quincy.

“And how’s your Christmas season goin’ so far, miss?”

Thundercat was at the register, helping a woman in a cream-colored peacoat unload a basket full of AAA batteries.  He smiled as he squeezed the trigger of his pricing gun, waiting for the little beep! before moving on to the next item.

“I’m Jewish, actually.  Don’t celebrate Christmas.”

Beep!

Thundercat just kept smiling, thinking about the video for “Christmas in Hollis.”

“Alright, alright.  I feel you.”

My name’s DMC with the mic in my hand / And I’m chillin’ and coolin’ just like a snowman…

Beep!

“What y’all doin’ for Hanukah, then?”

Beep!

***

Thundercat convinced his coworker Rory to go to Gino’s East with him on his lunch break.  Rory didn’t think the two of them had enough time to order and eat an entire deep dish pizza in an hour but Thundercat insisted, told Rory he’d let him take sips off his Heineken when the server wasn’t looking.

The two ordered a medium with crumbled sausage and extra sauce, Thundercat’s favorite.

“Know why they call this shit deep dish?”

Rory slammed a third of Thundercat’s beer in one gulp.

“Because Mayor Daley, First Mayor Daley?  He got in real good with the Eye-talians, you feel me?  But he Irish, so he tells them Eye-talians to cook it up in a dish, so it’s like, what?  Shepherd’s pie?”

Rory didn’t say anything and reached for the Heineken.

“Slow down.  Can’t be goin’ back all fucked up.”

Rory sighed and grabbed the trowel out of the greasy cast-iron pan.

“You got a girl at school?”

Rory shook his head.

“Man turn sixteen, gotta have a woman.  That ain’t me talkin’.  That’s just nature.”

Rory nodded as he lifted another heavy slice out of the dish and onto his plate.

“Man gotta have a woman.”

***

“The fuck you thinkin’?”

Thundercat’s shift was over and he was sitting alone at a table in the Employee Break Room, reading an US Weekly.  Keisha stood over him, her eyebrows in a V.

“What you mean, ‘The fuck I’m thinkin’?”

Keisha was holding a computer printout, a list of all the snacks Thundercat had helped himself to during his shift: a bag of Sour Cream and Cheddar Ruffles, two Twix, and a Sierra Mist.  She dropped the paper on the magazine, right on top of an article about Tom Brady.

“First day, and you stealin’ already?

“Stealin’?  I put that shit on my expense account.”

“The fuck you mean, ‘Your account?’”

Thundercat folded the magazine over the printout and turned to face Keisha.

“Every company worth a shit has employee expense accounts.  You mean to tell me CVS ain’t got employee expense accounts?”

“Fired.  Get the fuck outta here.”

“Don’t make no sense.”

“Get.  The.  Fuck.  Outta.  Here.”

Thundercat stood and offered his hand for a shake.  Keisha didn’t uncross her arms.

“That’s a fine how-do-ya-do.  Especially ‘round Christmas.”

Thundercat grabbed the US Weekly off the table and exited the break room.  Then he put the magazine back on the rack, careful to return it to the Gossip section where he found it.  He stopped and took one last look around the store.

“Ain’t no reward for hard work.”

***

Photo by Wikimedia user Legoktm