Manny stuck a large cup under the cola spout of the drink fountain and pushed the button. The syrupy sludge fell over the ice, popping and fizzing and producing a cloud of Coke-scented vapor. His eyes drifted to the clock on the wall. 2:55. Close. He ran the drink to the drive-thru and bagged it.

“We need three Sprites with the next order, Manny,” Deena said, as she closed the window.

“On it.” He slipped by Sharon, who was running sandwiches and fries, and got the Sprites going. Again, his eyes went to the clock: 2:56. So close. The last hour had felt like an entire shift, made even worse by them being shorthanded. Two people had called in sick at the last minute, leaving them scrambling through the lunch rush.

Manny capped the drinks and took them to Deena. “Here are your Sprites. The next one will be my last run.”

“What? Manny, we’re already backed up, can’t you stay a little longer?”

“They’re not paying me to stay a bit longer and I have other obligations. What the next order?”

Deena kissed her teeth. “Two regular Diet Cokes and one large Sprite.”

“Cool.” He got the drinks together and ran them to the drive-thru. The clock struck three as he made his way back to the front. He eased his apron over his head as he made a beeline for the break room, and the action felt like lifting a hundred-pound weight from his body. Finally.

“Delgado!”

Manny stiffened, his shoulders bunching up to his neck. Dear God, please, no. He turned to meet the gaze of shift manager Marcie. Her face was reddened and glistening from having to jump in the fray and help with the dining room orders. Stands of brown hair stuck out from under her cap and crisscrossed over her hazel eyes, and sweat soaked the collar of her shirt.

“Did you clean that mess in the back?” she asked.

His jaw ticked, but he reined in his temper and swallowed the vitriol sitting on his tongue. “We’ve been shorthanded this entire shift. I’ve been running for the drive-thru and the dining room on top of mopping the floors and clearing tables.”

“I didn’t ask for excuses. I asked if you cleaned the mess in the back. I told you at the top of your shift to make sure it was cleaned up before you leave.”

By now, all of his coworkers were watching the exchange, and watching for them meant leaning their bodies in closer as they manned their stations or making excuses to walk by.

“Marcie, listen—”

“Am I going to have to write you up again?”

Manny took in a breath and held it until his lungs screamed. The pain reminded him to keep his cool, despite how much he wanted to rage. A lot of anger sat on his chest, and on days like this, it clawed its way up his throat in an attempt to escape.

But he kept it down, even though it clouded his lungs like acrid smoke. He kept it down, because like his coworkers who could only look on, who could only give him pouts of pity and words of encouragement, he needed this shitty job.

Asarr’s Idris Elba checks would stop at some point, and he’d still need to keep up with rent, bills, and food for both him and his cat.

“No, Marcie. I’ll get it done.” His apron was fisted so tightly in his hands, it was a wonder it didn’t rip. He didn’t wait for her to say anything, and turned on his heels with stiff, robotic movements before disappearing in the back.

“And clean the ice maker while you’re at it!” she called after him.

As soon as he was out of sight, he slammed his apron on the ground and leaned against the wall. He scrubbed his face with his hands, groaned out loud, and checked his watch. 3:04. Cleaning up the mess from earlier would take close to an hour.

Someone had tried to balance a load of patties, cheese, and condiments and wound up slipping on the drip from the ice machine. Now it looked like a food bomb went off. Splatters of mayo and mustard speckled the ground, accented by patties and cheese slices.

He couldn’t shoot Asarr a message to put off their meeting since they had a stupid no phones on the floor policy, and he’d have to walk past Marcie to get to the break room.

Manny sighed. He needed to work fast.