It's an awful feeling when something that you would normally enjoy has all the fun sucked out of it. I liken it to ordering a new dish at your favorite restaurant, only to discover that one of the ingredients completely clashes with the rest, therefore ruining the entire experience. In my case, however, the metaphorical dish was my job and the sole, ill-advised additive was a woman named Maya. Clumsy as the simile might be, it's hard to come up with anything that more accurately described my initial relationship with my assistant manager-as well as how her mere presence killed my enthusiasm for what should have been a fun gig.
At the time, I couldn't remotely understand why she had singled me out to the degree that she did. While she wasn't exactly warm and fuzzy toward the handful of other low-level employees working alongside me, I had, for whatever reason, become the target for the bulk of her ire. It wasn't as if I was trying to call attention to myself-I was just a guy who worked at a video game store and only ever did as he was told. I just liked to play and talk about video games, that's all there was to it! I kept my nose clean and my head down, did my work and didn't complain, because that's just the kind of person that I am. But, for whatever reason, nothing I could do was ever quite good enough for Maya.
Maybe you think I'm just complaining, that I was some slacker who just couldn't handle some constructive criticism here and there. Sure, okay, I get where you're coming from-if I were an outsider listening to me talk about this, I'd have thought the same thing-but rest assured, I'm not just being sensitive; Maya had made it clear practically from the get-go that she didn't like me. If I alphabetized a section of games, I had to go back and check them again-usually more than once. If I set up a display, it was always crooked (even if it wasn't) and I'd spend the next fifteen minutes adjusting it in minute increments while she watched me like a hawk and frequently offered aggressive correction. If I worked the register, I was never quick or efficient enough-even if none of the customers ever complained. When I vacuumed the store, it was never clean enough. These are just a few examples of how, no matter how hard I worked to live up to her unreasonably high standards (and I really did work hard), I almost always managed to come up short in some way, shape or form.
I'll back up for a minute, though, because I'm getting way ahead of myself (as enthusiastic storytellers such as myself sometimes do). To start, I'm Ashley Kissel-but unless you're my mom or my grandmother, you don't get to use my full name. It's 'Ash' to you and everyone else; always will be. In truth, I would describe myself a thoroughly average guy in his mid-twenties who doesn't stand out in a crowd: average height, average weight, light brown hair, and a face that is neither unbearably hideous nor extraordinarily handsome. I do happen to really like and understand video games, though. It's why I got my job at Game X-press (I always hated that name; it sounded like a remnant of 90's 'extreme' culture). I was usually up-to-date on the newest titles, I knew the ins and outs of Xbox Live, Steam and PlayStation Network. I also had some understanding of hardware and had managed to scrub out a few jammed disc trays and sticky d-pads over the years, so I was no slouch in the knowledge department on any front.
All of these factors not only helped to get me the position, but to ultimately endear myself to the boss man himself, Wyatt Thornton. He'd liked me almost immediately after we met, and proved to be a pretty soft touch when it came to even the slower employees-a group that I knew I couldn't be counted amongst, no matter what Maya thought. Like me, Wyatt really loved video games, and I think he recognized me as a kindred spirit. He was an old-school gamer dude in his forties: tall, rail thin, knowledgeable as hell, and possessing a friendly, personable demeanor that rivaled what you'd see in a truly great politician. He remembered your name, what your tastes were, what systems you preferred, and how to get you talking-all hallmarks of a great video game salesman. The guy was truly a savant.
Wyatt's singular problem, though, was that he seemed to have blinders on when it came to how his assistant manager treated her underlings-me, in particular. Even when she was giving me inordinate amounts of shit while he was in-store, he'd never give her anything more than a raised eyebrow and a grumble of something along the lines of "Maya, lay off already, yeah?"-a warning which she would disregard as soon as she felt she could get away with it. Personally, I think the reason he kept her around was sort of like when a professor makes tenure: she'd already been working there for several years, and was established to the point where he couldn't really afford to let her go. She knew how the place operated down to a T; arguably, her knowledge of the store's systems was second only to Wyatt's, if not altogether equal. She was a very solid sales performer as well, so after a time I had simply come to accept that Maya was there to stay. I would just have to deal.
That brings me to Maya herself: in her mid-twenties like myself, five-nine, curvaceous, and sporting a pair of steely grey-blue eyes-which were usually focused into a glare that I swore could pierce the hull of a fucking battleship. A crop of thick black hair that was generally tied in a half-bun, half-ponytail framed her face, while (admittedly) incredibly sexy, full, and pale lips frowned and scowled at anyone who failed to meet expectations; I'd only ever seen her smile or laugh a few times before (and she had been startlingly beautiful when it had happened). She was fond of wearing short-sleeved, button-up shirts which did not conceal the fact that she had a respectable bust, and jeans that always accentuated wide, well-formed hips that looked as if they belonged on a statue of some ancient fertility goddess.
Okay, so, you may have gathered through my description that I find my boss attractive. For the sake of openness, I'll admit that I really, really do. She's a straight-up stunner, a stone-cold fox who I'm sure could have anyone she wanted. But all of that physical appeal was so thoroughly offset by her slave-driving, rudeness, and overall bad attitude toward everyone beneath her that I only ever felt terrible for acknowledging how good-looking she was. It made me feel like...I don't know, as if I were somehow betraying myself and my coworkers, as if thinking that she was a total babe made me a traitor of some kind. That might sound ridiculous-after all, you can't help who you're attracted to-but man, she was so, so pretty and I always felt so, so shitty about secretly wanting her. If only the insides matched the outside, I would often lament, if only...
*****
"You're late."
"Maya, my shift doesn't start for five-"
"I don't care, Ash. You've been here for a year, and you still don't know to arrive early? I'm amazed that Wyatt keeps you on."
"Maya, come on, I-"
"Don't back-talk me today, Ash, I'm not in the mood and we don't have time. The used PS3 games need to be re-alphabetized, we have a bunch of Far Cry 3 preorders to unpack, plus we've got a couple used PS3's to test along with a pair of 360's-one of which needs to be looked at; the disc tray only functions about half the time. Trent bought it from some tweaker-lookin' guy, so if it is broken, at least it'll be his ass in the wind. I want you to take a look at it, see if it's really busted or...shit," she said, suddenly rubbing her temples with her fingers, "I hope to God it wasn't stolen...hopefully Trent remembered to check the serial. It's in the back on the counter, so after you clock in, you can start with that."
"What about the pre-"
"Just...go, please," she said, looking back up at me, clearly losing patience, "I really don't want to debate with you right now. You know what to do, so get to it."
"Okay, fine." I leaned down and woke up the computer on the counter next to Maya, whereupon I clocked in for my shift.
"Good, now hurry up and get going. Don't bother me unless it's important. After you look that 360 over, get back here, pronto."
"Got it," I said, turning to head for the work area in the back of the store.
"And don't take all day! You have a lot to get done!"
"I won't!" I closed the door to the storage room that also doubled as a shop firmly behind me, breathing a small sigh of relief and relishing the sweet, sweet silence. Maya and Jodi, one of the other floor employees, would be holding down the fort while I got to tinker for a while. Didn't stop me from wanting to somehow rescue Jodi from Maya's clutches; she was easily one of the sweetest people I'd ever known and I didn't want Maya's attitude rubbing off on her. If only Eric were on shift today-he may have been kind of a moron and an average manager at best-but he was far more reasonable, not to mention far easier to work with.
The 360 was a chore; there was some sort of gunk clogging up the track for the disc tray (the thing also reeked of cigarette smoke, which would make it harder to sell), and it needed to be cleaned out. With a sigh, I began the slow process of opening the thing up for a thorough scrubbing. After about forty-five minutes with some cotton swabs, some cleaning solvent, a lot of muttered profanity and a brief function test, I confirmed that it was, in fact, good to go...other than the smell, of course.
"Took you long enough." These were the words I was greeted with after I walked back into the store to tell Maya that I'd finished.
"Well, at least it works now, even if it smells like an ashtray."
She rolled her eyes. "I don't need the commentary, so save it. Go grab a box cutter and open up that case of Far Cry copies, unpack them and then get back here. You and Jodi are on alpha duty together; I decided I want the whole PS3 section done today, not just the used stuff-along with the Wii section too. I already had Reese do the the 360 and the retro games sections this morning, so don't bother with those."
"Got it." I fought off the urge to add "you're welcome" after that.
She scoffed. "Then go, why are you still standing there?" She returned to whatever she was doing at the register's computer.
I turned and walked back to the storage/work room. She was in a mood today, and there was no reasoning with Maya when she was in one of her moods (even though she always seemed to be in one to some degree or another). The key to staying out of the line of fire, though? It was all about recognizing the signs, and making a point to avoid aggravating her any further. Or, if you were really observant and had the means to do so, avoiding her altogether. The furrowed brow, the angry eyes, the slight frown and crossed arms...these were just a few of the signifiers which I had since discovered meant that she was coiled up like a spring and ready to pounce.
