Beefy Buns

"You don't think I know why you had me clean the top of the meat locker?" she demanded. "You think I'm too dumb to know why you wanted me to clean the same windows Carlos just cleaned two days ago? You think I'm unaware of your studying my ass from behind your desk as I wait on customers behind the counter?"

"I don't know what you mean," I told her.

"Then, let me make it clear for you," she said. "You're a voyeur."

"I'm nothing of the kind! That's the most preposterous--"

"You've subjected me to sexual harassment since I started working her," Mona contended, "and it stops here and now."

"I've never--"

"I have witnesses who will collaborate my allegations."

"Witnesses? Who?"

"You'll know their identities soon enough, if I have to go to court to get you to treat me like a human being instead of a piece of meat."

"Court?" I cried. "There's no need to go to court. Mona, really--"

"And I'm not walking the street with a Burger Buns sign."

The district manager might still be parked nearby, waiting to see Mona with the sign, I thought. On the other hand, he might have continued his journey by now. He might be well on his way to humiliating the manager of the next Beefy Buns on his route. "But what will I tell Mr. Moore?"

"Tell him I may have to work cheap, but I'm not a two-bit whore."

Thankfully, I never received another call from him. He must have been content to resume his rounds after telling me how to run my restaurant.

Later, a few minutes before my shift ended, Mona appeared in my office doorway. "I need some help in the meat locker," she informed me, her voice as frosty as the interior of the freezer to which she'd just alluded. Her gaze was cold, too. If I wasn't careful, she'd be running the place, I thought, and I'd be taking orders from her.

"What's wrong?" I asked brusquely.