Page 55 of Spencer's Satisfaction
Yes, I think to myself, following Daddy’s instructions to relax while he pulls out and heads towards the bathroom to grab a washcloth,life’s pretty much perfect.
Now I can only hope that work gets better and then everythingwillbe perfect.
* * *
“Sir,” I step up to the truck driver who has been berating our newest hire, Steph, loudly for the last minute, “I’m happy to try to resolve this for you, but I’m going to have to ask you to calm down.”
He’s a beefy older man with an epic beer gut and dirty gray stubble. His plaid overshirt is faded and the white t-shirt beneath it is discolored. I want to recoil from just the sight of him, let alone how loud he’s being, but poor Steph is in tears behind me, and fucking Gerald is cowering in the kitchen, letting the ‘front of house’ deal with it.
“I’m the customer here,” he bellows at me, “which means I’m right! Didn’t nobody ever teach you that the customer is always right?”
I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye, so I fixate on a spot just above his right ear. It’s a tactic I rely on a lot in this job.
“I didn’t say you weren’t, sir,” I can feel myself shaking with the escalating confrontation, and I am doing everything I can to keep myself together.
In the back of my head, a little voice has started up, telling me I need my Daddy, and I know I can’t give in to it. It would be perfect to escape into my little headspace, and also disastrous to do it here.
I don’t even know what this guy’s problem is, but we’re a packed house tonight, on account of it being Littles’ Night at The Grove again, and I can feel the eyes of all the other patrons in the diner zeroing in on us.
Maybe that’s also part of why I’m feeling the compulsion to escape into my little headspace. There are other Littles here. And Daddies. If they knew I was one of them, maybe they’d help me?
But I can’t involve other customers in this. I just need to fix whatever this guy’s issue is and then move on with the rest of what promises to be a long, stressful shift.
Not for the first time, I wish I could have taken the night off and gone to The Grove with Spencer. I know Ash and Charlie are going tonight. And Ted and Zephyr, too. Despite my nerves about being little in a more public setting, Zephyr and Ash assured me that The Grove’s Playroom is a safe space that I will love. If I can ever get there.
But I had to work. And so did Spencer. So it was not meant to be.
“-you even listening to me, retard?”
It’s like the world grinds to a halt at the guy’s words, yelled as they are above the general din of a packed house. The whole diner goes silent, and I feel a lump clog in my throat.
“Sir,” I try to sound unaffected, but my heart is hammering and my face is burning, and years of childhood taunts are echoing in my brain. I half expect the other diners to get up and start chanting it. “I’ll ask you kindly to not use i-inflammatory and d-derogatory language like that, please.”
Great. I’m stammering now. I’ve done so well over the last few months. Everyone’s said so. Even though there was nothing wrong with me, even I’ve felt good about being more confident in social settings. But this is undoing all of that.
“D-d-derogatory,” the truck driver mocks, laughing cruelly. “Can’t you use real words?”
“S-sir,” I know that my shaking is visible now, and the wobble in my voice gives away how close I am to breaking. “I’m s-sorry, but I’m g-going to h-have to ask you to l-leave.” I turn to Steph for backup, but she’s no longer behind me.
In fact, with a sinking feeling, I realize I’ve been left completely alone out here.
The grin on the big guy’s face when he sees me realize this is terrifying.
I try to console myself with the fact that it’s a packed house tonight. There are plenty of witnesses. This guy won’t get physical. He won’t.
“I’m not goin’ nowhere,” he says.
I can’t even remember what his initial complaint was at this point. All I know is I need him gone.
“L-look, sir, your b-bill’s comped, okay? J-just…head on out, all right?”
But he doesn’t do that. Instead he steps out of his booth and towards me, shaking his head. Then he reaches out and bunches his meaty fists into my shirt, and it’s all I can do to not wet myself in fear. “We’re not done talking.”
“Yes, actually, I think you’ll find you are. Now, let him go.” Ted’s familiar voice is firm as he steps up beside me, forcibly removing the guy’s hold on my clothes, and I fight back a sob. I don’t know when he got here or how much he’s seen, but the relief of having someone on my side -someone I know, someonesafe- rushes through me and makes my knees go weak.
“It’s okay,” Charlie also steps up to my other side and wraps an arm around me as though to keep me upright, “I’ve got you.” He pulls me away from where Ted is now arguing with the customer. My customer. My responsibility.
I shake my head, protesting even while I know that the only thing preventing me from collapsing right now is his strength. “I…I can’t…I’m at work…I…I have to…”
