could you do that?” He sounded really hurt.
“BlackArts doesn’t have to justify its personnel decisions to you,” Mohammed said, hating how it came out. It sucked being the boss when you had to parrot head office drivel.
“If you didn’t think that,” Dag said, “you wouldn’t have had me come in here to break it to me. Why should she be a shift and not me?”
Mohammed sighed, ready with the stock answers. “Heather’s got seniority. She’s been here nearly two years. You’re barely off probation.”
“This is totally bogus, and you know it.”
“No, it’s not,” Mo said, but now he was feeling defensive.
“I do more hours here than anybody,” Dag said. “I do more hours than any two other servers combined, I bet. In fact,” he was on a roll now, “I’ve done more of Heathen’s hours since I started than she has, plus my own. She’s barely ever here.” Mohammed didn’t have a ready reply for that. “And why couldn’t she tell me about this?”
Mohammed knew Dag knew the answer to that already. “Because we thought you might have a problem with it,” he said as gently as he could, “and it looks like we were right.”
“We?” Dag said. “Was Heathen too chicken to tell me herself, because she knows she doesn’t deserve it? Of course I have a problem with it!” he went on. Mohammed had never seen Dag pissed off before. “I’m the best worker you have! I can make the drinks quicker—and I can make them right. Were you aware that a bunch of your other stellar staff got together to give me a fucking intervention a week ago to tell me not to work so hard, because it was showing the rest of them up?”
Mohammed definitely did not know that and made a mental note to look into it. But he had his own counter. “Dag,” he said, “try and look at the big picture. This promotion means a little extra money for Heather. We’re helping to support an amateur athlete. They don’t have it easy, trying to make ends meet.”
Dag just glared for a second. “Oh, man,” he shook his head, “you couldn’t have picked a wronger thing to say, or a wronger guy to say it to.” His voice rose. “Why don’t you just write ‘Loser’ on my fucking apron?” he said. “I think maybe there’s also room for ‘That’s what you get for giving up your sport and daring to find gainful employment.’ Because what you’re saying,” Dag went on slowly and carefully, “is that you know she doesn’t deserve this on merit, but the company wants to throw her a bone based on something else she does—that she already gets separate recognition for—that isn’t even work-related! What the hell kind of rationale is that?” He was just about shouting now. Mohammed knew he had a point and didn’t cut him off. Dag should at least be allowed to get it out of his system. “Heathen’s got sponsorship deals and coaching gigs and prize money and other sources of income the higher she goes up that ladder! She chooses to do something else that takes her out of an hourly wage half the time, and you want to reward her for it? This is my only job! Does it occur to anyone that people like me don’t have it easy, making it on this paycheque!” Dag finished loud, and there was an uncomfortable silence in the little back room when he stopped.
Mohammed let Dag catch his breath before he asked, “Did you leave here last night with a whipped cream dispenser?” It was a low blow, but his only defense.
Dag looked stunned. “Well,” he said after a second’s pause, “I’m glad to see Heathen ratted on me, and not Maria. You see anything missing this morning?” he added.
Mohammed hated doing this. “And did you throw a mug across the store yesterday?” It was like pulling wings off a fly, but he had to address it.
Dag sat back in his chair, like he was loading up ammunition. “Heathen should really know better than to start up a holier-than-thou campaign.” But Mohammed had worked his way up from barista himself—he knew about the free espresso shots the servers took, and the extra-long breaks, but there’d always been an honour-among-junior-staff code in the shop as regards the odd freebie, and slacking off. Having already promoted Heathen, Mohammed couldn’t claw it back now, no matter what Dag said, or how much Mohammed appreciated his work ethic. And, abrasive as she could be, Mohammed liked Heathen, too.
“Did you?” Mohammed asked.
“I tripped,” Dag said, and they both knew how unconvincing it sounded. Dag moved like a cat around the shop, sure and confident of every task and every move. “The mug flew a couple of feet into the sink. It broke a couple of others that were in there. You want to dock my pay for all of it, go ahead.”
“No, accidents happen,” Mohammed said. “I’m not an asshole, Dag,” he went on. “You know I try to look out for you. I could get into serious trouble with Human Resources at Corporate for letting you do so many hours as a part-timer. And I wrote up your favourite mugs thing in a memo to head office as an incredible employee initiative.”
“Thanks,” Dag sighed. He didn’t sound grateful, but Mohammed understood.
“And before you go taking anything out on Heather,” Mohammed added, “you need to know two things. One, it wasn’t her who told me about the whipped cream. It was Carol from the bike and board rental place. She saw you leaving with Maria. I gather there was something on a personal level between you and Carol that didn’t end entirely to her satisfaction, and she felt like tattling.”
“Oh,” Dag said. His sheepish tone told Mohammed that was true.
“Two,” Mohammed said, “I wasn’t going to tell you this unless I needed to, but I guess I do. Heather wasn’t looking for a promotion, and I wasn’t looking to give her one. What she asked for from Head Office, and I know, because I wrote a letter in support, was athletic sponsorship. You know, they kick in some money every month, she wears the company logo when she competes—”
Dag nodded: yeah, yeah.
“And this was what they told me to do for her instead.” It was Mohammed’s turn to sigh. “I honestly don’t know what gets into them at Corporate sometimes. Hundreds of stores, expansion, millions of dollars in profit—” He shook his head, then rose from his chair. “Anyway, I think we’re done here for now, right?”
“Oh, yeah,” Dag said, “I’m definitely done.”
Mohammed didn’t like the finality of that as his star barista walked out of his office.
• • •
The Hero says unto you: Paramjeet Singh’s boss is gunning for him. If any of the Teeming Masses know Paramjeet in YVR, he could probably use a heads-up.
Nine
The November schedule was posted. As usual, Mohammed couldn’t keep up with the shift preferences of the staff, so as usual, Dag was immediately the most popular guy in the store. Being behind the counter working with him, Heathen got the unspoken first crack. But there was Ginette, off-duty, but hanging right at the end of the bar, lurking like a vulture, waiting her turn.
“Hey, Dag, I have an aerials clinic on November fifteenth,” Heathen said. “Can
