Walking through the ice rink's cold corridors, Jack Adams sighed and rubbed at his temples. Today had been a very, very long day. One customer had claimed to have lost a dollar and fifty cents in the arcade machine. A fat, dorky teenager with several pimples on his face. His voice had a 'I'm better than you' tone to it and Jack hated those kind of kids. Jack remembered asking the teen how much he had lost. This evidently fell on deaf ears. The teen repeated his story, and Jack repeated his question.
After several un-needed retellings of the story, Jack had almost lost it when he managed to get out the problem from the customer. While Jack was well aware that it was impossible to lose one dollar and fifty cents, (the machine would spit out any loose change if it didn't make a complete dollar), he managed to pry open the front of the large machine and almost convince him he was in some sort of spooky roller disco.
The flashing lights and constant beeping of the machine made Jack's brain want to scream out in pain but he endured. Fishing out the loose change, Jack removed his head from the machine and passed it to the teenager. Closing the big door to the arcade machine, Jack pulled himself up off the machine and dusted off his jeans. To Jack's amazement, the teenager continued to tell him the story. Looking at the change in his hand, Jack asked him.
"Didn't I give you enough?"
"No, you gave me the right change. I'm just saying..." The teenager started but Jack quickly cut him off.
"OK, well I've got work to do." Jack quickly spun on his right heel and darted out of the room.
Angel, one of the older supervisor's, came over to Jack as he was gearing up to clean out the garbage bins.
"OK Jack, guess where you're going to work now." Angel said, a smirk creeping across her wrinkled face, her smile reminded Jack of a terrifying witch from Shakespearean lore. Jack shuddered to think of what she could possibly conjure up for him.
"... The women's bathrooms?" Jack asked, knowing that he would never get so lucky.
"Close but no cigar. You're in the hole." Angel said, her sly smile was now a fully, yellow, toothy grin. 'The hole' was common slang among the ice rink staff for the shoe rental office. Jack's heart plummeted, not only did he have to pass around smelly boots all day, but he had to deal with obnoxious people and dumb ass questions.
'The hole' was a large circular room, that had a large oak desk wrapping around the front of the room. There was a large Perspex window that ran from the top of the rink's ceiling down to the desk, cutting off at least three feet above the oak desk. Behind the window, there was a large, black leather chair with wheels on. There was also a large black chalk board with prices and shoe sizes available for rental.
Slumped at the desk, Jack looked up as a teenaged kid walked up to the desk.
"Do you have half sizes?" He asked, looking at the size chart above Jack.
Jack stared at him for a couple of seconds, then looked at the size chart. "No. We only have full sizes."
"OK, I'll take a nine and a half."
Sighing, Jack fought all urges to put his head in his hands and scream. "Is that a nine or a ten?"
"Huh?" The teen asked, looking at Jack with a goofy confused look.
"We. Don't. Have. Half sizes." Jack said, spitting out the words, struggling to control himself.
"Uhh... Can I get back to you?" The teen asked as he darted out of Jack's sight. There was a knock on the side door and it crept open slowly. Standing behind it was Amy Williams. Amy was African-American and a major cutey. She had her black hair in a short pixie type hair cut and was dressed in the uniform of a black polo shirt and long black jeans that covered her killer legs. Jack had seen her out of work before and knew she was hot, but at work the magic seemed to fade. Amy was one of the resident 'weekend' staff. People who only put in a few hours due to prior contracts.
"Hey Jack."
Sighing, Jack ran a hand through his head. "Hi Amy, how's it goin'?"
"Good. Angel said I need to take over." Amy said, a smile on her face.
Jack nodded, his mood was down near the bottom, but this was making his day a little better. "OK, people are dumb today." Jack added in passing.
"When aren't they?" Amy added as Jack shut the door. A smile on his face as he walked into the 'Staff only' area. Walking down a few steps, Jack found the ice rink's office and walked in. Looking around, there wasn't any one in the office. Shaking his head slightly, Jack let out a long sigh. Thinking to himself, Jack walked over to the printed out spreadsheet on the wall. It was split into several columns with many rows below them.
Running his finger down the paper, Jack found his name and ran it along to the 'Finish' column. Fumbling around on the table, Jack grabbed a blue ball-point and looked at his watch. Jack scrawled in the time he was leaving and placed the pen back on the table.
The weight off his shoulders Jack grinned. Tonight was going to be a good night! One of his best friends, Ian, was getting all of his old friends together and they were going to get wasted. A sly smile crept across Jack's face as he walked into the break room/locker room of the ice rink and headed over to his own personal locker.
The row of lockers curled around the corner of the top left corner of the room and stood a little higher than he was. Jack had decorated the gun metal grey locker with various rock and roll band stickers, such as AC/DC and Metallica. As he was about to punch in his combination on the dial, a gruff voice called out to him.
"Hey! Jack!"
It was Martin Ramone, the manager of the ice rink. He was a short, stout man with black hair that was graying at the temples. No doubt a result of having to deal with the general public all day. Jack bit his tongue and turned around.
"Yeah boss?" Jack asked, as Martin entered the room. Closing the door behind him, Jack wondered if this was going to be something that could possibly dampen his evening plans.
"You want to make some extra money?" Martin asked, rubbing his hands together.
Jack knew exactly what he was offering. "Who's coming in tomorrow?"
Expecting a member of the management board to be in tomorrow to inspect the rink. This happened on a bi-monthly basis and it always fell on Jack's shoulders to ensure the rink was up to standards. Everyone else always seemed to be busy and Jack always had a problem with saying 'no' to people.
"No one from management. We have a V.I.P member coming in later. Want to work it?" Martin asked as Jack opened his locker and grabbed his cell phone. Looking at the newly illuminated screen, a graphic for 'New Message'. Clicking the green button to accept the message. 'Hey guys. Busy right now. Do something later?' It was from Ian, and he was busy, leaving Jack now plan-less.
"... I guess I can. What time do you want me here?" Jack asked as he closed his locker again.
"The rink shuts in one hour. So, can you come back in two?" Martin asked as Jack looked back at him.
"Well... I live close to an hour from here so there's no real point. Can I stay here?" Jack asked as Martin nodded his head.
"Yeah, that'll be fine. Come and find me at eight." And with that, he was gone. Martin had left the room, and Jack was alone. Looking around, Jack reopened his locker and grabbed his book he had been reading on the bus. 'Flash Forward' by Robert J. Sawyer. It had kept him occupied and was bound to keep him occupied for the rest of his two hour stay.
Pulling a cold steel chair away from the oak table, Jack tossed his book to the hard wood and walked over to the microwave in the corner of the room. Passing past the worn leather couch, Jack reached into the cupboards above the chrome appliance.
Opening up the left cupboard, Jack grabbed a cardboard box of popcorn. Tearing the lid off the box, Jack grabbed one of the foil packages and checked the instructions.
'Place bag in microwave. Cook for three minutes. Add additional minutes until popping is heard. Sincerely, the voice in your head that speaks when you read things.'
Jack allowed himself the Monty Python gag and pressed the big black button on the microwave to open the door. The door popped open ever so slightly, Jack pulled the door open for the rest of the way and tossed the bag in. Looking at the digital key pad, Jack pressed the minute button three times and walked back to the table. Sitting on the chair, Jack opened the book up to where he was and started to read.
***
Deeply engrossed, Jack was about to turn the page when he heard a bustling of people. Grabbing a till receipt from an earlier purchase, Jack tucked the paper in the page he was on and walked over to his locker. Opening up the door, he saw he had another new message from Billy.
Billy was another of Jack and Ian's friends who lived deeper in the heart of L.A where the socialites and movie stars would visit. Billy always had a tale of having to pry Paris Hilton from some poor loser who was desperate to not have an STD.
It simply read 'You would not believe what just happened!'. Rolling his eyes, Jack muttered to himself. "I'm sure I wouldn't."
Putting the cell back in his locker, Jack placed the book on the shelf of his locker and walked out of the room. Getting a high five from Chad, the very cool, possibly permanently stoned, concessions stand guy. Standing at five foot eight, Chad had his long brown hair, unwashed and tied up in dreadlocks. He had a stubble on his face and was wearing his work polo shirt.
"Yo dawg! How's it goin'?" He asked as their skin recoiled from the high five.
"Low." Jack smiled at the pun. "Gotta work late though."
"Bummer dude! V.I.P?" Chad asked, as they stood in the hallway.
"Yeah, Martin can't seem to be assed to do it himself."
"Dude! No kidding. Listen, you know they're hiring a new supervisor? You should totally go for it!"
