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“That’s just it, he doesn’t leave anything. He’ll take it all and then stuff won’t get done in time, and cars will have to hold over until tomorrow. Some of the other guys will take work, but it’s when I come up and challenge him for the work that he suddenly gets in a huff about it.”
Saundra sighed, conflicted. “I’m sorry. There’s no one you can talk to?”
Miles pursed his lips into a smirk and shook his head.
How did this always happen with him? She couldn’t understand it. To hear him tell it, he just kept to himself all the time, and trouble just found him. But every job? Every time? This was his fourth job in six months. She wanted to help, to give him some advice, but what could she possibly say to him? She knew he was trying his best, but it just made it so damn hard to defend him when her family started in on her to leave him already. They’d gotten through worse times. They’d make it through this.
It was selfish, but Saundra’s tired mind was ready to be done with all this stress and have life get boring for a little while.
Miles checked the small piece of paper he’d written the tire size on, then looked back up to the rack of new tires. In the storage area under the shop they used to store all of the tires, the air was filled with the smell of rubber. Rubber dust coated the floor, despite multiple sweeps every day.
Personally he enjoyed the smell. It was interesting, and reminded him of his childhood when he and his dad would work on cars together. Of course, that wasn’t why Miles worked in this shop. This was just another job, but at least he had a bit of experience to leverage in order to get it.
His work history looked so terrible. So many jobs over such a short period of time made him look like a bad investment. He knew how this worked. Employers had to weight the money lost during the training of a new employee and expect that employee to not only become functional and efficient, but to also work up the money lost, plus turn a profit for the company. It was basic economics.
The fact that Miles could rarely stay employed long enough to make up that money again made him as unattractive as the one-eyed girl at the prom.
He grumbled to himself as he searched for the damn set of tires that were supposed to be down there. If he had to go up and ask about them, he knew the attitude he’d get for it. What else was he supposed to do? The system said they were down here. He marked them for the order, and came down to get them. No one should’ve touched them. If they’re not there, it’s not like he can just magically conjure four damn tires out of thin air!
He’d have to speak to the supervisor about it. There was no way around it. Of course the supervisor would blame him for not being able to find the tires, or just tell him to put on another set. Of course, that wasn’t what the customer asked for and he—
Miles growled and punched one of the tires as his mind spun in circles. How did people do this? How could they go to work every day and just… deal with it? He couldn’t fathom it. Every place he worked was full of people treating him like a moron, treating him like he was less than them.
It was this way ever since he was a child, all through school, and now he had to deal with it as an adult. His father had been a criminal, a pretty infamous one, too. That wasn’t his fault any more than these missing damn tires! The customer ordered these four, the inventory said they had them, and he wasn’t going to give the customer something they didn’t order without informing them first. It wasn’t right. Such a small, stupid thing, but he knew it would bring a world of drama down on his head.
Miles ran up the stairs back to the shop. Pneumatic tools whizzed as the other techs loosened nuts and performed maintenance. Out of the corner of his eye, Miles just happened to notice four tires beside a car Blake was working on. The blue and yellow label on the tires was the same as the ones he was looking for. Blake had already given him grief over taking the four-tire job. If they could be done fast enough, they were pretty lucrative in the commissions. They’d almost come to blows over it, but now, had Blake taken the four tires Miles needed?
A white hot indignant rage broiled inside of Miles as he marched over to the stack of tires and checked the size against the paper. A match.
“Get away from my car,” Blake said, coming around the side.
“These are my tires.”
Blake opened his arms. “Doesn’t look like it. I need them for this order.”
Miles looked at the red sedan. It was clearly a family car, the basic steel rims were nowhere near large enough for those tires. “Bull,” Miles spat. “Let me see the order. Where is it?”
“Don’t worry about it, little man. Get back to work.”
“I am working!”
Miles scanned the immediate area, spinning in a small circle as he looked for the order sheet for the red sedan. He spotted it hanging against the toolbox. Blake tried to stop him, but Miles leapt over and snatched up the order form. It only took a second for him to find the tire model and size. It wasn’t even the right brand.
“Hah!” Miles threw the order form back at Blake. “I knew it. These are my tires and I’m taking them.”
Blake took up a socket wrench with an extended handle as he passed the toolbox. “No you’re not.”
The fact that Blake meant to intimidate him, that he thought so little of Miles made him so furious he could barely see straight. Struggling to stay in control of his anger, the adrenaline had nowhere to go, and just simmered in his muscles, making him shudder in his rage.
“You’re shaking,” Blake pointed out, a petulant little smile on his face. “Do I scare you?”
“Not even a little,” Miles said, and cursed his treacherous tongue for stuttering on the words, making him sound like a frightful liar.
“Huh, little boy? Do I scare you? Get back to your work and mind your own business.” Blake held the socket wrench ready, as though he meant to swing it.
It wasn’t so much that Miles thought about every man that thought he could beat him into submission. That would’ve taken too much time and too much brain power. Instead, it was instinctual. It was reflex. It was the culmination of every experience of attempted bullying that anyone had ever tried with him.
When Miles screamed, grabbed Blake by the coveralls, and spun him into his own tall, red, toolbox, Miles was simply responding how he knew he needed to respond to get men like Blake to understand.
