The car wouldn’t start. Again. Kendra sighed, resting her forehead on the hot steering wheel and wished she had the energy to scream. This made twice in three months that her ancient Buick refused to start. Through the frustration, she felt a small measure of gratitude. At least she was in her own driveway this time instead of being stranded on the Dan Ryan Expressway; she didn’t think her fragile nerves could have taken the harrowing experience twice in one lifetime.
"Monica? It's Kendra. Listen, I'm-"
"Where are you? Your shift started twenty-two minutes ago."
Kendra gripped the cell phone tighter and raised her eyes to the Heavens, asking for a miracle. Monica Ceros was not a woman to tolerate tardiness from her staff. Kendra wasn’t surprised in the least that Monica was counting the minutes; Monica was probably recording her latest transgression down to the second.
"I am so sorry, but my car won’t start. If you'll just give me a little time, maybe I can find a ride."
"Kendra, you know that I like you."
Since when? Kendra stared at the phone.
"Still, this is your fifth time being late, not to mention the mistakes you've been making as of late."
"Is delivering a bowl of soup to the wrong table really so bad?" She cajoled, trying to make light of the situation.
"It is when the customer happens to be allergic to shell fish." Monica was not amused.