DDR
Working the job wasn’t for everyone. It required discipline. A steady hand. Extreme attention to detail. Patience. Perseverance. Excellence.
The barest pressure, the slightest motion. Gentle forces multiplied along the slender steel of the tweezers. Minuscule blobs of glue, applied with delicate flourishes, ever cognizant of the viscosity and density of the adhesives.
Now came the time for joining, for integration, for holy unity–
The door swung open, banged against the wall and slammed shut again. A body thumped against it along with a metallic clanging sound. Muffled swearing came through the wood.
I sat, frozen, startled by the interruption. That was close. I carefully set down the workpiece.
The door popped open again and she came spilling into the room holding far too many bags of groceries. The door banged into the wall a second time, reaffirming a doorknob shaped dent in the drywall.
“I’m back!” she said, dropping a giant bag of rice on the counter along with an equally giant 24 pack of Kroger brand knockoff dr pepper.
“You scared the shit out of–hey wait a minute, I thought you were quitting soda?” I said.
“Yeah so did I,” she said. She opened the 24 pack and half the cans immediately rolled out onto the floor. She swore again, chasing the fastest one all the way to the baseboard.
“Need a hand?” I asked, hoping she’d say no.
“Nah, I can do this,” she said.
I groaned. She giggled,
“Say, working on your dolls again?” she asked, nodding to my model. She had raised the unopened soda can to her face like a housecat that had just swatted down a bird.
“Okay, so first of all–“
“tHeY’Re NoT DoLLs.”
“Ugh, how many times have we had this conversation?”
“Enough for me to mimic your inflection.”
“I do not sound like that,” I said.
“You kind of do. Anyway help me with the rest of this shit, DDR is soon.”
At the Insanity Complex
100 Skate Park Dr
Madison, AL