Chapter Three
Boss Woes
On a gloomy Tuesday that threatened more rain, Giselle drove to her job at the local auto dealership.
She parked and stepped across the huge lot showcasing new and used vehicles.
Sedans, SUVs, trucks, and vans of all makes and models packed the area.
Despite the chance of a downpour, several customers browsed the selection looking for a trade-in or deal on a fresh purchase.
As a customer service rep for the auto dealer, this job didn’t represent her goals in life.
Only nineteen, she desired to study digital marketing and graphic design, but a tiny bank account prevented such things for the time being.
Settling for desk work while wearing fake smiles and listening to whiny car buyers had to suffice for now.
The only upside took place when the company allowed her to draft advertisements for their website.
Giselle grew thrilled over the chance to design a few ads.
This duty had not been written into her job description.
She received zero pay for her efforts as the company took advantage of her skills.
However, the opportunity to practice her calling and gain access to design software provided invaluable experience.
“Hey Giselle, tough game last week, but you were amazing,” Ralph said as she pushed through the glass doors and into the showroom floor. As her coworker, the two had quickly become friends when she first started nearly a year ago.
“Thanks,” she replied. “There’s a game this afternoon to determine who my team will face in the losers bra—I mean, for third place.”
Ralph smiled beneath his blond curls, his hazel eyes bright. “None of that loser talk, Giselle. The Rapids played their butts off in this hard league, and third place is still admirable. You got it in the bag.”
“I appreciate the support,” she said, walking alongside him to her small office. She glanced around, a small rock of anxiety building in her gut. “Is the boss in?”
Ralph frowned in disgust. Just mentioning the boss to anyone on the staff would have triggered the same reaction.
Nigel, the owner of the dealership, represented the epitome of a bad boss.
Nothing satisfied the jerk, even when sales were good.
He grumbled about everything and enjoyed humiliating employees in public to stroke his own ego.
“Yeah, he’s around,” Ralph spat. “I’d like to tighten his tie for him.”
Giselle laughed as she sat at her desk. “I’ll hold him down while you do it.”
“Awesome,” he said. “I’ll be in my closet next door.” Ralph stepped away to head for his own tiny office nearby.
Giselle inspected her cluttered desk. Empty coffee cups, stacks of paper, notepads, snack wrappers, and other loose items created a messy workstation.
She had to move things aside and flip pages over to find the wireless mouse, which had hidden next to a Ding Dong wrapper.
She logged into the computer and checked her assignments for the day.
“Late!” a voice hollered from the doorway.
Giselle jumped. Her heart hammered and ears cringed at the sound of Nigel’s grating voice.
She looked up at the dark-suited, pudgy man.
Despite the cool weather, a sheen of sweat always coated his pale face as if summer baked the dealership.
His eyes could bore through steel, and his presence alone activated nervous butterflies in her belly.
“I was not late,” she stated politely. “I arrived on time, and Ralph can vouch for it.”
“You don’t work for Ralph, you work for me,” Nigel remarked, his cheeks flushed as she dared defend herself.
“Your car may have pulled into the parking lot on time, but you arrived late since you stopped to chat with Ralph.” He pointed at the clock.
“You just logged in, which means you are late. I’m writing a memorandum for record on this.
That’s twice this month. You want to lose your job, don’t you? ”
If I lose my job, it won’t be due to tardiness. It will be because I hit you in the face with a Ding Dong. Giselle smiled at the thought. Nigel’s face reddened again at her grin, more than likely thinking she had blown off his threat.
“Of course not,” she replied gently, fighting to keep her tone even. “I will be more cognizant of the hour and will not arrive late anymore.”
“Next time you do, someone else will be sitting in your chair!” The boss turned and headed out.
Trying to calm down, Giselle reached for a coffee that wasn’t there. Gah! I really didn’t have time to stop for a hot drink this morning. She sighed. Going to be a rough day.
She spent the next several hours going over paperwork with customers who purchased a vehicle. She also handled a pissed off client who returned a recent acquisition, the person claiming unhappiness for some reason or another after a couple days of driving the car.
Nigel stopped by on occasion to drop a heavy stack of folders on her desk.
He also sent her chiding emails about her work ethic, even though she completed every assignment on schedule and produced quality results.
Giselle ignored his false accusations and pushed through her tasks.
Maybe I should kick a soccer ball at him!
Her shift finally ended, and she performed a few stress-relieving stretches behind the desk before grabbing her things.
In the restroom, she changed into comfortable jeans and a light sweater over a t-shirt.
Checking her phone, she saw the game had already started and would have to hurry.
Giselle clocked out of the dealership and jumped in her car to head for Stone Bluff Sports Park.
She rolled into the parking lot near the field but didn’t look for a spot just yet.
She cruised slowly between each aisle while searching for Tony’s car, the blue sedan she had seen him climb into after hitting him with the ball.
In his note, he had mentioned witnessing her “bad habits” during several games.
That meant he must have been refereeing all season for multiple teams. Giselle hoped he’d be here tonight as her plan of vengeance depended on it.
Smiling in triumph, she found his ride near the corner of the lot.
She then looked for a space and found one in the adjacent row.
Giselle grabbed a plastic bag from the passenger seat and glanced at the soccer ball inside, the very one she had struck him with.
In return, Tony had stuffed the grimy thing in her gym bag.
The mud had dried by now into hardened patches of dirt, but soon the ball would be a goopy mess again.
Bag crinkling in her grip, Giselle exited her car and walked to the playground close by.
The rain had held off for the day, which meant no mud or filthy puddles soiled the field.
She found a drinking fountain near the public restroom, then soaked the ball beneath a steady stream of water.
Next, she strolled to the sand pit that housed the swing set and slide.
Squatting, she rolled the ball in the sand and slapped handfuls of grit all over its surface to get the ball nice and dirty.
Feeling like a TV spy on a mission, she hurried back to the parking lot and Tony’s car. Humming a silly tune, Giselle rolled the ball across the hood to leave a few streaks of muck. She then lifted one of the windshield wipers and set the ball beneath it to hold in place.
She wiped her hands on her jeans. “You dirty my clothes, I dirty your car. And I don’t need advice on how to strike the ball. But here’s some return guidance, Tony Rinaldi.” She pulled out a note and reviewed her scribbled words.
Just some instruction for you, Rinaldi. As a line judge, you should do better with your flag signals.
For throw-ins, you’re not holding the stick at a proper 45-degree angle.
And when getting the head referee’s attention for play calls, you’re supposed to hold the flag straight overhead and wave or snap it.
Your lazy flag gesturing is unprofessional and a sign you don’t take your job or the sport seriously.
I recommend some YouTube videos to improve your technique.
Giselle
Grinning, she wedged the note on the wiper next to the ball. The task done, she headed for the bleachers to watch the game between the Blue Crush and Infinity. My fellow loser bracket teams. I don’t really care who wins at this point.
She checked the scoreboard and saw the match tied at one goal apiece.
She glanced up into the packed seats. The fans cheered the ongoing play, shouted encouragement, and waved homemade signs.
Many people wore clothing displaying their favorite team.
Children waved pompoms, their faces painted in blue stripes in support of Blue Crush or marked by sideways figure-eights to cheer for Infinity.
Emotional warmth bubbled inside Giselle’s chest as she observed the energetic crowd.
Some of these fans consisted of the players’ friends and family.
Others represented devoted locals from here in Wood Hollow or loyal followers from distant cities.
All displayed equal enthusiasm for this match, their enjoyment evident through elated expressions and animated body language.
Sudden guilt stabbed Giselle. She lowered her head slightly in shame.
She had criticized the “losers bracket” and stated her uncaring attitude toward the game.
However, these great fans attended faithfully and cheered as if the World Cup had appeared in town.
As a player and representative of the Rapids, she had a responsibility to the followers and the league.
Moping over her loss against the Bolts and dragging her feet didn’t reflect well on others… and especially herself.
I’m better than this. I want to put on a good show for these fans when it’s time for me to take the pitch. I wouldn’t be here without them.
Accepting the situation of battling for third and feeling proud over still having the chance to play, she nodded in determination before climbing the bleacher steps. Giselle didn’t make it far before realizing it would be difficult to find a seat. She glanced around but didn’t see any spaces.
About to turn around and head for another section, a strong hand gripped her wrist. Giselle looked down and found Janice seated next to the steps. The Bolt player’s face held no emotion, her ice-like features unmoving.
“Sit,” the girl said. She released her grip and scooted over to make room on the bench.
Giselle hadn’t noticed her while climbing the bleachers. Glad for the seat and not having to wander around like a fool, she plopped down next to the stoic Bolt. Janice reached over and intertwined her hand with a pretty girl on her opposite side.
“This is my roommate, Marissa,” Janice said in a robotic tone.
Giselle smiled and exchanged a greeting with Marissa, who then dove back into her popcorn.
Remorse rushed over Giselle as the girls appeared to be a couple.
Does the shower incident mean anything? Not to me, as I’d rather forget about it.
But I hope it doesn’t cause trouble for them.
Or maybe they’re not together? Open relationship? Eh, not my business.
“Thanks for the seat,” she said to Janice. “I just got here, unfortunately. Looks like it’s been a good match so far.”
“Yeah, I’m impressed by some of the play from both sides,” Janice responded, her eyes focused on the field. “Really, any one of these teams could have been in the finals.” She glanced at Giselle. “Even the Rapids.”
Giselle smirked. “Who do you think we have a better chance at defeating?”
Janice scanned the field again, her brow furrowed in thought.
“Number eight and eleven on Infinity would give you trouble. Their team’s passing is crisp and effective, but too slow on attack.
Blue Crush has great movement on their offense, but their midfielders are lacking on support.
Their goalkeeper is a damn wall.” She paused for a moment.
“I think the Rapids would do better against Infinity.”
“Then that’s who I’ll cheer for,” Giselle remarked. “Thanks for the eval, sideline reporter.” The barest hint of a smile appeared on Janice’s face. “What about the Bolts? Are you prepared to face the Lancers for the championship?”
The girl shrugged. “Ready as we’ll ever be. My knee has been acting up, so I hope it’ll be fine for the final next week. For now, I’m enjoying this match and supporting the league. Great crowd tonight.”
Giselle looked away toward the field. Janice’s statement mirrored her own thoughts about desiring to do better as a player and league representative.
However, Janice already understood her role.
Having punched a ticket to the county championship, the Bolt now provided her free time and attention to support the losers bracket—including the Rapids—and the fans.
Giselle abruptly having an epiphany about her own part to play made her “late to the game”, so to speak. She experienced another twinge of shame, and she admired the hardened Janice for contributing and stepping up in support of the league.
The two fell silent as the game absorbed them.
Apart from the great action, Giselle also watched Tony as the linesman flew up and down the field.
He waved the flag when appropriate and backed up the head ref in a busy match.
For the most part—as she still felt robbed on the offsides call—she judged Tony’s signals as fair and accurate.
When the final whistle blew, the Blue Crush had prevailed after a late score. Giselle dreaded taking on the tough Crush, but excitement also burned in her gut. She loved this sport, and her continued passion fueled desire to set foot on the pitch.
She bid farewell to Janice and Marissa, then hurried to the parking area. Feeling like a giddy child up to no good, Giselle hid behind a tree in the strip of grass next to the lot. She waited several minutes before spotting Tony heading for his car.
He approached his vehicle and stopped cold when noticing the muddy ball on the hood.
Giselle slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.
Tony pulled out the note first. After reading it, his shoulders rose and fell in a sigh.
He lifted the windshield wiper and picked up the ball, then darted glances around the area.
Observing his comical scowl, Giselle pressed her body against the trunk as his head swiveled in her direction. She covered her mouth again, not daring to breathe.
After a minute, she heard the engine roar to life.
The gritty sound of tires on asphalt followed as he pulled out of the space.
She peeked around the tree and saw him driving away a little faster than he should be.
Visualizing his irritated face, she finally released the restrained laugh stirring in her chest.