Brenda Rothert - Victor

Lindy

I groan softly as I peer inside the old washing machine in the basement of the Carson Center. The cleaning rags I planned to put in the dryer are floating in a giant tub full of water. This place is home to the best pro hockey team in the world, but the brass wont spring for a decent washing machine.

And today, thats a big problem, because with the ICEE machine on the fritz, were going to have a lot of messes. Submitting a work order to have equipment fixed around here is a thing, and in the meantime, we concession stand workers are stuck using cheap napkins to clean everything.

My dads a plumber, and Ive learned a few things from him over the years. If the issue is a quick fix, I might be able to handle it.

It takes me a little while to remove the front panel from the washer. I have to bend down and remove the screws from the bottom corners in front of the washer and pull the panel down and out towards me. I set it aside and get down on the floor to, as my dad would say, assess the situation. The floor is dirty, but Im off in less than an hour, so it doesnt really matter.

Aha, I say to myself as I find the problem.

The drain hose isnt fully connected to the drainpipe. As I spend the next few minutes reconnecting the hose to the pipe, the hose material leaves a chalky film on my hands. After Im done, I replace the washing machine panel, wash my hands in the ancient mop sink in the corner of the basement storage room, then wring out each cleaning cloth and toss them into the dryer.

Once done, I set the washer to a quick rinse cycle to drain the water from the tub and then head back to the service elevator.

The Carson Center is massive, and things have been moved around since it was built thirty years ago. Once I get off the elevator, its a hike from the storage room back to the main concession area.

Theres a staff meeting going on in the employee break room, and I plan to sneak in unnoticed. But as soon as I walk in, my boss Bruce gives me a disapproving frown.

Boring, he says sternly. Youre late.

I hateactually, its more like loathethe way Bruce calls all the employees by our last names, like were in the military or something. Because in my case, there are inevitably snickers about my last name, which is an unfortunate one for a woman who is, in every way, ordinary.

Sorry, I say, my cheeks warming from the stares of my coworkers.

How long have you worked here, Boring? Bruce crosses his arms only to rest them on his ample belly.

I glance at the wall clock. Im not even four minutes late, and hes going to make it an issue. Sighing inwardly, I say, Three years.

And for three years, what time have I held our weekly staff meeting?

Four-thirty.

Arching his brows, he nods, his expression loaded with condescension. And just when I think hes had enough of showing us all whos boss, he keeps going.

Were you on a smoke break?

No. I furrow my brow, confused. I dont smoke.

Using your cell phone?

My friend Ariana sighs audibly, drawing a sharp look from Bruce. I clear my throat, eager to defuse the situation before Ariana says something that will get her written up.

I was fixing the washing machine, I say quickly. And wringing out the cleaning rags so well have some tonight since the ICEE machine is broken.

Bruces eyes widen and his lips part. His expression is nothing short of amused.

Fixing the washing machine? Who authorized you to do that?

I freeze, wishing I was quick and clever like Ari. Um

Whats a nineteen-year-old girl know about fixing washing machines? Bruce continues, scoffing.

Im twenty-three, but I dont dare correct him.

She knows more than the rest of us, Ari says defensively. Her dads a plumber.

Bruce ignores her, keeping his glare focused on me. His frown is so pronounced that it disappears beneath his bushy brown mustache.

We call them cleaning towels, not rags, Boring, he says. And the ICEE machine is fixed.

No, its not, Ari says, shaking her head. Several of my coworkers murmur their agreement.

Bruce turns to face Ari and I let out a small exhale of relief.

I closed out that work order, Gonzales, he says to her. Its fixed.

No, it still doesnt stop when its supposed to.

Bruce points at the name tag on his chest. You see the word manager right here, Gonzales? It means the repair and replacement of equipment around here is my job, not yours. You just stick to making the ICEEs.

Ari opens her mouth just as I meet her eyes from across the room. Shes got a young son to support; she needs this job. And shes the best friend I have here. Or anywhere, really. I dont want her getting fired over Bruces fragile ego.

Just as Ari closes her mouth, our coworker Shawna speaks up instead.

The ICEE machine wasnt working last night, I know that. It was running all over the floor.

Bruce looks down at his clipboard. Ill look at it again. Now lets move on to more important things. He reads something and then looks up. The napkin dispensers have to be filled at the end of every shift. Some of you are slacking on it.

Theres no need for us to have staff meetings. Every week, we all come in here and sit as Bruce reminds us of things that should be notes posted to the break room bulletin board. Im glad he doesnt have much on his agenda today, because I still have restocking to do before Im off at five.

Everyone working the VIP event tonight needs to stay after this meeting, Bruce says as he checks something off his list. The rest of you can go.

I stand up, waiting for Ari so we can walk back to the main concession area together.

Boring. Bruce points at me. Im gonna need you to work overtime today. Dave called in and I need you to work the VIP event tonight.

But

What? He looks up, his brows hiked up judgmentally. You have plans tonight?

No, butI mean, not really

The White Sox play the Yankees tonight, and though I usually watch baseball with my dad when its on, I guess thats not technically plans. Still, Im dirty from the washing machine repair and Im out of tampons. I want to leave at five, when Im off.

Great. Bruce makes a notation on his list. Have a seat, Im about to go over tonights event.

I dont protest. Bruce was probably counting on that. Even though this job doesnt seem like much to most people, I love it here. I get to be here for every home game the Chicago Blaze play, and hockey is my favorite sport.

You staying? Ari asks me.

I nod, and ask in a low tone, Can you put some tampons in my locker if you have some?

Yep.

Gonzales, the dishes arent going to wash themselves, Bruce says sternly.

Ari rolls her eyes and gives me a wave as she turns to go.

As soon as the room clears, Bruce flips to the next paper on his clipboard and starts in.

Tonights event is a VIP meet and greet for players and bigwigs. Well be serving horse dwarves He pauses to cackle at his mispronunciation of hors doeuvres, which weve all heard a thousand timesand drinks. You need to wear white dress shirts and black pants.

Theres a collective groan from the half dozen employees in the room. We usually wear red polos and black pants to work, and we all hate wearing white dress shirts. With all the running around we do, they get too hot. I keep one in my locker for occasions like this, complete with a yellow sweat stain around the collar no amount of bleach will remove.

There better not be any nonsense, Bruce says sternly. Keep the food and drinks coming, smile and stay out of the way.

Ive been through this drill before. Were supposed to do our best to remain invisible to the people were serving. That works for me, because I prefer to go unnoticed, anyway.