“Well, you in or you out?” Blonde asked me the day it started, meaning: was I going to teeth cigarettes with them or not? Meaning, was I a boy or something worse? 

I’d been showing a customer a factory-rusted hubcap, shoveled out in the middle so one could use it as a picture frame. Most of my workdays consist of convincing customers that art doesn’t have to be beautiful, it just has to make a statement. 

I started to apologize to the customer before stopping dead, looking toward Blonde, shoving the hubcap at the lady and turning my back in a way to mean I was done helping her. The tails of my apron hit the clenched muscles in my stomach as I swung around.

“You know—”

“I know you’re a girl,” Blonde cut me off, rolled his eyes. “That’s just, like, accepted fact. What I’m saying is are you maximizing profit with us or not? Cooper quit for Hobby Lobby and we need warm bodies.”

Read More