“Ohhhh!” Archer shook his head a bit, like he was communicating to himself. I was already starting to sense that there might be something off about him. Maybe this is his first job and he’s just nervous? It was odd thinking about a guy who was a facsimile of my childhood bullies being on edge.
“First you need to change though,” I told him. “It’s company policy that you have to be wearing coveralls when you are handling or packing food. Nobody wants to find a broken button in their granola.”
He nodded like I’d said something profound. To be honest, we were supposed to wear hair nets too, but I never bothered since they were so uncomfortable. I knew I could always toss one on quickly if Mr. Evans popped in for a surprise visit – though I was pretty sure he never would.
“Let me go grab one for you.” I left him there while I headed to the supply closet. I rummaged through a cardboard box of new coveralls. There were only four sizes; I dug around until I found one that was labeled “Large/XL – Tall.” It had always bothered me that they had a tall option, but not one for short people. I had to cuff my pants legs to keep them from dragging on the floor.
When I got back, Archer was reading some of the comic strips that had been taped on the wall behind the desk for so long they were yellowing. He let out a giggle as he scanned one of the Garfield clippings. Realizing that I was watching him, he turned towards me.
“Here you go,” I said, holding out the rolled-up coveralls in my hand.
“Thanks, B,” he said, then paused for a moment. “Where do I go to change?”
The question made me uncharacteristically annoyed for some reason. It could have been that I was starting to worry that he was going to need a lot more handholding than I wanted to give. I had hoped to get him up to speed as soon as possible so we’d both have downtime – me for my reading, and him for sexting cheerleaders or something.
“I mean, it’s not like we have a bathroom,” I said in a tone dripping with sarcasm. “It’s a shame the locker room is being renovated, too.”
“Wow, really?” he asked. “They just upgraded the locker rooms at Winston High. I got to see them when I was there for the state wrestling finals. They were pretty badass.”
What the…? Is this kid trying to out-sarcasm me?
“Yeah,” I said rolling my eyes. “I’m really excited about the new hot tub.”
“Hell yeah! I hope I’m still working here by then.”
A huge grin was plastered on Archer’s face. I shook my head and looked back at the papers I’d been examining earlier. I had no desire to deal with a smartass jock.
Okay, thirty-three pick-up boxes. Fifteen of them are pre-paid so they need that label on them. Make sure to check the country loaves since they’ve needed more quality control lately. Two-hundred and thirty delivery orders. Forty of them are express.
“What are you doing?” Archer asked.
“I’m…”
I glanced up. He had already pulled off his skin-tight Polo shirt. His jacked, smooth torso practically shone under the fluorescent lights. I lost my train of thought. He’s a fucking superhero. He had an eight-pack; I knew it was possible, but I’d never seen one in real life.
“What… what are you doing?” I asked, repeating the same question back at him.
“I’m changing into my uniform.” He shook his head like I’d just asked the stupidest thing imaginable. His fingers fiddled with the button on his jeans while he looked at me.
“Why aren’t you doing it in the bathroom?”
He let out a loud laugh; he began to push the denim down his massive thighs. The light blond down on them looked like miniature waves of grain in a midwestern field.
“I’m not driving all the way home just to change in my bathroom! I think Mr. Evans wouldn’t be too happy if I wasted my time like that.”
Huh? I don’t…
Archer stepped out of his pants. Then he just stood there. I doubted he felt awkward, since changing around other guys was something jocks did all the time. He was wearing green plaid boxers. My eyes darted to his crotch before rushing back to his face. I didn’t look for too long, but I had already gauged that his cup was definitely running over.
“I meant here,” I said feeling exasperated. “Why didn’t you just change in the bathroom here?”
“You said there wasn’t one.”
“Of course, there is. What type of business doesn’t have a bathroom?”
Archer furrowed his brow. It reminded me of an expression I sometimes made in AP Calculus. Then his face warmed up as he grinned to himself.
“I get it!’ he said. “It was a joke. Earlier, when you said there wasn’t a bathroom – it was a joke!”
He looked just as pleased as he had been staring at the Garfield panel in which the orange menace declared, “I don’t like Mondays.” His bright smile lit up the space.
“So, what’s that, anyways?” Archer asked again, nodding back at the papers in my hands.
“It’s a breakdown of all the orders we need to complete today. It separates them out into different categories.”
Archer began to walk towards me. I felt nervous seeing his muscle-bound body approach. It reminded me of the asshole jocks who’d given me wedgies in the locker room before gym class before I’d learned to hide from them. It also made me feel something else, too – a warmth in my stomach that I’d never quite felt around another guy before.
“That sounds complicated. Where does it say all of that?”
He was standing so close to me that his right bicep was brushing against my shoulder. I surreptitiously peered at his abs while pretending to look at the paper in front of me. I wondered what he did to get them; I’d never seen a stomach that defined on a guy who wasn’t an action movie star, let alone someone my age.
“Well… the rows that have the letter ‘D’ next to them are delivery orders that we’ll need to ship. The ones with ‘P’ next to them are for customer pickup. If you see an asterisk next to the letter ‘D,’ it means a rush order, so we have to make a special shipping label.”
“That’s the little star, right?”
“What?”
“The ‘ask Rick’ – that’s that little star thing?”
I couldn’t help it; I started chuckling. It was just too absurd. Ask Rick?
Archer nudged me with his elbow. “What’re you laughing at?”
“Nothing. Just something silly on the order sheet.”
“Oh…”
He can’t be this stupid. Nobody is this dumb. Maybe he’s high? I peered up into his eyes; the blue in the irises was so pure. They didn’t appear to be bloodshot, and the pupils weren’t dilated. I hadn’t smelled anything on his clothes earlier.
I was confused. He felt like a puzzle. How can a high school senior be so obtuse? Maybe he got the athlete grading curve? If he’s good enough at football and wrestling, I doubt anyone at his school even cares if he can count to ten.
After I determined he wasn’t on any drugs, I realized his gigantic pecs were right at my eye level. The sense of discomfort deep within me started to rise to the surface.
“You wanna get dressed?” I asked it in a way that made the intentions obvious. It was clear that I felt annoyed by the tone of my voice. Well, it should have been clear.
“Nah, I’m fine.”
I believed him; he didn’t give one crap in the world about standing there in his boxers. He had a perfect body, and it appeared he’d never developed any shame. He probably thought it’d be more of an inconvenience to get dressed in that moment, rather than doing it after I finished showing him what I was doing with the order summary.