Chapter Two
Nikki
It was a Thursday night, and the bowling league teams were on the verge of another cataclysmic showdown.
The PinUp Dolls and the I Can’t Believe it’s not Gutter teams were tied, both with abysmal scores per usual.
Both teams were primarily made up of folks who could order off the senior menu.
Pin Up Dolls was a team of trans women, and I Can’t Believe It’s Not Gutter were elderly drag queens.
I turned on the overheard speaker. After the tritone - ding ding ding - I spoke into the microphone. “Reminder to all bowlers: this is a fun family-friendly place. Let’s keep the drama in the lanes, and our mouths and balls out of the gutter!”
When I turn off the mic my current playlist resumed with Sabrina Carpenter’s voice serenading the alley once more. As the manager of Lucky Lanes Bowling Alley, I had the pleasure of curating the music, and I tried and update the playlist monthly.
There was a child crying over spilt popcorn by Lane 8. I grabbed a fresh bag, a broom, and a standing dustpan before walking over.
The little girl was more like a toddler than child, couldn’t have been more than two years old in a little ruffle dress and soft-soled shoes.
Her tuft of brown hair made her look like Pebbles Flintstone.
I squatted down to her level, “Hey there sweetie, there’s no crying in bowling!
” I held out the new bag of popcorn and Pebbles shrieked in excitement, the previous heartbreak forgotten.
Her parents smiled and thanked me and I swiftly swept up the mess.
I walked back over to the shoe check out counter.
As I put the broom and dustpan away, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirrored wall behind the counter.
My chopped black hair curled naturally at the ends, but there was a piece of it sticking up in the back.
I worked my fingers through it, trying to get it to cooperate.
I had short hair to make maintenance easier. A faulty plan, apparently.
I went to put away some cleaning supplies and found a couple playing their own seven minutes in Heaven.
The young men apologized and rushed out.
I shook my head. It was a common occurrence here.
“Get Lucky at Lucky Lanes” was practically town lore.
I needed to put a new lock on this closet, but it didn’t matter.
We’ve found couples in storage closets, in the bathrooms, one time even behind the wall where pins were reset.
Most of the time, people made out in their cars in the parking lot in the dark.
I didn’t really get it, there’s a racetrack outside of town that would be a better make out spot, but what do I know?
The rest of the night shift slowed down after the bowling leagues finished their game. I Can’t Believe It’s Not Gutter pulled through with a small lead at the last minute. I locked the doors and flipped our “open” sign to “closed”.
“Hey, Selena,” I called out to my coworker. She was a reliable worker, just graduated high school at the top of her class. “Can you spray the shoes while I count the cash drawer?”
Selena came over from where she had just finished up cleaning the popcorn machine.
“Sure,” she said, “Can I talk to you a minute?” She was wearing her work shirt, just like mine.
The collar stiff and sharp, a black base with cream and maroon stripes on the right, and three bowling pins embroidered on the left where a breast pocket would be.
I knew the back of the shirt had the building silhouette on it with the tagline “Lucky Lanes: Roll with it or Split”.
The company uniform policy required the work shirt and pants and close toed shoes, but everyone was allowed a certain level of personal expression. For me, it was my silver chain on my cargo pants, and of course my tattoos. For Selene, it was the embroidered flowers on the hem of her pants.
“Of course,” I said.
“So you know how I applied to Yale?” She looked nervous, her eyes downcast and her fingers fiddling with a popping fidget toy on her belt loop.
I nodded for her to continue. “Well I was accepted to an early start bridge program that would have me start this summer. I’d be able to connect with my cohort before the fall and get used to campus, and I can even have priority access to enrollment and special study rooms.”
“I’m so happy for you! That’s exciting as shit!”
Selena beamed, “Thanks, I’m really excited.”
“You should be! You’ve worked hard to get here.” I cocked my head to the side. “So, this summer, huh?”
“Yeah, I know I was supposed to stay through the summer, but this is a really good opportunity. I know I’m supposed to put in two weeks’ notice, but they want me there next week-” she started to ramble, picking up speed. I stopped her by raising my hand.
“Nope, sorry, you can’t quit.”
Selena’s mouth gaped open in shock.
“You can’t quit because I have to fire you,” I said. “You’ve done nothing wrong, it’s just that Lucky Lanes is going in a new direction.”
“But, I…”
I continued, “So since you’ve been fired without notice, per our policy I will be giving you two additional weeks of severance pay.” Realization dawned on her young face. “And if you ever need a reference or letter of recommendation, don’t hesitate.”
Selene wiped tears as they started to climb over her eyelids.. “You’ve been the best boss ever,” she said.
“I know,” I said, grabbing my manager notebook and the cash drawer.
Once I was in the office, I got to work counting the bills and updating the tracker on food we would need to reorder.
I double-checked my labor costs and balanced it with the profits from the week.
Losing Selena would make the schedule tight until I could hire someone new.
Especially with how limited my other employees were with their availability.
As manager, I picked up every dropped shift, and I didn’t mind.
I loved Lucky Lanes. This was been my first and only job.
I worked my way up. For the last few years, I’d set aside a portion of each paycheck into the equity of the business, with the goal of one day owning it.
Mr. Mike Kenzin had never outright denied me a pathway to ownership, but boy oh boy, did he make it complicated.
He had put all these stipulations in place, conditions I had to meet.
My first option was to continue to work here and put aside cash for a downpayment, then wait to turn thirty-five “If you’re old enough to run for president, then you’re old enough to take on Lucky Lanes,” he had grunted.
The other option was similar, only instead of an age restriction, Mike wanted me to “get settled down” and have a family.
“Traditional American values,” he had said.
I reminded him, the way you remind a grumpy yet loving grandparent, that I was as lesbian as the day is long..
He had squinted at me. “What does that have to do with anything? You need a family, you need roots to keep you here. I’m not going to sell Lucky Lanes to some drifter. ”
I had never been a drifter, as evidenced by my employment record. While it was ridiculous that Mike felt entitled to make these kinds of restrictions of me, I knew that he was coming from a good place. A kind-hearted but really inconvenient place.
I looked over the alley as I left. So many years and memories here. I wanted Lucky Lanes to be a safe and welcoming place for the community. I closed up, locked the door, and patted the handle twice to say goodnight.