RE: Trailer Trash 58 pt 3 (Patreon)

    I—I can’t even keep up with what’s going on! Mrs. Moore fretted to herself, staring with a vacant expression at the stacked bills beside her empty drawer.

    Food Lion’s back office was a much more welcoming place when Manager Bob was sitting at the desk with her instead of Manager John. He checked through her till’s count together with her, and they found that the drawer had exactly the right amount of money in it, down to the last cent. This time Tracy was with them in the room, but she was on the phone chastising the apparent one responsible for today's mess—Manager John from the morning shift.

    This all just happened so fast! Mrs. Moore cast a nervous glance through the open door of the office out towards the employee break room.

     The innocent inquiry of a fourteen-year-old girl asking to see the manager had been met with polite but somewhat apathetic deflection by the Food Lion workers, because nobody there was in charge of dealing with problems related to shift scheduling. ‘Maybe come back in tomorrow and ask to speak to Manager John,’ they had said—until the amused man standing with Tabitha at the checkout had revealed his badge, and asked them if they were in violation of labor law.

    The appearance of apparent authority immediately escalated the dilemma from shrug and sigh minor situation to being an all hands on deck emergency for Food Lion’s staff—all of the sudden postures straightened everywhere; answers were promised, calls were being made. Mrs. Moore was pulled off of register right away, Officer Macintire and the two young girls with him had been invited to sit in the employee break area while everything was sorted out, and one of the stockboys had been tasked with taking their shopping cart full of bought and bagged groceries and wheeling the whole thing into the dairy cooler so that everything would stay refrigerated while they waited.

    “Uh-huh, yeah?” Tracy’s bulldog expression was set in a grim smile as she spoke into the phone. “Well, I don’t see what that’s got to do with it. We’ve got a police officer in here inquiring about labor law violations based on a schedule you signed off on. Come up with whatever excuses you like—Mister Kay ain’t gonna care ‘bout a word you say if his store gets a violation on record and has to pay a thousand dollar fine. S’your neck on the line, bucko.”

    The stout older woman had been pulled off of another register to help deal with the fiasco here—although she was a cashier, Tracy possessed some form of seniority here due to working at this Food Lion for many times longer than anyone else here. She had been the first one into the back office and on the line with Manager John, and Mrs. Moore suspected it was simply for the opportunity to chew him out.

    “Your drawer’s good to go, if you can sign for it right here,” Manager Bob spun the checksheet towards her with his fingertips and passed her a pen. “So, from what I can tell—hah, you weren’t called in to cover someone’s shift.”

    “I um, there was—” Shannon Moore tried to stammer out an explanation. “Manager John, he said that well, that because somebody else called off, I needed to stay on that register, until they could find someone else to cover the—”

    “That’s just it,” Manager Bob spread the series of timesheets across the desk. “Tried to figure out who in the heck called off that you were bein’ asked to replace—and, it turns out, no one. No cashiers in front end called off today. No one else was scheduled for your register. The individual timesheet says you’re on for a four and a half hour training shift, but then the shift scheduler spreadsheet over here says you’re not in training, and also that you’re pulling a double—ten hours. These two sheets are supposed to match up, and when they don’t, it means there’s a problem.”

    “Oh,” Mrs. Moore said. “So, I’m—I’m not in trouble?”

    “Oh, Lord, no,—but someone sure is,” Manager Bob chuckled. “There’s been some uh, some ‘creative accounting’ at play, here, and the store manager—John, he’s gonna get some kind of write up, I imagine. By store policy, you’re not even supposed to be on register alone yet, and for the past couple hours you weren’t under any supervision. According to this, Cindy was with you on register for the first part of your shift? Checkout seven?”

    “Um,” Mrs. Moore blinked in confusion. “On my register? Seven? No, she—she was working right next to mine, Cindy was in the next one over. She was working checkout six, but even then—she clocked out a few hours ago.”

    “Hah, oh man—that’s just great!” Manager Bob shared a conspiratorial grin with her. “Damn. At this rate, he won’t be getting off with just a slap on the wrist. Not this time. I mean, holy cow. We all knew he adjusted the timesheets a little here and there, but, no—these books are cooked.”

    “I been sayin’ it!” Tracy put one wrinkled hand over the phone receiver so she could chime in along with what Manager Bob was telling her. “All those hour sheets he signs off on are baloney. S’been a long time comin’—I been sayin’ it and sayin’ it, that he’s fixin’ to get us audited.”

    “Well, I sure as heck can’t make heads or tails of it,” Manager Bob laughed again, arranging the timesheets against the reported schedule for comparison again. “Half of this crap he has down doesn’t match up to anything I see printed over here. I mean, look at this. What is this?”

    “S’his dirty little tricks to keep labor costs down,” Tracy’s smoker rasp answered again. “Puts less people on the schedule, and just has ‘em spread out havin’ one person doin’ what’s s’posed to be several different people’s jobs. Twice the work or three times the work, but for the same old minimum wage. He’s been doin’ it forever ‘tween Dairy and Frozen, havin’ those boys cover both departments at once. It’s not right. I been sayin’ it.” 

    “In any case,” Manager Bob leaned back in his chair and threw his hands up. “It’s out of my hands. Up to Mister Kay and whatever he wants to do—I know him and John are all buddy-buddy. Shannon, you’re good to go here, and you can go ahead and clock out. We’ll see you in again on… looks like Thursday? Sorry again for this whole mess.”

    “No, it’s—it’s alright,” Mrs. Moore stood up from her seat beside the desk, still feeling bewildered. “I’ll—I’ll clock out, then. Thank you.”

    Shuffling out of the office and towards the break room, she was met with stares as Officer Macintire, his daughter Hannah, and Tabitha all looked up at her. Shannon was for a moment overwhelmed with feelings of relief, shame, gratitude and fear, which each fought back and forth for dominance within her heavy heart. She paused in the doorway as she struggled to process all of that, and found herself wringing her hands—the familiar motion kept others from seeing the nervous tremble there.

    Oh goodness—and, I’m starving.

    Over the long hours the restrictive apron strings which tied over the blouse of her Food Lion uniform had begun to dig in, until now she was feeling like she was trussed up to be put on display. Lightheaded, awkward. Weak and inferior. Back when she had enjoyed the years of safety and comfort of never leaving the mobile home she had been a stress eater, but since stepping back out into the public eye, she had instead felt too stressed to eat. She didn’t remember feeling this way back before when she was a young, social thing, but then again the confidence and bravado had been effortless when she was thin and beautiful.

    “I think that, uh, that I’m good to clock out, now,” Mrs. Moore told them with a wincing smile. “Thank you again—thank you so much.”

    “Well, that was all exciting!” Officer Macintire joked. 

    “No it wasn’t,” Hannah retorted in the matter of fact delivery of a child unburdened by conversational nuance. “That wasn’t exciting at all. We all just sat here! And it was forever.”

    “Well, I think it was exciting,” Tabitha said. “Your daddy swooped in and saved the day, here. Since… no one wanted to listen to me.”

    For a moment the absurdity of the situation here was forgotten, because Mrs. Moore found herself transfixed by her daughter’s voice. She remembered hearing the way Tabitha spoke to her little hellion cousins—the tone and cadence she used with them had always been more casual and relaxed than when the girl addressed her parents. The voice Tabitha used with Hannah was again something new beyond even that; calm, patient, and filled with endearment. For a brief instant, it wasn’t impossible to imagine Tabitha in the role of a mother herself, and that strange dissonant idea caused another wave of conflicting emotions.

    “Well, hey—benefit of the badge,” Officer Macintire said with a wry smile. “You start wavin’ one around, people start to see it as their get into jail free card. I did tell them somebody’d be in touch ‘bout all of this. So that, you know, so that they’ll stay on their toes.”

    Officer Macintire rose up out of the hard break room seat, and his movement there was almost natural, but there was also a bit of ungainliness there as he straightened up—as if after bending forward slightly to stand, he needed a moment’s pause to carefully un-bend. Mrs. Moore saw that Tabitha caught this as well, because the redheaded teenager was quick to step in and assist, lending a hand to help him balance.

    I assumed he was all better now because he’s out and about—seems like he’s actually still recovering?

    “Really?” Hannah asked. “Do we get all our things for free, then?!”

    “No, Hannah banana,” Tabitha shook her head. “We did already pay for the groceries. Remember? We went through the check out? They can’t just give us things for free because he’s a police officer, because going that far would be an abuse of his power.”

    “Exactly,” Officer Macintire agreed in good humor. “Get things for free?! I’m just a police officer, not the mayor.”

    “Then, does the mayor get things for free?!” Hannah giggled, seeming to already realize her father was teasing her. “Daaad. He does not.”

    “She does not,” Tabitha corrected. “I believe our current mayor is a woman: Barbara Kowalski. Do you remember seeing the little signs some people have in their yards on our street? They say ‘please re-elect Barbara Kowalski.’”

    “I saw there were signs,” Hannah said. “The white ones? I just, I didn’t read them yet. We’re—it’s usually ‘cause we’re going by them too fast. Otherwise, I would. I read lots of signs. I’m actually a really good reader already.”

    “I know!” Tabitha said. “You really are.”

    Oh, shoot! Mrs. Moore jerked forward with a start. I’d better actually punch out, before I forget.

    The monitor display for that was right there thankfully, and with a few steps and quick grab of the nearby computer mouse, she guided the cursor across the screen to her name and clicked once to clock out, then again to confirm. Instead of the four hour shift she had originally signed in for, the readout showed almost eight. Now that the work hours were over she allowed herself to feel a little ambivalent about them—or at least possibly anticipate more money on the paycheck then there would have been otherwise.

    “My Hannah, she just knows all the fast food signs by heart,” Officer Macintire chuckled, sharing a smile with Mrs. Moore.

    She tried to smile back, because it seemed like he was trying to keep her included in the conversation… but for the life of her, she didn’t know how to even begin to butt in. This trio here in front of her today were so at ease with one another they were like a real family. This kind of back and forth banter had never seemed so casual back when Tabitha was living with the Moores, and seeing how her daughter seemed to belong instead with the Macintires was of course its own kind of heartbreaking.

    “No, no, not just those ones—it’s just that those ones are the best,” Hannah insisted. “Actually, can we stop by—”

    “No, Hannah,” Tabitha interrupted with a smile. “We just bought up all of those things to grill! There’s no way we’re doing McDonald’s tonight. You just had McDonalds, not too long ago! It was yesterday!”

    “Hah, oh yeah,” Hannah beamed. “Grill stuff is okay too, I guess. So long as it doesn’t take forever. But—is it going to take forever?”

    “Forever and ever and ever,” Tabitha teased the girl in a solemn voice.

    “Oh, man,” Hannah’s head tilted back to stare at the ceiling in an exaggerated sigh. “I really hope not.”

    “Any-who,” Officer Macintire cleared his throat. “Now that we’ve got all that mess cleared up for now… how ‘bout joining us for dinner? Kinda just went on a silly shoppin’ spree, ‘cause they haven’t let me eat any real food! If you, or you and your husband came by and we called it a proper cookout, or a get together—well, then my wife wouldn’t be able to call me out on it. You’d be doin’ me a real favor.”

    “Oh, um,” Mrs. Moore fretted over how to politely reject his offer. “I, I really couldn’t. I just couldn’t impose! Especially not after uh, after everything you’ve—”

    “Mom, please?” Tabitha interrupted with such a serious look that Shannon felt her attempt at refusal go cold in her throat.

    “I’d really like you to come over,” Tabitha continued. “To, ah, for you to see how I’ve been living. To… yes, to reconnect.

    “I haven’t been a great daughter to you, and I realize I’ve neglected to call and check on you, or to stop in and say hi, or anything. I’ve been selfishly just… getting myself caught up in high school nonsense and immersing myself in that, and not even sparing any thoughts for you. When really—all the things I’m going through, all the people I’ve met and all the friends I’ve maybe made—they’re really things I should be sharing with you.”

    Mrs. Moore was shell-shocked by Tabitha’s words, and before she could even delve into appreciating how mature and grown up her fourteen-year-old was, she realized that Hannah seemed equally shocked by what was said. The little girl’s brows furrowed in cute consternation, and there was a flash of raw panic there as she looked from Tabitha to Mrs. Moore and then back to Tabitha again.

    I suppose she never had any reason to have any kind of good impression of us—or, maybe she’s worried we’ll make Tabitha come back and live with us? As if I could even dare to say that now, seeing how much better off she is. The Macintires, they take good care of her, they protect her. Listen to her. I’m sure they never give her any of the kind of grief she got with us. Oh Lord, how did everything ever go so wrong…

    “I… I guess I can join you?” Mrs. Moore found herself saying. “If that’s really alright. I, um, I’ve just been walking to the store, here, since it’s just a little bit across town from the trailer court. But—”

    “Hey, no problem,” Officer Macintire nodded agreeably. “You need a lift home so you can change outta your work clothes, or so we can rope in your husband along, too—no problem. We’ve had the kiddos in the back of the cruiser anyhow, plenty of room up front.”

    “Oh, um, okay,” Mrs. Moore nodded. “Thank you. That would be great. I, I think we can just grab your cart from the dairy cooler? It’s right over this way.”

    She was new enough to working here that guiding others anywhere felt a little baffling, but none of the dairy boys were around when she tugged open the big insulated door and backed the shopping cart out of it. There the handlebar was passed over to Hannah, and together they began to file through the back hallway, past the restrooms for customer use, and return to the proper grocery store area.

    “I… don’t know that I’m ready to sit down and play nice again with my father, just yet,” Tabitha admitted, appearing to very carefully choose her words. “I would like a chance to, uh, to just be able to catch up with Mom about everything. Without him… being there to ruin it.”

    Officer Macintire’s eyebrows went up and he looked amused, but the man didn’t see fit to comment as they walked down the aisle together. Hannah, on the other hand, went from looking slightly concerned to instead wearing a mighty frown—which in turn Tabitha noticed right away and then responded to with a sheepish smile. It was fascinating to witness the silent interplay, to see how mindful each of them were of each other, how close they were, and Mrs. Moore’s anxiety over all of this was even beginning to give way to pangs of jealousy.

    If Tabitha was willing and ready to allow her mother back into her life, Shannon decided she needed to be there for her no matter how awkward or difficult it was.

    “Hah,” Mrs. Moore involuntarily let a laugh slip out. “He’s, well. Your father’s sure been good at that, lately! So, of course—whatever you want, Tabitha. I can just leave him a note!”

( Previous, 58 pt 2 | RE: Trailer Trash | Next, 58 pt 4 )

/// Sorry for the delay. Finally caught covid for the first time and it laid me out for a little over a week. In any case, I'm back to work on RE:TT!

Started on a rewrite that actually elaborated more on the pulling Mrs. Moore off of register and the store panic instead of kind of explaining it after the fact, but it seemed like it was pulling the narrative in an... overdramatic? Direction. And not where I wanted this chap to go. Wanted to lean into a lot of the nonverbal stuff and kind of show a very spooked Mrs. Moore afraid to speak up, but desperately trying to read them for cues so she can understand the dynamic they have going on. Exhausting to write, but I feel pretty satisfied with how it turns out, I think. Will fix links and guide page in a bit, I'm starving.