Coworkers: Part 65 - Chicks With Whips‏

     "Hold still. I think you have something on your chest."
     Joe looked down. Now what? Food spill? Or a bug. What if it was a spider? Not the Brown Recluse Spider!
     Sarah reached out to brush something away. Then she grabbed his nipple, squeezed hard and twisted it cruelly.
     "Oww! What the hell are you doing?" he yelled.
     Joe tried to back away, but bumped into the wall of customer listening CD units.
     Sarah struck a second time for the unprotected nipple. Same maneuver. Grip and rip.
     "Oww! Damn, stop!"
     "Ha ha ha," she laughed, then walked off.
     I wasn't sure how Joe merited such punishment, but I suspected it was deserved. Coworkers treated each other shamelessly. Responses were often physical and painful.
     Especially from the girls against the guys.

     Greg was one of the most agreeable of individuals. So how come, after he endured an agonizing operation, Trina and Amster decided to prop him up for a little photo? Greg, his face all bandages and blood, stretched unconscious under white sheets. Nearby, in their sweetest bedside, nursie manner, Trina and Amster grinned away. Had they thought of it, they would have waved baseball bats and tire irons.
     The picture was quickly reproduced and stapled inside the store.

     Guy got hired. Named Marco or Omar. Only child. The chosen, special son. Completely dismissive and discourteous to the females. If customers asked a question, he interrupted and shanghaied the client. Once he even commented, "Oh, she won't know. She's only a woman." No merit badge for him.
     Marco's cash drawer was often a trifle off. Dollar here, dollar there.
     Anyway, he finally pissed off Diana. The Skinny Witch.
     Behind that sweet face and innocent looking smile, lurked a crafty individual. Diana set a trap.
     She counted out Marco's drawer in front of The Boss and John. The drawer was $10.00 over.
     Marco came into the Money Room, counted down the cash till. Not a peep.
     Four hours later, change of shift, Marco recounted his drawer, which was even steven.
     The extra $10.00 had vanished.
     Ten minutes later, Marco's name had vanished from the schedule.

     It was dangerous for guys to play jokes on the females. Sexual harassment could be misconstrued so easily. Still, some couldn't care less.
     Julie used to smoke cigarettes during bathroom breaks. Probably against the law. No one paid attention. Hell, no one noticed. Except Rob.
     One afternoon he stuffed a tiny dynamite stick, like you find at joke stores, into one of her smokes. Replaced it back in the pack. Every time she visited the bathroom, he followed like a stalker.
     Busy Friday night, running around like mad answering bells, complaining customers, the usual. Julie ran into the back, headed toward the bathroom. Rob waited and actually heard the loud pop, followed by a louder, "FUCK!"
     Julie burst out of the bathroom near tears. Rob had tears too but his were from laughing. Julie laughed her ass off, and swore she would get even with Rob, but I don't think she ever did. Someone else would, however.

     Larra suspected Rob of cheating on her. To retaliate, she asked a friend to phone the store, pretending to be a representative from the County Health Department. The voice contacted Rob, then warned him that his girlfriend had recently been blood tested. The results were HIV positive. County Health, by law, had to contact all suspected partners, and urge them to have blood work done as soon a possible. Time, what little remained of it, was of the essence.
     Rob completely freaked out.

     Dan teased Tawnya whenever he could. Trying to get her to unload her private life. Tawnya had already shared her history one time too many with profound consequences. She was wary of Dan's earnest wheedling. After awhile, she simply smacked him anytime he attempted to probe.
     At first, these were moderate punches to his arm. Dan persisted. Thereafter, she hammered him in his stomach. When he doubled over in pain, Tawnya advised him to quit being such a pussy.
     After several more strikes, Dan ceased his needling questions.

    Much of the in-store signage hung from the ceiling. The larger ones, like banners and huge posters, were too heavy for fishing line. Straight metal rods carried the weight from joist to drop. Rods were three to four feet long, quarter inch in diameter.
     These were one of Stacey's favorite weapons.
     Stacey had no qualms about reducing guys to tears.
     Jesse was a good, part time employee. Showed up on time, never dumped any crap. Solid. Talked too much for Stacey's inclination, however. Shucking and jiving bravado to front his eighteen years.
     Jesse leaned across the Listening Center counter, boasting about his big plans, his great future, his balls. That afternoon, wearing khaki cargo shorts.
     Stacey walked by. In less than a second, the rod whisked across the air, smacked him against his legs.
     No reason. Jesse hadn't done anything.

     Just ... cuz.

     "Hey, Joe!" Sarah still approached Joe, and still tried to nail him unawares.
     Most of the time, however, Joe adopted the coffin corpse defense. Crossed him arms, hands on opposite shoulders, protecting his tortured chest.
     Not always.
     "Oww!"

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