An Uncomfortable Pause

     Every day at 2 PM, Santos had to stop what he was doing and get off the clock for two hours. He started just before 8, but had to stay until almost 7. Mr. Drummel had come to him some years ago, after another guy had quit, and told him he either needed to hire somebody or else do that. Since Santos knew if he hired someone else, his hours would get cut, he had agreed to this schedule with an uncomfortable pause. It had allowed for him to go home in previous times, even take a short nap if he was careful about waking again, but two hours was not enough time to get to his house in Antioch and back.

     So instead he spent some minutes outside, then some minutes walking around, then some minutes in his car, then some minutes standing outside, and then a good amount of time inside the store's back area, waiting to clock back in.

     Every time he did this, he got a little more agitated with it. He just wanted to work, to get through the day, be done with his day, and leave. The only good thing about it, was it allowed him to chat with his son for a few minutes before he started at 3, but his son, aggravatingly, had chosen these days to show up just on time or even a few minutes late.

     He offered to pick his son up, but he stubbornly refused. He told his dad, no big deal if I get fired. Big deal if you get fired.

     The truth was, Esteban wanted a little bit of time to himself before he went to work, and he rode the bus with a cute girl he liked who happened to live in the Richmond District.

     So, Santos would spend the last minutes of his "break" watching the clock, thinking he should call his son or else get in the car and try to find him to pick him up, when he realized there was no need. His son would stroll in just at that most fevered time, and say, with no self-awareness, "hey dad."

     Today was a little different, though, because Esteban was still not here, and it was 3:11. Mr. Drummel came upstairs, to see if Esteban had arrived. Santos threw up his hands. "Should I give him a call?"
     "That's okay, I will," Mr. Drummel said. "It's his job not yours."
     Just then, Damien came up, too, as he had obviously just been picked up by his dad. "That kid is always pushing it," he heard the kid say as he came up the stairs.

     A fire burned in Santos' eyes, but he turned away at the last second to avoid a staring contest with the boy.

     Just then, a sharp snap and Esteban came up the stairs. "There you are," Mr. Drummel said.

     "Sorry I'm say, Mr. Drummel. Just barely missed the bus."
     "You should let your father pick you up."

     "I think you're right, Mr. Drummel. I'm sorry."
     "You want to touch up the bananas, first, and work on cold beverages?"
     "No problem, Mr. Drummel. I got you."
     He threw on an apron and ran downstairs. Meanwhile, Damien picked a nice comfortable spot on the couch behind the desk and lay back.

     "He's a good kid," Mr. Drummel said. "But he needs to show up on time."
     Santos nodded, but said nothing.

     Forty minutes to go.