Current Day
Someone deliberately bumped my shoulder, hard, as I stepped back behind the bar, and I took a moment to glare at them.
“Stop glaring at the customers,” Shawna muttered. “You’re supposed to make them like you, remember?”
Oh. Yeah. Right. Smile and make myself appealing to people, because customer service jobs sold smiles, not just services. Haha, very funny.
This was a stupid job and I hated it, but at least it paid the bills. I was good at making drinks and often got requests for new mixtures, and making drinks by itself wasn’t so bad, but the part of my job I hated was all the people. If I could just mix the drinks and let Shawna or one of the other bartenders handle the customers, it would actually be a decent job, but no, I was expected to smile and make nice with idiots and jerks and pretend like I didn’t notice how rude they were. Okay, some of them weren’t that bad, but some of them made my life a pain and I often found myself wishing I’d opted for something that didn’t involve so many…people.
I spent the rest of the night making drinks and trying to ignore the stupid comments, gritting my teeth when some of the more drunk customers happened to say something about how I looked or complain about how I wasn’t bright and bubbly. The only upside for me was that there was a certain clientele that did like the mysterious, antisocial, dangerous type of person, so those people at least liked me regardless of how I behaved. Finally, though, the day was done and I was allowed to head home. I stopped at a 24-hour deli on the way home to get a sandwich, then rode the elevator up to my studio apartment and dropped down onto the couch with a bit of a groan. My hip was getting worse, and that probably meant a trip to my doctor, unfortunately. I had a bad suspicion that I knew what he was going to say about it, and if I was right, it was going to be a bit of a mess.
I flipped on the TV while I ate, keeping the volume low, and just watched whatever mindless show was on until it was time for me to sleep. Another day not doing anything particularly interesting. Just…surviving. But that was how my life had been for ages now, and the upside was that at least I was surviving. I couldn’t always even say that much.
Within a couple of weeks, though, I ended up having to go to my doctor about my hip, and the verdict was pretty much what I expected.
The doctor pulled up some images on his computer screen to show me. “Your hardware is failing again. Unfortunately, that means we need to do another hip replacement surgery.”
Right, an expensive surgery I couldn’t really afford and then weeks off to deal with recovery. Unfortunately, given how long I’d lived, I’d had to go through this several times by now, and I was just tired of dealing with it. Yes, I had money saved, and technically I could afford it if I used my savings, but it’d mostly wipe them out, and I didn’t want to do that. I liked to keep those funds available just in case I ever needed to relocate without warning – moving and changing lives was expensive. While the chances of actually needing to do that were hopefully low, I didn’t want to get caught needing to move but not being able to, so now it became a matter of which one was riskier – not getting the surgery, or not having emergency funds for moving in case that became necessary.
“What happens if I don’t do it?” I interrupted his discussion of scheduling.
He paused, clearly not expecting that question. “It’s – it’ll only get worse. Eventually you’ll end up in a wheelchair or bedridden, most likely, given the situation. It’ll also decrease the likelihood of success once you do have the surgery.” He paused for a second, looking troubled. “We can arrange a payment plan, if that would help. Madden,” he added when I didn’t look convinced, “I’ve been treating you for, what, 30-some years now? And I’ve seen your records from before that. I know it’s not an easy surgery and you’re probably sick of it, but unfortunately there just aren’t other good options here. I would like to say supernaturals could come up with something more long-lasting given our lifespans, but so far that hasn’t been the case. Here,” he printed off some stuff, put it in a folder, and handed it to me. “I have information about funding programs and about the consequences of not getting surgery, although the details are a little different in your case.”
Yeah. Details. It wasn’t really even about me being a naga, it was about enough of my bones being crushed during that fight, decades ago, that they’d had to practically reconstruct part of my skeletal system there. And let’s not even get into what effect that had on my naga form.
“I’m tired,” I told him quietly. “Tired of doing this over and over again. I’m already older than most naga.”
“True,” he granted, “but you could still easily live 80, 90 more years? Somewhere around that. I know this is an issue for you, but apart from that, you’re in good health. I realize it’s hard and I wish there was something I could do to make it simpler, but don’t give up just because you’re tired.” He hesitated. “What about a nest? You still haven’t thought about joining one?”
I gave him an eyeroll for his concern. “Even if I was interested, no nest would be excited about having me. Nests want to make sure they’re strong, with no weak links. I’m a naga who is half blind, can’t use my naga form anymore, and has a bad hip, meaning I can’t reliably use that leg in a fight – either using it itself or risking balancing on it. So I’m sort of limited to whatever I can do with my arms. Given everything, all a naga nest would ever see is a liability. I’m not ideal in a fight anymore and I can’t exactly bring other skills to the table, like, I don’t know, accounting or something. Something useful to the nest. Ergo, I’m not a strength to the nest. So no, no nest would accept me, even if I wanted into one.”
He sighed. “I wish I understood,” he grumbled, “but I suppose us familiars are rather different that way. We don’t really have any nest or extended family or pandemonium or whatever. Just ourselves. Anyway,” he nodded back at the folder, “please think about it, Madden. You’re still fairly young yet. I know you’ve been dealt a rough hand and you might not see the value in doing this again, but trust me – being bedridden would be worse. At least now you’re independent still.”
He knew I valued that. I hated the idea of having to depend on anyone else for support, which was part of the reason I was so anti-naga-nest. Well, that and what my nest had been like growing up. There was a reason I just didn’t deal with naga nests anymore.
Thankfully, the two nests in town were aware I lived here but didn’t care. I’d heard they were actually talking about combining into one big nest, but since I was just a solo naga and didn’t bother picking fights with any of their members – kind of risky, given my situation – they were more than happy to just pretend I didn’t exist.
I left the doctor’s office, sighing a bit as I headed towards the bus stop. Great. Hip replacement surgery again. That would be, what, the 3rd? 4th? I wasn’t even sure anymore. I knew I hated it, hated the recovery time, hated the money involved. It was hard to see the whole thing as being worth it just to keep working at the bar, dealing with customers I hated. But that was my life right now, and all I could foreseeably have in the future, so…keep living that, huh? Get the surgery just to keep dredging out a life I didn’t love? That I didn’t even like?
I sighed a little to myself as I got off the bus at my building, heading towards the elevator. My skills had always revolved around being competent in combat. I wasn’t a complete wash in combat anymore, but getting a job based around that idea was impossible – no one would risk hiring someone who would seem like more of a liability than an asset. With that out of the picture, I didn’t really have anything else left to offer. I’d tried going to college a while back, but that had failed spectacularly, then I’d tried a trade school, hoping that since I was better with my hands than my brain that I’d be able to find something that could work for me. It wasn’t like I could try all the potential trades available, but I had learned that being half blind hadn’t helped with the ones I’d tried. Somedays, I still searched the internet, hoping I could find something that would sound interesting and within my abilities, but so far…not so much.
Back in my studio apartment, I dumped the folder on the counter and lowered myself onto the couch, putting my head in my hands. Now what? The last time I’d needed this surgery, I’d been working at a better job with benefits, but mine barely had any, and definitely wouldn’t let me be out of work for several weeks during recovery. With pay, anyway. They’d let me quit and not work for several weeks that way. Yet the job also didn’t pay well enough that I could just save up enough to cover the surgery and weeks off on my own, without dipping into my savings. So…it was a mess.
I didn’t come to a solution, just got more and more frustrated the longer I thought about it. I didn’t want to use my savings, but I needed to do it, yet I hated the idea, but what choice did I have? Sometimes I really missed the days when I could take better-paying jobs that were potentially a little riskier because they involved physical danger.
Reaching maximum frustration level, I decided to forget about the problem for a bit. I went over to where I kept a punching bag and worked on it for a bit, until my hip started to ache too much, then took a shower and sat down at the table, where I put on some safety glasses and then began a painstaking process of setting up an entire diorama – of sorts – on my table until I was satisfied. One touch of the soldering iron to the corner, and I watched as a spark lit and tiny flames began to eat at the miniature building. Within moments, the entire diorama was up in flames and I just sat there, watching, my frustrations begin to ebb lower with every building that burned. I wasn’t exactly planning to start fires out in the real world or anything, but being able to destroy something so thoroughly was somehow satisfying. Probably some part of the naga side of me that liked combat, something I wasn’t really allowed to have anymore. I still needed to watch things burn somehow.
Once all the flames were out, I cleaned up the ashes of the diorama, prepared supper, and then, after some more inane TV, headed to bed.
Such a fascinating, fulfilling life.
~~~~~
Shawna motioned me to hurry up. “Come on, Boss wants us to handle this, and you know she’s going to be upset if we don’t get back there by opening.”
I groaned a little as I tried to pick up my pace, ignoring the aching in my hip. “Then she could have sent someone else,” I grumbled. “We’re bartenders, not delivery people.”
“We’re just picking up the samples for the renovations,” she reminded me, “and you’re coming with me because I don’t trust these guys to actually listen to a word I say. Last time they came by and measured everything, they made it perfectly clear that they thought a woman couldn’t have an opinion on anything related to their work. Don’t have any idea how that works with Boss being a woman, since she gets the final say on colors and patterns and all that, but hey, point is, they could downright cheat me on the cost and it wouldn’t even matter if I called them out on it.”
I sighed heavily. Right, some of those kinds of jerks. Shawna wasn’t the kind of woman who really cared much about what men like that thought, but she also knew that having me with her would just simplify the whole process instead of having to fight them for who knew how long, resulting in them calling Boss and then being told to go along with what Shawna said anyway. I mean, it was clear Shawna would win the argument in the long run, but these guys were just too misogynist to realize that yet. Still, bringing me with her might save a couple hours of that whole arguing process and would make everything simpler. I just…wished it didn’t need to involve me. It was kind of annoying.
We got to the fancy building and rode up to the contractors’ office. Shawna marched up to the receptionist’s desk and explained what she wanted, while I stood there with my hands shoved in my pockets and tried not to look too bored.
We were ushered into a conference room and the guys appeared with their swatches and sketches and whatever, which Shawna immediately began looking over.
“No,” she pulled out one of the swatches, “we specifically told you we didn’t want this color. It’s already been shot down. And this,” she tapped on one of the sketches, “totally different from what Boss asked for. Did you even read her specifications? Half of this is all wrong. This one and this one are okay,” she began separating out some of the sketches and swatches, “but the rest of these won’t work. We can start with the ones that are okay and you’ll need to go back to the drawing board for these others.”
One of the men made an incredulous sound. “We’re the designers, honey, we know what we’re doing. You’re a bartender – we don’t tell you how to do your job, so don’t tell us how to do our job.”
Shawna narrowed her eyes as she fixed the guy with a piercing glare. “First, don’t honey me, I ain’t nobody’s honey. Second, I happen to be here on behalf of your client and I just so happen to be fully aware of her expectations for this work, so don’t you go telling me I shouldn’t be telling you how to do your job. You’re not doing it, for one thing, and no you clearly don’t know what you’re doing or you wouldn’t be showing me things that have already been rejected and are nothing like what your client asked for.”
The guy was starting to look pissed off. “Now see here, honey,” he began.
That was my cue to step in before Shawna gave him a tongue-lashing that would make him whimper and go crying to his momma. “The lady asked you to not call her that,” I piped up, leaning against the wall but crossing my arms, allowing a cold smile to come onto my face. I might not be able to fully jump into combat anymore – not that it was necessarily even appropriate under the circumstances – but that didn’t mean I couldn’t act the part when I needed to. “So…don’t.”
The man glanced at me, about to protest, but one look at my face and he gulped, apparently feeling the danger there.
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