For all the ones who start out at low performance and minimum pay. Up you go. We owe you more than a free feline. 

Hey Fabian, do you want our cat?
He’s not fixed and actually I’m not sure if he’s a he.
We’ve called him Figaro. Or Martin. Depending on how he’s acting.
You wanna rename him? Texas? Ok.
Here’s the litter pan, too.

Hey Fabian, thanks for the tamales.
You handed them, wrapped in a paper towel, through the door to Dania.
They were good—really good—even cold, cut with a plastic knife in the break room
Because we didn’t have time and technically neither of us was on break.
Damp corn husks soft on the spicy smooth patty, way a tee shirt lies on the body, nights camping,
In the summer. Cool and sort of clammy.

Hey Fabian, can you answer that phone please? Line two.
Yes, it’s still ringing, get it, get it–
You push the hold button. What are our hours on Sunday? You ask loudly over the walkie.
How long have you worked here, Fabie? Same as always. Eleven to seven.
Make sure you tell them seven.

Hey Fabian, can you come translate for this customer?
Le gusta esto, pero todos lo que se.
I don’t know the word for “size.”
He’s laughing. What did he say to you?
“He sai’ you should date me.”
Now everybody’s laughing.

Hey Fabian, your turn to pick the music for the morning.
Wait, you listen to the Alabama Shakes?
Everybody says that doesn’t seem like your type of thing.
“Guess e’rybody don’t me bery well.”

Hey Fabian, it’s ten: you’re good to go
Clock out.
I’ll walk you out under the security camera.
Take off your jacket, wave it at the ceiling, show you
ain’t stealing.
Thanks for getting through that shipment back there.
You’re a G.
“Yeah,” You shuffle out, fake rhinestone studs in your ears.
(Go ahead, break dress code.)
See ya tomorrow.
“Off tomorrow.”
Thursday, then?
“Thursday. Kay. Bye.”


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