“You didn’t ask me if I wanted my sandwich toasted,” the High Elf spoke as a moved down the sandwich line.
“Do you really want your tuna sandwich toasted,” I pause before vegetable station.
“Manners Jason,” I hear my manager Greg call from the back room.
“What would you like on your sandwich, sir?”
“Lettuce, baby spinach, tomato, cucumber, onions, green peppers, red peppers, pickles, olives, a drizzle of olive oil,” the Elf rapidly fires off a list of almost every vegetable we have.
“Hey, can you slow down. I didn’t catch anything after onions.”
“Oh my goodness, if you can’t do the job bring me someone else, how hard can it be to make a sandwich,” he flings his arms in the air as if I just pulled a gun on him. I want to pull a gun on him.
“Do you want to come make it?”
“So you want me to do your job for you as well?”
“Do you need help out there,” Greg calls again.
“No Greg, I’ve got it all taken care of,” I yell back, a little angrier than I thought.
“Do you have it taken care of” he continues.
“How about you just tell me what you want then shut the fuck up,” I ask my own questions now.
“Do not for a second think you can talk to me like that. And you put too much lettuce on the sandwich.”
“That’ll be $7.28 sir,” I wrap his sandwich and move to the register.
“You expect me to pay for this,” he takes the sandwich and walks away.
“You’re going to pay, and I suggest you pay with money,” I jump the counter and cut him off before the exit.
“Jason, what’s going on,” Greg calls from the back again.
“He’s trying to run off without paying, not a problem,” I call back.
“Oh there’s a problem,” the elf slaps his sandwich across my face.
Greg is a nice guy. He gave me this job, and I don’t have any real work experience. Sure, I can kill just about any kind of vampire, I can declaw a werewolf, go toe to toe with Orcs or even trolls and things that go bump in the night fear me. Greg is one of the humans blessed that he can’t see supernatural things, so I couldn’t tell him what I used to do. I make sandwiches now, I am an artisanal sandwich chef. Well, I made sandwiches because I’m about to get fired. I realized that when Tuna started to run down my face and drip on the floor. I am not a customer service person, I don’t even like people.
The Elf is laughing as if he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. The laughed ceases the moment I wrap my hands around his throat. I didn’t need any of my enhancement magic to lift him off his feet and hold him in the air for a moment but he’s too tall to stay there. He tried to cast a spell, the words were caught in his throat. High Elves, so stuck on spells with words and needing to broadcast everything to the world as if they’re a gift to the rest of us. There was nothing he could do to me without speaking except flail around and kick his legs at my shins. He was too frail to fight back, words were his only weapon and he didn’t have them now. Slowly his snowy white skin started to turn to a pale blue. I let go and watch him drop to the floor.
“No, Jason you can’t do this, I have to let you go,” Greg must have come from the back and saw it all.
“I understand Greg, thank you for the opportunity. I’m just going to grab my stuff and I’ll be gone,” I fold my apron and hand it to Greg as he tends to tumor of a person.
I grab my bag, not much is in there. My transportation pass, keys to my crappy studio apartment. A prepaid phone in case of emergencies. I used to carry my weapons, but it was hard getting around the city with them. Apparently walking around a city with loaded guns, brass knuckles and a combat knife is highly frowned upon. I head back out and Greg stops me before I can leave. He’s holding a bag.
“Hey, take this with you. I know you loved the meatball sub,” Greg says. I do, the Eremites rarely let us have meat.
“Thank you,” I take the sub and as Greg gives me a big hug.
“Jason, I don’t know what you were doing before this. But, sandwich making isn’t for you. I don’t even think you like people. You’re hard headed and hot headed at the same time. But, you’re a good person and I wish you nothing but success,” Greg is a good man, too good for this world.
Outside a cold wind blows and I think about how I really need to get a jacket, winter is coming, and I haven’t bought one yet. I’ve just dressing in layers, maybe not enough layers judging by the temperatures. I don’t have many clothes because the eremites said it was a vanity. Turns out, just about everyone I’ve met in the last six months changes clothes every day and I don’t even know where to buy clothes. They also bathe every day, which was a luxury and meat is a common part of their diets, not just for special occasions. They probably should have mentioned that before I left. There’s a lot they didn’t mention, but I can’t say I gave them the chance.
I swipe my pass and hop on the bus, no empty seats so I stand across from a young Dark Elf. I thought she smelled of cigarettes, but that wasn’t the case. She’s young, probably still rebellious. Tensions between Dark Elves and High Elves are starting to peak from what I’ve seen around. I guess even Elves have race problems. Something seems off about this girl, I wouldn’t usually pay any attention to a teenage girl. It might be the fact that she’s looking around, almost as if she’s trying to escape. Yeah, she did something, there’s burns at the bottom of her sleeves. Not my problem.
My only problem is trying to find a new job right now. Greg was paying me in cash, and that’s also frowned upon in the city. Something about taxes and stuff I never had to worry about. My stop comes up and I leave through the backdoor of the bus.
“Mind your fucking business you pervert,” the girl with the burnt sleeves yells at me.
“What?”
“I saw you looking at me on the bus. Now you’re getting off at the same stop as me,” she doesn’t lower her voice.
“I live three blocks from here. I was looking at you because your sleeves are all burned up and you were on the bus looking like you were trying to run away from someone.”
“Oh,” she looks at her sleeves.
“If you’ll excuse me, I got fired today, and I don’t feel like arguing with a kid.”
“Sorry,” she calls out from behind me. Stupid kid.
ns 15.158.61.48da2
