Communicating Vessels [COMPLETED]

Chapter 1

"April, someone has spilled soda in the men's formal wear section. It needs mopping," my boss, Eleanor, told me.

My name is Abril and cleaning isn't my damn job!

"Sure," I answered, faking the best smile I could manage.

I was not on cleaning duty that day but, unfortunately for me, the guy who was also happened to be the guy she liked to get cozy with every now and then. She was quick to turn a blind eye on his absences and she had the bad habit of picking me to do his job. I couldn't afford to complain, though, I had my rent to pay, and I wasn't exactly rolling in money.

So I kept my big mouth shut – which I don't do often – grabbed a mop, and went to clean up the mess a disrespectful customer had made. Eating and drinking was technically prohibited in the store, but the people that could afford buying their clothes there usually disregarded such rules, or any rules for that matter.

"Excuse me, miss?" Someone called out to get my attention.

I looked up and met the face of the man who had called after me. He had bright copper hair, pale skin, and loads of freckles, concentrated mostly on his nose. He wore round tortoiseshell spectacles and his hair was cut slightly shorter on his side than on the top. If the haircut was douchey, the man was anything but. He was the archetypical client of this store: a rich one, and it showed. I couldn't say he was handsome, although I wouldn't have called him ugly either.

As I didn't answer quickly enough to his taste, he cleared his throat loudly. I gestured for him to go on.

"Get me the same in black," he said while handing me what looked like a navy-blue tuxedo. He told me the size he needed and kept on speaking. "I will also need a white wingtip-collar shirt. Promptly please, I don't have the entire day."

"I beg your pardon?" I asked more politely than I thought myself capable of. My patience was not made to endure working in retail.

"Was I not clear? I need the same tuxedo as this one," he pointed at the clothes I had yet to take from his hands "in black, and a white shirt with a wingtip collar," he said obnoxiously slowly, as if speaking to someone who doesn't speak English.

Abs, keep cool. Back talking to this asshole isn't worth getting fired.

"Do you think I didn't understand you?" I asked so calmly it hurt every fiber of my being, whose instinct was to bark at him.

"Well, you did ask me to repeat myself."

He isn't worth it. He isn't worth it. He isn't worth it. HE IS NOT WORTH IT.

"I did understand, I was just inviting you to rephrase since you were being rude."

"With all due respect, miss, I have been nothing but perfectly polite. In any case, I regularly spend a significant amount of money in this store, I expect it to come with the privilege of not having to walk on eggshells when addressing paid employees. Now please get me what I want before I have to report you."

I clenched my fists and ground my teeth so I could keep my mouth shut. If I opened it, I could not predict what would come out of it.

As I didn't respond nor moved, he commanded me again, "The same, black, and a white shirt. I'll be waiting for you in the changing room. Bring your pins in case it needs alterations."

Nope, I was not having it.

"I'm afraid I cannot help you, sir, men's formal wear is not my section."

"I do not care what your section is. I'm paying several thousand dollars for this; I certainly won't be doing your job on top of that."

There was only so much I could take without fighting back.