Gillman gets promoted?
Gillman took a job at the cafe. It had been interesting.
Gillman entered the back office, where the manager, Mr. Wand, was waiting. Wand was a kind man. A bit of a boring optimist, who projected a sense that velcro shoes were a staple for the weekends. Still, there weren’t many offering positions to middle-aged swamp creatures with humidity requirements.
“Gillman, welcome. May I call you Gill?” Mr. Wand stood and shut the door behind them—not waiting for a response to the informality. He offered a chair. “How is everything going? Feel like you’re adjusting well?”
Gillman sat. There was a squish. “No complaints.”
“Good good. Here’s the scoop. I don’t want to take up much of your time. The team loves ya. They really do. It’s just.”
Gillman’s tongue began to pulse, eyes darting around the room following a fly. Wand attempted to steer him back with his head.
“It’s just that,” Wand said, regaining eye contact. “There’s been some comments.”
“Comments?”
“Anonymous. We have a suggestions box. I’m a bit old school in that way.” Wand grabbed a stack of cards from his desk and set his reading glasses on his nose. “Let’s see. Pushes slime infused drinks too aggressively.”
“People love slime,” Gillman said.
“Perhaps. Eating flies in front of customers.” Wand looked up from his glasses. “We’ve already seen that trend here today. What else? Smells like a sewer. That one, I actually wrote.”
Gillman let out a sigh.
“I know, I know, Gill. Swamp creatures have different hygiene regimens. Here’s the deal. I brought you on thinking that we’d be the first and only Dutch Bros with a real cryptid. And trust me, we saw an initial spike in interest that will get us through the post-holiday financial tightening.”
“Which holiday?”
“Flag Day. Arboretum. Whatever. Point is, you started off strong. But reality has set in and either you’ve gotta tighten it up or maybe we try you on drive through.”
Gillman burst to his feet. “This is outrageous.” He smacked the fly mid-air and swallowed it down.
Wand waited.
“If you work drive-through, I’ll give you a $5 weekly bonus and let you stay after hours to catch as many mice as you’d like.”
“Deal.”
Gillman shook his hand. There was a squelch. His first promotion.