Chapter 6
I waltzed into the bookstore fifty minutes late, not at all in the mood to be at work. I hurried to clock in, but Demóstenes beckoned me through his office window, clearly wanting to talk. It was Monday, the day for getting chewed out.
“I know I’m late…” I said, already apologizing. “There was a family emergency.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. Demóstenes took a hard look at me, exhaling a strong smell of tobacco. He crossed his arms on the desk, settled back into his chair, which creaked under his weight, and got straight to the point:
“There’s no easy way to say this, Dante. You’re fired.”
“What?”
“We have to make some cuts. And you don’t show up on time.”
“Please don’t do this,” I begged, but my voice came out shrill and squeaky, at once funny and tragic. I’d never cared about that job, but losing it was suddenly the worst thing that could happen to me. One more defeat among so many others.
“It’s no use, Dante, I’ve made my decision,” he said. “Not only have you been coming in late and skipping shifts, yesterday a customer made a complaint about your attitude. You were rude to him.”
“Rude? That’s a lie! You know me! You know I…”
“He came to speak to me personally. He’s an old-timer, he’s been a regular at the store for years.”
Then it hit me: Umberto Marcondes de Machado. Of course. Since I’d refused to listen to him, he’d decided to play dirty—and he’d won. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link.
“Fine, I’ll go. And you know what? With pleasure!” I said, indignant.
“Dante, there’s no need to…”
“Fuck you!” I yelled, slamming the door. Demóstenes came after me. I swore at him in the middle of the store, to the great shock of the old ladies browsing the shelves and the little kids in the children’s section. I grabbed a copy from the bestseller display at the front and shouted:
“Why don’t you wreck this journal and shove it up your ass!”
I threw the book on the floor and left, without looking back. Outside the mall, I burst into tears.