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Rumours - FAQ

Q. Confirm or deny: suggested by the canned goods commandment, the Hero of the Teeming Masses is a barista.

A. Java is the elixir of modern life. What better way for one to be a Hero to the Teeming Masses? However, the Hero prefers the term “javaslinger.”

Q. Confirm or deny: The Hero so slings at the lame and ubiquitous BlackArts Coffee chain.

A. If he did not, how could he know his Teeming Masses? For that is where the multitudes may be found.

Q. Confirm: Which BlackArts?

A. The Hero will not divulge which BlackArts. The Hero may therefore be at any BlackArts, and is therefore, you guessed it, at all BlackArts. Hence, the Hero knows all and sees all.

The Hero is with you wherever two or more of you gather for latte under a beige sign with fake coffee rings on it.

Q. Does the Hero not care that BlackArts exploits, oppresses and generally behaves suckily toward humanity? Why does the Hero support it?

A. It is BlackArts that supports the Hero, in bestowing a necessary paycheck. Judge not the Hero and his brethren in servitude lest ye Teeming Masses, who insist on worshipping at this behemoth of beans anyway, be left without a buffer at the feet of the corporate entity. For it is they who render unto the Masses the extra squirt of whipped cream, or the free shot of syrup, which is rightfully BlackArts’.

Q. What is the Hero’s real identity?

A. Wouldn’t you like to know?

Here endeth the FAQ. Watch this space.

• • •

The Georgia Straight, Vancouver’s weekly alternative newspaper, arrived every Thursday a.m. to go in a rack between the inner and outer front doors. Consequently, every shift in the store on Thursdays spent all its non-serving time paging through it. This particular Thursday, Heathen was not only on time for work, but early, to catch the paper as soon as it landed in the rack. One of their culture reporters had been up to interview some of the skiers about the Whistler scene, and she had got to join him and a bunch of others when they went out beering. She was hoping for her second bit of media mention. This would be local, but it was mainstream, rather than a specialty publication. And more importantly, it was a free paper, so she could snag as many copies as she wanted to hand out back in Calgary when she flew home for Christmas.

Two bundles of papers whomped down into the foyer. Heathen abandoned setup and was already hurrying over as the delivery guy cut the plastic ties on the bundles and racked the copies. He gave her a wave and was off before she had the inner door open. Which was just as well, because she didn’t know if she could stand and make idle morning chitchat when she was so antsy to dive into the issue.

Tim came in while she was studying the table of contents. “Have I mentioned how much I hate opening?” he said.

Heathen nodded absently. “Every time you do it.” She glanced up briefly, just enough to notice that he was looking particularly undead this morning.

“Float counted?” he asked. Heathen shook her head without raising it, frowning at the paper. There was nothing listed on the contents page. She was going to have to go through the whole damn paper. Tim went for the cash drawer.

“What are you doing reading already? You haven’t even started any coffee!” Tim said. “Jesus, how am I going to wake up before the customers come in?”

“Chew on a bean,” Heathen said. “Hey, can you start the pots? I’m looking for something here.”

He grumbled something behind her back about checking the movie reviews later and banged the pots around more loudly than he really had to. Heathen flipped page after page of the paper but didn’t see any ski story. Damn. Maybe they’d put it off to next week. “There was supposed to be a Whistler story in here,” she told Tim. “I might have been mentioned in it, but it’s not here.”

“They probably axed it for another story on that big poverty demonstration last week in Stanley Park,” he said. “Local politics beats out ski bums every time, you know.”

The first customers bumbled in, looking as rough as Tim, so Heathen had to put the Straight aside for a while. The stream stayed steady, so she didn’t get back to it for an hour. By then, about half the top bundle in the newspaper rack had gone, so Heathen was anxious to finish getting through the issue so she would know if she had to commandeer a large chunk of the ones that were left.

The high life of aerialists appeared to have been too lightweight for this issue. The only sign that the reporter had even been in town was a short item in one of the regular columns that recommended books, movies, clubs, and so forth. In the “Websights” part of the section, was one small thing that had come up in conversation with the reporter:

WATCH THIS SPACE

Hero or Anti?

A curious blog has caught the eye of the Straight. A self-titled Hero of the Teeming Masses dispenses his own brand of weird mental wanderings at www.heroblog.rawblawgs.com. Before you think that “hero” means noble and virtuous, think again. The HOTM admits to being a lowly BlackArts Coffee barista in his non-cyber life, but, refreshingly for a blog, offers no other personal details. We don’t know what he had for breakfast this morning, or what he thinks of the latest movie blockbuster. He offers up his own brand of wisdom and/or platitude (take your pick) and is as inclined to encourage his readers (that’s you, you Teeming Masses) to such salutary acts as “Gather unto you some canned goods” to drop off at the nearest BlackArts on a particular Saturday for the local food bank, or to something as jaw-droppingly audacious as “Let’s give the gangbangers marksmanship lessons. Then they’d stop hitting innocent bystanders.” Is he posturing for effect? Fed up, or just F’ed up? Feel free to vent in his forum, but don’t expect an answer from him. His semi-regular signoff, “watch this space”, is an apt one. You do not know what he will come up with next.

Needless to say, Heathen was miffed. But she held out hope for next week and prayed for no local political firestorm. She felt vindicated though, when a number of people posted to the Heroblog forum, as outraged as she had been.

• • •

Make no assumptions. The Hero is not *that* kind of Hero. He is not a Good Samaritan, he is not a dogooder, he is not the Lone Ranger or that other guy from that other show which The Hero cannot be bothered to look up right now. He is not out to make the world a wonderful place. When and of what the Hero writes is entirely based on what is of interest to The Hero.

The Hero sees what he sees, and the Hero says what he says. That is all.

The forums continued to jump, pro-Hero and con.

Regarding the forum: Know the rules. Live the rules. Breathe the rules. Or die by the rules. You know who you are. Don’t make me come over there.

The Hero is unable to answer all personal e-mails, so the Hero answers none. Don’t bother asking. It wouldn’t be fair to the other children.

• • •

Memo to: BlackArts Zone Offices District Managers, Human Resources Managers

From: Chief Information Officer, Seattle HQ

CC: Deputy General Counsel

Re: “The Hero of the Teeming Masses”

________________________________________________

All Zone Offices are advised that an individual claiming to be a BlackArts employee and calling himself “The Hero of the Teeming Masses” has established a weblog or “blog” (i.e. online diary) at www.heroblog.rawblawgs.com. A reference on this weblog has already been made to “...the lame and ubiquitous BlackArts.”

The purpose of the blog is unclear, however, Information Systems and Legal here at Corporate are monitoring the content should it become defamatory to BlackArts or otherwise actionable. At this time, in our push to expand further into the Midwest and “Bible belt” areas, and the question of rebranding in the face of negative focus group testing to date of the name “BlackArts”, any additional damaging perception of the company is to be avoided at all costs.

As it has not yet been determined if the individual is indeeda BlackArts barista, or merely posing as one, Zone office HR Managers are also encouraged to make discreet enquiries with retail managers as to the likelihood of any specific employee in their particular store being the originator of this weblog and online personality. Unfortunately, the store location cannot be narrowed down, as the domain host for www.heroblog. rawblawgs.com is not required to reveal customer details without a court order, and as of this writing, Legal has not yet identified a cause for action.

Guiding Principle Number One in the BlackArts Mission Statement: Respect each other’s rights and foster a positive workplace experience for everyone.

• • •

Dag and Heathen were closing up again the following night when Tim wandered in. Heathen was dragging her ass on the cleaning, which she knew was frustrating Dag, who just wanted to get done for the day. Now here was Tim, twelve hours early, like he was in a different time zone. “You set your alarm wrong?” Dag said. “You’re not on until tomorrow.” Heathen didn’t say anything. Especially not to Tim. She really didn’t want this to be happening.

Tim pulled himself an espresso. “Thought I’d come in for a shot before you guys shut down.” He grabbed a chair. Heathen scrubbed harder at a dried-on ring of caramel. She had a bad feeling about this.

Dag took the bags of garbage out back to the dumpster. Heathen was just about to say something to Tim when KateLynn showed up too. “Hey, Heathen, Tim,” she said. She went straight to the pastry case.

“What are you doing?” Heathen asked, hoping she sounded testy. She’d told them it was a bad idea, and that she wasn’t going to do it on her off time. Now it looked like they were going to rope her in by association anyway.

“Looking for something past its death date.”

“The women’s shelter has already picked that stuff up,” Heathen said. “The rest of that’s saleable. Paws off.”

“Listen to you,” KateLynn said, completely unfazed.

“Hey, KateLynn,” Dag said, sounding surprised to see her as he came back in.

“Hey, Dag,” KateLynn said. Oblivious to Heathen’s glare, she grabbed a biscotti from the big jar on the counter, plonked it on a plate, and took it to the same table Tim was sitting at.

“Don’t you guys have lives?” Dag asked.

“Just ignore them,” Heathen said, wringing her cloth out like she wanted to wring some necks.

“Make sure you clean up your own crumbs,” Dag said to KateLynn, pitching a wet cloth at her. “I just wiped those tables.”

Just then, Derek and Ashley came in together. “Guys,” Derek said, all serious. Ashley looked nervous.

Dag put down the bucket he’d just filled up to do the floor. “What the fuck?” he said. “What are you all doing here? Is there some staff meeting no one told us about?” He turned to Heathen, but she kept her head down, grimly scrubbing out the pastry case. Otherwise, he’d see that she didn’t look surprised at this at all, because, yeah, it was something everybody knew about but him.

Tim got back up. “We’re gonna need that,” he said, taking the last pot off the burner, loading up some cups and moving them to the table. “Take a break, Dag,” he added. “Let’s have a coffee and a chat.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we have closing to do,” Dag said, suddenly wary. “I just want to get this done and get out of here for the night. Unlike the rest of you, I have a life.”

“Now, see, that’s the part the rest of us have trouble believing,” Tim said. “Because you’re the one that’s here all the time.” Oh, god. Heathen didn’t like the way this was starting.

“It’s not my fault you all want to unload shifts—” Dag started. Then he looked like he got it. Tim’s comment was an intentional dig, not an idle observation. “Okay.” Dag stopped working and folded his arms. He eyed them all from behind the bar. “What the hell are you on about? And what are all of you doing here?” Ginette had slipped in, too. Only Maria from the staff roster wasn’t there, nor Mohammed, who, Heathen knew, wouldn’t be in the loop on this.

Heathen slipped out from behind the counter. She poured herself a big coffee and started gulping at it, for fortification, sort of off to the side, not in either camp. It was all feeling very much like a standoff: Dag against everybody else. It made her think of old westerns, like somebody was going to start slapping leather soon.

“You shouldn’t work so hard,” Derek said. It sounded like he was trying to sound friendly, without actually accomplishing the “sounding friendly” part.

“If you’re trying to sound like my mother,” Dag said, “you’re not even close. My mother believes in hard work.”

“We mean it,” Tim said. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

Dag would have heard variations on this before at various times from all of them, Heathen included. It was usually said as a bit of a joke. But nobody was smiling tonight. “Christ, you’re serious?” he said.

“You’re such a keener,” Ashley said. “Super-efficient Dag, super-productive Dag, the ultimate BlackArts employee. You make all the drinks better than everybody. You make them all faster than everybody.”

“You do a better job cleaning than everybody,” KateLynn chimed in and threw the rag back at him, none too gently. “Now Mohammed expects it from the rest of us. ‘Dag can do it,’ she imitated Mohammed’s accent, ‘why can’t you?’”

“Yeah,” Derek chimed in. “Nobody else can keep up. You’re like, Mr. Perfect. You gotta stop, man.” The others all nodded and chorused agreement.

“What is this, some kind of fucking intervention?” Dag said. The silence that met this question spoke volumes. “Jesus!” he said. “Are you for real? You assholes actually all came in on your off time to gang up on me and tell me off for doing my job? Like I ever get on any of your cases for not?”

He pinned Heathen with a bad look. “Are you in on this, too? You knew this was coming down? Is that why you were stalling on the cleaning?” He sounded seriously betrayed.

“Hey, I just clean slow,” she said, feeling defensive. “But they’ve got a bit of a point,” she added, hoping she could soften the whole tone in the room. “It’s not like we’re a total bunch of slackoffs. This was a pretty good staff even before you turned up.”

“And it’s not just that you came in and became the boss’s wet dream,” KateLynn said. “But then you also do all this extra shit for the customers, too. I mean, favourite mugs, for god’s sake? Now we all have to do it. Did you ever think that maybe the rest of us don’t want to?”

“Yeah,” Ashley said. “It wouldn’t kill you to think of other people. We don’t want to look bad.”

Oh, man, Heathen cringed inside. Ashley shouldn’t try to go there.

“You’re making yourselves look bad,” Dag said, “and maybe you should think of other people. Like, the customers? Maybe they’d like to have their lattes done right the first time, Ashley. Or be given the proper change, Tim. It’s not fucking rocket science,” he said. “It’s not that hard to do this job right.”

“Well, it’s not fun coming in for a shift, and all the customers are just asking for you,” Derek said. “Then they act all grumpy and bummed out when you’re not here, putting on your usual floor show. You do more than you have to for the job. I mean, you do everything but juggle for them.”

“Yeah, we have to keep a certain dignity and distance from the customers here,” Tim said. “I mean, what’s it going to be next, a fuck with every cup?” He laughed at his own wit.

Dag looked daggers at Heathen, who had been desperately and unsuccessfully trying to wave Tim off that one. Of course, Dag would think she’d been sharing her opinions with the others. Ashley giggled nervously. “I’m definitely not going to try and keep up with that,” she said, but it fell flat.

Heathen was now both alarmed and embarrassed. “Dag,” she said pleadingly, trying to salvage something, “I did not tell him to say that.”

Dag looked disgusted, and rightly so, Heathen thought miserably. “Can you hear yourselves?” he said, shaking his head at the lot of them. “Don’t you idiots know you all make better tips when you’re on with me?” He yanked off his apron. “Fucking ingrates. I don’t need to stick around here and take this shit. You want me to slack off?” he said. “Fine. The floors are all yours tonight, Heather.” He took off out the back, avoiding walking out past the others.

There was silence for a minute. “Well, that sure grumped him out,” Ashley said. “I knew it was just going to make him mad.”

“I told you,” Tim said, “we didn’t need him to agree with us. We’ve pissed him off. Now Wonder Boy is going to be all mad and pouty on the job, and not Employee of the Month. It’ll totally have the same effect.”

“Well, you’ve had an effect already,” Heathen said. “Now the rest of you can bloody well help me finish closing. Tim, you’re doing floors.”

• • •

Heathen’s phone was ringing as soon as she got in the door at home. Oh, shit. He started to rant before she even got “Hello” all the way out.

“It’s my fucking job, Heathen. How many times do I have to tell you that? It’s what I live on. This isn’t a game for me. It’s not a sport.” She heard the extra emphasis on that last word, a special dig for her.

“I chewed them out,” she said.

“You joined in with them,” Dag said. “Is this because you didn’t like your name in the blog?”

Heathen winced. Not exactly, but she could see how it looked that way to him. “I wish I hadn’t joined in.”

He wasn’t done. “Some friend you turned out to be. Don’t you know people are supposed to work hard at their jobs? Fuck,I knew that when I was five. I watched my mom.”

He was totally right. “We were tools,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She paused. “And I’m sorry I’ve been kind of pissy lately.”

“You’ve been extremely pissy,” Dag said. But he sounded like he still had some mad to get out. Sure enough: “Fucking Derek,” he went on. “‘You do everything but juggle for them,’” he mimicked. “If they don’t think they can keep up with me now, they can watch out. I’ll fucking learn to juggle now.”

• • •

The pervasive curse of this century: sense of entitlement. Once again, in block caps, for emphasis. SENSE OF ENTITLEMENT. Everybody owes you something. You shouldn’t have to put your own effort into anything.

What does the Hero have to say to his Teeming Masses about this? Well, what the fuck do you think he’d say?

• • •

Maria was on with Heathen and Dag when Heathen suddenly stared out the window. “Oh, hell,” she said. “What are they doing here?”

Dag and Maria both looked. “What?” they both said. Maria didn’t see anything unusual, just the usual boring Whistler crowd out there.

“Jefferoo’s heading in with the rest of his crew,” Heathen said.

This meant nothing to Maria, but she now saw a group of four guys with snowboards right in front of the shop. Dag’s expression changed, too. “Crap,” he said, softly enough that Maria barely heard it.

“I think I’m due for a smoke break,” Heathen said. “You and Maria can cover.”

“Heathen!” Dag said. “What if they hang out for an hour? You can’t stay out that whole time.” He looked like he wanted to bail himself.

“What’s the problem?” Maria asked as Heathen ditched her apron, grabbed her bag and hightailed it out the back way.

“The one in front,” Dag said. “He’s her ex-boyfriend.”

The four guys plowed in, filling the quiet shop with sudden noise and chatter. They were in high spirits and self-congratulatory, totally stoked over something. It looked like they’d been having a blast. Three of them hung around in front, checking out the free papers in the reading rack while the tallest of them made a beeline for the restroom. If they knew Dag, they didn’t seem to notice him, or Maria right away.

“Can I help you guys?” Maria said from the cash. They finally seemed to suddenly realize there were other people around.

“Sorry,” said the one who’d been in front. She assumed he was Jefferoo. “I guess we should get some coffees. Regular?” He looked around at the other two. They were eyeing the price board dubiously and nodded. Maria knew why. Snowboarders were always short of cash. That’s why she didn’t date them.

“For here or to go?”

“Is he going to be quick in there?” Jefferoo asked one of the others, who was missing some front teeth. He shrugged.

“How about I give you to-go cups, but you can drink ’em here all the same if you want,” Maria said.

“EGGsalad!” Jeff said. Maria got it after a second. His version of “Excellent!” “You are a goddess,” he added.

“I do what I can,” Maria said.

Dag was already pouring large coffees and lining them up on the counter. Whatever his under-the-breath comment meant, he seemed to be friendly to them. “Here you go, dudes. No worries, they’re on the house.”

“Dude!” Jefferoo said in surprise. “‘Waaaasabiiii?!! What the great white fuck are you doing in a trendoid situation like this? Dudes!” he said to his friends. “Check it out.” He reached over to tap fists with Dag and caught sight of the apron. “Whoa. Is it Halloween? This your costume?”

“I work here,” Dag said. The other two crowded around. “Hey, Adam. Hey, Kai,” he said.

“Dude,” they chorused in disbelief.

“Oh, man.” Jeff looked sympathetic. “That is so totally wack. You never said. Since when?”

“Like, two months now.” Dag looked over at Maria sort of uncomfortably, but with no customers to serve, Maria was paying attention to every word. She always paid attention to Dag.

“No way! You never said!”

“Way. What are you guys doing here? Why aren’t you at Breadspreads?”

Jeff pointed to the washroom, and presumably, the guy who’d dashed inside. “We just poached ourselves a surgical strike of a huckfest over on the bunny hill for something to do. Jared got a wicked attack of the shits on the way back. Said he couldn’t make it to the other side of the village.”

“We shouldn’t have let him stop, dude,” Adam said.

“If he’d dropped a load in his pants, we could so rag on him for, like, ever.”

“You think he isn’t going to be Pooper Scooper now, anyway?” Jeff said. The three of them had a laugh and high-fived each other some more.

Oh, god. Maria was one of the small minority of people who were actually born in Whistler, and at sixteen, she was intent on getting out of the mountains the instant she finished high school. She usually feigned only enough interest in snowsports to make chitchat with the customers when they came in, exhilarated after their time on the slopes. Goofball snowboarders were one thing she could never get excited about. She’d picked up enough of the slang from being around them to know that these guys had just disrupted a bunch of beginners, no doubt spraying powder and raising hell, there and gone in a couple of minutes, so quick people might not even be sure of what they’d seen. It was all about showboating, of course: making the newbies and little kids gape in wonder at what a real rider could do.

“You knock out another tooth?” Dag said. Kai grinned widely, showing Dag and Maria his jack-o-lantern mouth.

“It’s my trademark,” Kai told Maria, finally looping her into the conversation. Maria sidled over towards the bar to catch this better.

“He still can’t afford to get them fixed,” Adam said.

“I don’t want to any more,” Kai said. “Everybody recognizes me.”

“He did it last week at the Ripzone meet,” Jeff said to Dag. “Everybody saw it. You were there.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Dag said.

“Sure, our whole tribe was,” Jeff said. “That was his face-plant after he corked his switch Alley-Oop 360. He stood up and took a bow with blood all over his face like he’d been eating corpses.”

“I’m hoping someone got a photo to send to Frequency,” Kai said. “Or that I can post on the net.”

Dag shook his head. “I haven’t been at any event this season except that first run in September.”

That confirmed what Maria had thought, that Dag was an ex- snowboarder. That was one of the things she liked about him, that he wasn’t trying to be a snowsports star like everybody else in town.

There was a light of recognition in Jeff’s eyes. “Oh, shit, yeah, was that the day when you punched your tricks all over the half-pipe? That was a fucking yard sale.”

Dag shrugged. “Yeah, well, once you’ve laid down your masterwork, there’s no point in going back out trying to top it.” He wasn’t laughing it off very convincingly. Another foursome came in the door just then, and he quickly ducked behind Maria to go to the cash instead of her. “Gotta serve the trendoids,” he said. “Try not to get rider sweat all over the chairs, willya?”

The guys turned to take their coffees and sit at a table by the window. The fourth cup still sat on the counter, steaming away. “You’re going to need a hazmat team in there when he’s done,” Adam said to Maria, heading off with his cup, jerking his thumb toward the restroom.

Jared emerged a moment later, looking relieved but sheepish. “Sorry,” he mumbled to Maria. “It’s kind of rank back there. Just the reek, though, no skidmarks,” he added hastily. “This mine?” He grabbed his coffee off the counter. “Who do I owe?” He looked over at the other guys.

“Hey, Jared,” Dag said. “It’s a freebie.”

“Hey, thanks,” Jared said, then did a double take. “Hey!” he said again. “I haven’t clapped eyes on you in eons. What’s it been, six months? How’s it hanging? Where you staying?”

“Jared,” Dag said, and to Maria, he was starting to sound kind of irked, “we live in the same goddamn house. I’m still in the room right below yours.”

“Get the fuck out!” Jared said. “You’re screwing with me!”

“No,” Dag said, “but you’re screwing with Kelly. I hear you guys just about every damn night.”

Jared grinned. “Sorry, dude. We keep you up?”

“Yeah,” Dag said, “you do, actually. I haven’t kept boarder hours for, like, six months now. I work a lot of days here. But it’s not quite as bad as when I had to get up at five all summer to work at the golf course and be in bed by ten every night.”

“Was that you? I thought I heard someone going out just after we came in all the time.” Then a kind of embarrassed look crossed Jared’s face. “Hey, sorry, but I think I’ve been using your shaving cream. Is it a blue can in the upstairs bathroom?”

“You mean the one with my name on it?” Dag said.

“Yeah, that one.”

“Fuck, Jared,” Dag said, “there’s a reason we label all our shit. No wonder I’ve been running out so fast.”

“Well, I thought you moved out and left it behind, so it was up for grabs. Sorry, dude.” He paused. “My coffee still free?”

“You been eating any of my food out of the fridge, too?”

“Uh-uh,” Jared said, shaking his head. “I thought you moved out ages ago—no way was I going to trust food I thought had been around that long.”

“Thank god for that,” Dag said. “Take the damn coffee, dawg.”

When Jared joined the others, they got up to leave. Jeff called over to Dag, “You going to be on the half-pipe tomorrow?”

Maria heard Dag sigh. “I don’t ride any more, Jeff,” he said, still keeping up the friendly tone. “Don’t you remember? You took my goggles when I let all my gear go.”

“Okay, then, see ya around. Thanks for the java.”

The quiet in their wake was deafening. Maria wanted to engage Dag in conversation, especially with Heathen not around. And because she wanted to stick up for him.

“Okay, I followed most of that,” she said as Dag pulled espressos for some new arrivals. “Except for two things. One: were these guys supposed to be your friends? Because it totally sounded like they didn’t even notice you haven’t been hanging with them for two months. And that’s so totally wrong.”

Dag shrugged like he didn’t care. Maria would bet he did, though. “It’s just the snowboarder way of life,” he said. “These guys live in the moment. It’s all about what ride you can get right now, what high you want this minute, what party’s going on tonight. If you’re there this minute, they don’t waste time thinking about whether you’ve been there all along, or whether you’ll be there tomorrow. Whoever turns up to ride, turns up. If somebody doesn’t, no harm, no foul.”

“So once you stopped doing what they were doing and showing up where they showed up, you dropped completely off their radar,” Maria said.

“It’s not exactly like that,” he said. But Maria had seen what she’d seen and heard what she’d heard, and it did sound exactly like that. Dag was starting to look a little tense, though, so she said, “The other thing I didn’t get—‘yard sale’?”

Heathen suddenly arrived from the back, tying her apron on. She jumped in to answer that one without even saying hello. “That’s when you crash so bad that pieces of your clothes and your gear come off, gloves, hat, whatever, all over the snow. It’s like, the most embarrassing kind of wipeout. Who did that?” she asked gleefully. “Anybody I know?”

Maria glanced over at Dag. Without any warning, Dag hurled a coffee cup, which shattered against the wall over the sink.

“I have got to get the fuck out of here,” Dag said. He ripped off his apron and stormed out.

“Jesus!” Heathen was shocked. He was the last person she had expected that kind of behaviour from. Everyone in the place had jumped a foot. Heathen had no idea what to say to the customers. She gave a lame shrug to the room. “Sorry…uh, something slipped.” Pretty weak, and they all knew it.

“Wow,” Maria said, kind of breathless and wide-eyed. She hadn’t moved from where she’d been standing near the sink. “That was something.” For the person closest to the point of impact, she didn’t seem as shaken up as Heathen would have thought.

“Something totally uncalled-for,” Heathen said. “I’m not cleaning that up, and don’t you, either,” she added, as Maria started to pick broken pieces of mug off the counter.

“But if he’s really gone…?” Maria said. There was disappointment in her tone.

“Oh, he’ll be back.” Actually, Heathen wasn’t entirely certain, but it was a good rationale for putting off cleaning up his mess.

Maria brightened up. “You think so?”

Heathen rolled her eyes. “Maria, do not tell me that you’re attracted to him now, just because he’s had a tantrum!”

Maria shrugged but blushed at the same time. “I didn’t know he had an edgy side before.”

Heathen groaned. “No! Maria! You hate snowboarders!”

“Dag’s not a snowboarder any more,” Maria said. “I saw him with those other guys. He’s totally different. He’s not all goofball like them.” Customers were coming in, a couple of pairs, but enough to keep them from any more private conversation for a few minutes. Next lull, Heathen was on it again though, because with all the women Dag got, she didn’t think he needed teenaged Maria mooning after him, too.

“So he dropped the slang,” she said. “Don’t let the absence of a few ‘wacks’ and ‘dudes’ in his conversation fool you. Because A) next to Jeff, anybody looks good, and B) just because he doesn’t get on a board any more doesn’t mean he’s given up their attitudes. And it’s the attitude you hate. Right? That ‘ride hard, play hard’ crap they use as an excuse to throw themselves down the hill or the pipe all day, party and throw alcohol in their bodies all evening, and then throw themselves into bed with anybody who’s around to finish off the night.”

Maria was looking at her with her head cocked to one side. “That sounds like it might be, like, more your issue than mine? Do you know what goes on with high school kids these days?”

Now it was Heathen’s turn to feel her face redden. “Maria Di Filippo, are you saying that you’re into these rainbow parties and Friends With Benefits things?”

Maria shrugged. “I’m just saying I’m not all bitter and resentful about casual sex going on, which, it sounds like you maybe are. You used to go out with that Jeff guy, right?”

Burn! It was like she knew that Heathen and Jeff had broken up over the whole fuckbuddy system in the snowboard scene. Way to come across as a big prude, she thought to herself. “Hey, casual sex is fine,” she said, as casually as she could, “unless you’re supposed to be in a relationship.”

“Well, I don’t see Dag in a relationship,” Maria said, turning that one neatly back on itself to give Heathen the double burn.

Before Heathen could come back with a snappy retort, Dag came back in. Without a word, he went straight to the sink and started picking up broken crockery. Heathen glanced at the clock on the cash register. Exactly fifteen minutes from when he’d stomped out. Some edge. He’d taken his regulation break, not a minute more, and was now cleaning up his mess. She turned to snot something at Maria, only to find Maria back over by the sink, helping herself to a squirt of whipped cream from the dispenser and licking it off her finger as she leaned in to talk to Dag.

“I think I have to go check the bathrooms,” Heathen said. It wasn’t her turn, but it was as good a place as any to be nauseous.

Once inside, she took her time picking up crumpled paper towels off the floor and giving the sink a wipe. She imagined Maria thinking, maybe even asking out loud, “What’s up with her?” And it was a good question, with only one real answer. Though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone but herself, Heathen knew what the feeling was. Jealousy. And it pissed her off to be jealous, because she’d told herself right on day one (okay, night one) that she didn’t want Dag. He wasn’t to be desired sexually or romantically, and she’d kept up her end of that. Why the hell didn’t anyone else? Why did every other female think he was the Swedish Johnny Depp? It was making Heathen re-think her decision, and she didn’t like that, because, as appealing as Dag was, Heathen didn’t want to want someone who thought the way the Hero of the Teeming Masses thought. If it was even him, which she still didn’t entirely believe. If he wasn’t the Hero, then maybe it was okay to be attracted to him, but now she’d probably missed her chance. And then there was Mohammed. Heathen knew there was something there, if only he would just move on it.

Heathen finished up in the bathroom every bit as conflicted as before.

The next day, they were all on again. At the end of shift, Heathen was still at her locker when Dag and Maria came back to get their jackets. When Maria took off her apron, she was wearing some pretty non-standard blacks—low-rise jeans way below her hipbones and a crop top that couldn’t help but show a significant strip of her belly. Mohammed wouldn’t have allowed it if he’d been in today. Heathen couldn’t help but notice how Maria was loitering around, trying to catch Dag’s eye. She got both of them, and he wasn’t any subtler about noticing Maria’s getup. No hardbody, Maria’s was a soft, squishy middle, probably from a few too many whipped cream indulgences on shift. Dag said something to her that Heathen couldn’t hear. Maria’s eyes widened, and she grabbed her coat and quickly scuttled out of the back area. Heathen was impressed at the abruptness of the brush-off.

She stuffed her own apron in the hamper and put her jacket on, feeling a bit vindicated. So, maybe being a soft girly girl wasn’t everything after all. Turning to leave, she saw Maria, back at Dag’s locker again. Grinning, she was showing him that she’d cached the spare stainless steel whipped cream dispenser under her jacket. “It’s cold,” she said with a giggle.

Dag led her out. “I’ll warm you up.”

Heathen shut her locker with a slam.