by K A Young
“We’re royally screwed,” I whispered as I began scouring the want ads. “There is absolutely nothing in here that we’re qualified for.”
“What, no bullshit man openings?” she mocked, earning her a look from the elderly couple seated on the other side of us. “Sorry,” she mouthed in their general direction, looking a bit embarrassed.
“Let it go, will ya? I was drunk!” I whispered a little too loudly. “You can’t hold someone to the nonsense they spew when they’ve had a few too many.”
“Let me see the paper.” Liz reached over to take the paper from me.
“Be my guest.”
“You never look thoroughly enough. You’re probably just skimming it.” She was miffed again.
“Ugh,” I groaned while picking up the bill and looking it over. Twenty-eight fifty. I should have ordered water and plain toast instead of the Momma's Pancake Breakfast. I blamed my lack of willpower on the hangover.
“Wait, look at this.”
As I glanced at the paper I laughed. “Chicken catchers?” The ad read Golden Kiss Farms, Inc. Chicken Catcher- openings on day and night shifts. With experience catchers may make over $10/hr. We offer group medical insurance, life insurance, a credit union, paid vacation and much more! Apply in person from 8:00 am to 5:00 pm at our personnel office. Day laborers also welcome. “Oh, I know where that is. Carrollton is only forty-five minutes from here.”
“Are you mental, Phoebe? Not that one.” Liz leaned over and showed me an ad that read Mailroom Clerks Wanted! She continued reading as I followed along. “Job requirements. Essential Functions/Responsibilities: Receiving and delivering incoming company mail to individuals and departments. Package and label outgoing goods. Provide building with necessary supplies. Follow time-sensitive pick-up and delivery schedule. Stock and supply company printers with paper and toner as needed. Assist with other mailroom tasks as needed.” She looked up from the paper. “We could do that.” I nodded, feeling encouraged as she continued. “Required Skills: Strong interpersonal/human relations skills.”
“Uh oh.” I interjected. She ignored me.
“Strong verbal communication skills. Computer skills: Excel, Word, and Outlook. Has to be self-motivated and positive.” She glanced up at me.
“What? I’m self-motivated!” Again she ignored my comment.
“Required Level of Education and Experience: High school education or equivalent.”
She paused, so I picked up where she left off. “Able to lift up to fifty to seventy pound boxes with correct form repeatedly throughout the day. Oh my God! We can’t do that!”
“Yes, we can and we will!” She finished the last line of the ad. “Please contact John Thomas at Anderson Media for more details.” Liz chastised me with her you’re being ridiculous look.
“Fine. But I say we should drive out to Carrollton and earn some cash to get us by until we land a better job,” I grumbled and slid out of the chair, snatching the check on my way up.
After we paid the bill Liz was beaming with hope and excitement. “We need to go home and ring this bloke immediately. I’d ring now except the wind noise is deafening while riding in Wilf.”
“So we’ll sit here then.” I took a vacant rocker on the front porch of the Cracker Barrel.
“Okay.” Liz sat down next to me and whipped out her phone. Setting the paper on her lap, she began dialing the number listed on her ad. God, I hoped this worked. A mailroom job wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I’d gain some real muscle tone, get in shape with all that lifting. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“What?” I leaned over. “They’ve filled the positions already?”
“No, it’s just a recording with directions to come in and apply. We don’t even need resumes.” She smiled, excited. “They start receiving applicants day after tomorrow.”
Oh no, this wasn’t a good sign but I wasn’t going to be a downer. We’d give it a shot. I smiled back at her as she was furiously writing down the address onto the paper before hanging up. “Where to now?”
“Home! We have to lay out our clothes for the interview.” She was up and marching with a purpose toward Wilf.
“Okay, but what about the chicken farm? We could catch some stupid chickens and make a little cash to get us by before the interview.” In normal situations I’d never suggest such a thing, but desperate times called for desperate measures. My bank account was on its way to being overdrawn and I knew what day laborers meant. Cash.
Liz blew out a breath, “Bloody hell!” She rubbed her forehead. “If we do this thing we must never and I mean never tell another living soul.”
“Promise, cross my heart.” I said as I made the motions across my chest. “It will be quick cash and then we’ll land better jobs and forget it ever happened.”
“Only because we are piss poor am I agreeing to this.” I nodded and gave her my serious look to show that I understood her completely. “As soon as this is done we’ll go home and lay out our best clothes for our real interview.”
“Uh, Liz. This isn’t that type of job interview,” I tried to explain as I caught up to her.
“We are going into this thing looking our best, Phoebe. We’re certainly not peaking with chicken catching!” She glared at me before crawling over into the passenger’s seat. Sighing, I slid into the car and started up Wilf.
~ ~ ~
Forty-five minutes later we’d found the chicken farm, a small mom and pop establishment that appeared to be family owned and operated. The personnel office was just a little farm building with a cardboard sign that read Chicken Catchers Apply Here. Liz, obviously a little panicked, looked ready to bolt. I got that, part of me just wanted to get back into Wilf and drive away like a bat out of hell. “Hey, you gals looking for work?” An older man in overalls asked before spitting a chunk of tobacco onto the ground at Liz’s feet. She took a step closer to me to get away and cringed.
“Um, we’re not sure.” I glanced around with trepidation. “We saw something in the paper about cash pay for daily work.”
“Yep, we pay cash and we’re a bit short on walk-in employees at the moment. We need five more able bodies for the next shift startin’ in thirty minutes. You gals want in?” He spit again. “Pays three hundred fifty if you can get them chickens in them cages before three.” Oh hell no, I didn’t—but I really wanted that three hundred and fifty dollars.
“Sure, we’ll do it!” I announced and Liz’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head.
“Great!” He spat again then yelled, “Bertha, we got two young ‘uns here for work!”
Liz and I both jumped as the large older woman came into view. She grinned, exposing an extremely crooked yellow smile. “You don’t say.” She looked us up and down. “City tarts.” She huffed, “Well, sure as hell beats us having to catch all them damn chickens by ourselves.” She waved an arm, “Come on, you two. I may have a pair of coveralls to fit ye.”
After she had led us into the back of the barn where old stiff coveralls hung on nails on the wall, Liz and I were left to change. “Oh shit, Phoebs. These are all disgusting! I don’t think I can do this.”
“Yes, you can—just think of the money we’re earning. That will pay all the utility bills for the month and we can breathe easy while we look for more suitable work.” I stuck my leg into a pair of the coveralls. Eeww. I was stooping to an all-time low here, wearing used clothing. I was going to have to bathe in bleach when I got home.
“Fine,” Liz grumbled after seeing my logic and yanked a pair of coveralls off a nail.
“That’s the spirit, Liz,” I tried to remain positive, at least on the outside.
“Come on, you tarts, time to get to work!” Big Bertha shouted.
“Now, you tarts see all them hens?” See them? There were hundreds of them all huddled together in the large barn. “When the tractor rolls in with them cages you need to pick them up and shove ‘em inside. If they get to feisty give ‘em a good shake and they’ll settle down.”
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br /> “But won’t that hurt the chickens?” Liz asked with a look of horror upon her face.
“Hurt ‘em?” She cackled, “Naw, they like it.” She cackled some more as five other guys in coveralls showed up. I began to wonder if we were going to have to split the three hundred and fifty dollars seven ways. Liz and I exchanged glances, both of us thinking we should bolt if that was the case. I was just about to get us some clarification when the tractor came rolling in and Big Bertha shouted, “Go! Don’t let ‘em escape!”
Liz and I waited a few minutes and watched as the other guys went after the clucking chickens. They somehow managed to grab them by the feet and shove them in the cages. The horrific odor coming from the barn made me feel ill. To say it was pungent was a massive understatement.
“What are you waitin’ on, tarts? Get your assess moving!” Big Bertha yelled her insults and the other guys were smirking and laughing at us.
No way in hell was I going stand by and be insulted, I gave Liz a determined look and ran into the amassed chickens. A cloud of white feathers impeded my vision but I was determined to do this job. Pride fueled me as I reached down with eyes squeezed tightly shut with intentions to carefully pick one of them up and slide him to the safety of one of the cages. Everything was going according to plan until my fingers made contact with the something rubbery, cool and moved with lightning speed began to claw the hell out of my hand. In pain and nearly in tears, my stomach began churning and I thought I was going to be sick. The odor was starting to get to me. It was probably hazardous to my health. A cackle to my left that I just barely caught due to the near deafening clucking and squawking going on incented me to continue despite my reservations. They should have provided us with gloves and gas masks; we needed like those giant ones I’d seen on TV that they use for tear gas. These chickens smelled worse than sulfur. This was an outrage; totally unworkable conditions, the health department would be hearing me later and I might even sue. That thought cheered me up a little. That laughter around me continued and that is was now loud enough to easily be detected really pissed me off. I’d show them, I show them all! “Come on you fucker, you’re not going to best me!” My shaky hands snaked in for another go, “Ouch!” I screeched as it began pecking my flesh with is bony little razor sharp beak. Holy hell, they were really starting to freak me out! I tried to shoo them away but that only seem to encourage the assault. They were gathering together like a pack, their little violent heads bobbing toward me, their beady little eyes full of fury. One of them landing a leg shot. “Dammit!” It felt worse than a hornet sting. No amount of money was worth this torture. Where was Liz anyway? I tried to run but they were all underfoot. Then a stray feather flew into my eye and I nearly lost all vision completely. “Liz! Help me! Oh dear God!” I wailed, I was definitely contracting some nasty unheard of disease from these creatures.
“I’m coming, Phoebe!” Liz gave out her war cry from somewhere behind me. She slammed into my back and we both went tumbling head first into the chickens, which triggered their attack.
If I’d known how vicious chickens were, I’d never suggested this asinine plan. As I tried to stand, wings began slapping me in my face with surprising force. The more I shooed the more the intense the assault became. My neck stung from being stabbed with a sharp object, that’s when I realized one of the chickens was tangled in my hair feet first. “Get off of me!” I shouted as I grabbed the evil fiend by the throat and chucked it! No one messes with Phoebe Hawkins and gets away with it! A scream ripped from Liz’s throat and my need to get us out of this mess took over. A program I’d seen on Animal Planet about looking larger than a predatory animal came to me and I decided to put the theory to the test. After I cleared my throat, I stood tall and tried to look big by spreading my legs wide and lifting my arms over my head then I roared like a lion and waited. The idiot chickens didn’t give a shit. Enough was enough! I lost it and started shouting and flailing my arms taking as many chickens out as I could manage until I found Liz, huddled in the fetal position protecting her head. Poor thing was covered in feathers and I think a little shit. It took me a second to calm my gag reflex then I grabbed her legs and began dragging her away from her feathered attackers.
Once we’d made it to safety I said, “Take those coveralls off Liz, we getting the hell out of here!”
Liz bolted upright and we began stripping the nasty garments off, tossing them in the dirt as we hauled ass to Wilf.
It wasn’t until we were back home, had showered, and were sitting in the living room under a blanket that either of us spoke. “Sorry, Liz,” I whispered.
“It’s okay. I can’t believe people actually do that sort of thing for a living.” A tear leaked down Liz’s cheek.
“Oh no, don’t cry, Liz. Did you get seriously hurt by the chickens?” Now I felt doubly bad about suggesting the stupid chicken farm.
“No. I got a few dings and scratches but nothing serious. I’m just feeling bad for the chickens.” She was serious. “I saw you knock a couple of them unconscious. I honestly don’t think I’ll ever eat chicken again.”
I lost it and began laughing uncontrollably. It only took a second for Liz to join me.
Lizbeth
Fake It Till You Make It
“Are you sure this is the place?” Phoebe asked me as we pulled up in the parking lot of a rather small warehouse.
After a quick MapQuest directions check on my phone I nodded. “Yes, 6860 Industrial Parkway.” She pulled around to the side of the building so we wouldn’t be seen exiting Wilf. I did my best to maneuver myself out of the driver’s side without tearing my stockings.
A few moments later Phoebe and I were sitting, along with a dozen or so of other applicants, in the small enclave they created for a waiting room. I’d felt so positive about this opportunity before arriving. Now as I got a look at competition I saw that they were much larger than Phoebe and I and had probably done this sort of work their entire lives. We’d dressed it up, putting on our best business attire. She had argued that we were going for a job in the mailroom and didn’t need to overdress. I’d contended that you always put your best foot forward when seeking employment. She still had her arse in her hands over it. Childish, I thought. After all we were in this predicament because of her in the first place and after the colossal failure that took place a couple of days ago that both of us swore never to mention again. She should have done what I asked with a giant-arse grin on her face!
An hour passed by and she and I still hadn’t spoken a word since we’d arrived. She sat there watching as the other people kept getting called ahead of us. She made a face at the way they were dressed, in jeans or cargo pants, every time one of them stood.
We were now the last ones in the waiting room. Despite the fact that I knew glancing Phoebe’s way was a bad idea I did it anyway.
“You see?” She snorted in disgust. “We look like idiots in our skirts and heels. We’re supposed to be able to lift fifty pounds over our heads. How the hell can we do that in three inch heels?”
"They won't expect us to do any lifting today, and when I go to interviews I dress to impress."
“Well, la-di-da Ms. Fancy Pants. You haven’t a clue.” She crossed her arms over her chest. I tugged my top a bit lower just to piss her off, but then noticed the scratch mark that was there and pulled it back up. Damn chickens.
"We'll go in together if they'll let us. Let me do the talking. And sit up straight."
“They’re not going to let us go in together and I am sitting up straight. This is just how I look.”
At that a tall gentleman came over to us and apologized for keeping us waiting. "I’m the temporary office manager, John Thomas.” He extended his hand toward me. “Please forgive me but we’ve had a system crash and since we were never formally introduced I’m at a loss.”
“Oh, I’m Lizbeth Bates.” I smiled and shook his hand. “This is Phoebe Hawkins.” I introduced Phoebe just to be on the safe side.
He
shook Phoebs’ hand next, “Nice to meet you both. Would you follow me please?”
Phoebe looked petrified and grumbled under her breath, “So much for landing this job. He's kicking us out.”
I shot her a look that said, He wouldn’t be apologizing and asking our names if he were kicking us out! Keep your cool, Phoebs—follow my lead. My ability to mock her with my eyes was a talent I’d perfected over the years through our Skype conversations.
“It’s been a hectic day. I’m sure you both know how that can be.” Why he shared his day with us was baffling to say the least.
“We certainly do understand,” I replied with as much confidence as I could muster. Then I turned to Phoebe and shrugged.
We followed him in the opposite direction than the others had gone, down the hall and into a corner office. "You can’t know how pleased we are that the two of you reconsidered the offer. There must have been a breakdown in communication. Gary is out on vacation and no one relayed the message to me that you both were coming in today. A mistake on our part, I’m sure.” He smiled awkwardly as Phoebe and I remained standing at the realization that he was mistaking us for two other people. He was mistaking us for someone else. Phoebe and I made eyes at each other. We could do this. If the other two didn’t want the job, whatever it was we should take it. How hard could it be? She was ready to bolt; I could see it written all over her face. No way. “Oh please, have a seat,” he blurted, understanding his blunder. “Can I get you a drink before we go over a few things?"
“That would be lovely.” I sat there like a Muppet fighting my own bout of nerves. ”Coffee please, no sugar.” I glanced over at Phoebe. She was the spitting image of a deer in headlights.