To earn a college degree in hotel
administration, I had to complete three summer internships
in the hospitality industry during the course of my studies.
With no industry connections, the best job I could land
after my freshman year was as a waitress working third shift
at a local diner. After withstanding three consecutive
ten-hour shifts being mocked by my coworkers, a
barrel-chested waitress wearing a state-issued ankle
bracelet took me under her wing.
Judy explained that diner waitresses made the circuit,
meaning they stayed at one establishment for a time, then
left voluntarily or otherwise, only to return again after a
while. Our manager confirmed that her current gig at the
restaurant we represented was Judy’s fifth time being
employed there. Judy continued by telling me to fight back
the next time the chef threatened me with his butchering
knife. She said watching me run out of the restaurant had
been funny, but weakened my presence in the diner. She told
me to throw a plate at him, being sure of my aim, the next
time he threatened me.
I was so grateful for her tutelage, it never occurred to me
to ask Judy why she wanted me to tinkle in a plastic cup at
the end of my fourth shift. I was glad to oblige her
request, thinking she was applying for health insurance or,
possibly, life insurance. Having now won over the staff
thanks to Judy’s mentoring, I again didn’t question her
motives when she asked me to potty in a plastic cup exactly
one week later.
After the third week of tinkling with curious accuracy, I
asked Judy to split a taxi ride home with me, hoping she
would tell me why she was collecting my bodily fluids.
Piling into the taxi, possible motives including cloning and
my DNA being planted at various crime scenes ran through my
mind. Our taxi driver stopped at a red light as I popped the
big question. A second later, Judy’s leg was slung over the
console separating her from our driver and her foot was atop
his, pressing the gas pedal all the way to the floor.
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I was so shocked, I couldn’t even
scream when our speed reached 90. The taxi driver yelled
something about his insurance not covering this sort of
thing. Judy laughed hysterically. Thirty seconds later, the
vehicle came to a screeching stop in front of her run-down
Shaking in the back seat, I listened as Judy answered my
question. She could have collected more pee as she spoke
since I had wet myself for the first time in 17 years. She
needed my potty to pass mandatory drug screens. Getting out
of the taxi, she continued, pointing to her ankle accessory,
by apologizing to the taxi driver for putting his insurance
and his life at risk with her stunt. Then, Judy handed me
the knife our chef had threatened me with during my first
week at the diner, assuring me I would need it more than she
would. I never saw her again.