I started the day mopping Aisle Three.

  With a mop and bucket I bought from a store in the human sector.

  Because I knew I’d never find one here.

  That store… it was clean.

  Polished.

  Bright. People smiled there.

  Why couldn’t I work in a place like that?

  “Is Beeg Ugly okay?” a small voice whispered, tugging at my shirt.

  I wiped a tear from my eye. “I’m okay, Stupid,” I smiled. “Just thinking.”

  “Oh!” she gasped. “That makes sense! Boss says thinking always leads to sadness. That’s why Stupid doesn’t think!” She nodded vigorously, her ears flopping like sails in a hurricane.

  I dodged them out of sheer habit.

  Another skill for the résumé.

  Somewhere in the distance, a bell tinkled.

  Wait… that’s a bell.

  “Stupid, what’s that sound?” I asked.

  She tilted her head, one ear swiveling like a radar dish.

  Then she gasped and dropped the bucket. “Beeg Ugly! It eez customer!”

  She scream-sprinted down the aisle, arms flapping like she was trying to fly.

  “…We get customers?” I mumbled.

  The bell rang again.

  I sighed and set down the mop. “I’m on my way,” I called out, more to fate than anyone in particular.

  ?

  The customer was massive—broad, bearded, and leaned lazily over the counter, tapping the bell with one giant finger.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Which was… confusing. I expected customers here to be mutant rats. Maybe cursed warlocks. Possibly a lich with a coupon. But this guy?

  This guy looked normal.

  Suspiciously normal.

  He looked like an adventurer - if the reward was for excessive confidence.

  He turned to me and smirked. “Not exactly a warm welcome, kid.”

  Wait.

  Did I say that out loud?

  His waggling eyebrows confirmed I had.

  My face went crimson.

  “Anyway… lookin’ for Vaarg,” he said.

  “Who the hell’s Vaarg?” I asked.

  He gave me a look. The kind that says: is your skull hollow, or are you just committed to the bit?

  Honestly?

  Same.

  “The manager? Cranky goblin? Looks like someone glued a beard to a toad?”

  “Oh. You mean Clipboard Tyrant?” I blinked.

  He threw his head back and roared with laughter. A big, open-bellied laugh that echoed off the shelves.

  It went on.

  And on.

  …and on.

  “Ahhh, kid. I needed that,” he finally said, wiping his eyes. He squinted at my nametag.

  “Beeg”.

  “Right.”

  I hate my job.

  He grinned and stuck out a hand. “Grif.”

  I sighed and shook it.

  At that moment, Clipboard Tyrant finally waddled in from the back, hands still dusted in sandwich crumbs.

  “Grif!” he called out, grinning ear to ear. “Been too long!”

  I blinked.

  Who was this guy, and what had he done with my boss?

  The goblin who taxed Stupid’s lunch breaks?

  “Ugly, I got this. Back to work,” he barked, waving me away.

  Ah. Found him.

  “So Vaarg” I heard the man boom as I headed back to Aisle Three “I was looking for some Soul Pickles.”

  “Right. I’ve got your shipment in the back!” the Boss responded.

  What has my life become?

  It doesn’t matter.

  I spent the rest of the day mopping and cleaning Aisle Three.

  Hopefully it would keep the store from squashing me before payday.

  It seemed to be working. The aisle no longer hovered over me at a 32 degree angle.

  Progress.

  Probably.