âImagine a sickie who's *so* busy at their fast paced job that they don't register how sick they are. They get their first lull in work and the nausea hits them like a truck and their stomach only gives them a few seconds as a warning.â Hereâs that fic!
I want to preface this with a few things. This is, yet again, inspired my job. My back-of-house (âbackroomâ) is absolutely puny. The desk isnât even 3 feet away from the mop-cubby. Thereâs no door to the back, so anyone in the front-of-house (the space behind the counters) area can easily see into the back and see the sinks, the edge of the desk, and the opening to the mop-cubby.This fic is a little long because I feel that I needed to really set the scene to give an idea on what made his day so hectic. I believe itâs worth it :) Iâll be posting the second half eventually, which will mostly be Ryan comforting Dantae as he struggles. Itâs already started, but Iâm all edited-out for the day lol
TW: graphic depictions of vomiting and hurt/no comfort style angst.
~2.5k words (sorry not sorry)
Dantae waits in the pouring rain for his store manager to arrive. He's got his hands in his deep pockets, balled into fists. He's pulled his hood up, but his ears are still freezing. His nose is running from the cold. Even listening to his favorite songs doesn't lessen the feeling of foreboding brewing inside him.
When his store manager, Kelly, lets them both inside, the alarm screeches almost immediately; their distributor hadnât properly set the alarm when they left, very early that morning. While this wasnât the first time his had happened, it still has Dantae gritting his teeth one his way to the back of house. Kelly quickly disables the alarm and there is a second of silence before the store's radio turns on, blaring nearly as loud as the alarm had. He is almost convinced that the closing crew threw a party as soon as they locked the doors.
Dantae washes his hands and rushes to grab the seven boxes of surplus pastries. Before Kelly took over as Store Manager, the openers didn't need to rush, as all they had to do was put the pastries on display. The pastries that they had recieved in the morning were thrown away every night. Everything changed when she took over. Everything.
Kelly had implemented a new rule of keeping all pastries, in 3 separate plastic bins for two days. Not only did Dantae find this repulsive, he had found that no one labels and dates the plastic bins correctly. He would then have to sort through all the day-old pastries, comparing them to the dates on the lids, in order to make sure they're still in date, then move them all out of the bins, put the new pastries in, cover them with puny sheets of oven paper, then put all the old ones on top. As if that wasn't enough torture, he then has to write new dates for the new pastries and double-check the old dates to make sure they're actually dated correctly. This can take him ninety minutes, minimum, on a good day. Today is not one of those days. He's only just finished putting the new pastries into the bins when it's time to open. The older ones sat out on the counter, away from customers.
Four customers wait at the glass door by the time comes to open.They all seem to stare daggers at him as he continues to rush to put the old pastries away.
"They always look like goddamned vultures", he mutters to himself as Kelly unlocks the doors. They all file into the store, nearly tripping each other to get into line first. An opening manager would normally be able to run register until they get their first espresso bar drink order. Of course, luck is not on their side when the very first order is an espresso drink.
Dantae is forced to ring the next customers up, all ordering drip coffees and slices of bread, none of which heâs had the time to cut before opening. He opens the cabinet in which they store their unopened breads and miscellaneous goods that have three-day shelf life and finds literally three of every item inside. He grits his teeth and takes a strangled breath in, letting it out as a soft hiss.
He has to pull out the stuff that had expired the night before, in order to even grab the stuff expiring at the end of the day. A spare package of coffee cake gets yanked off the shelf with one of the items, hitting him in the neck. He lets out a small growl in lieu of sweating loudly. He finds himself holding his breath as he juggles the items and places them on a counter behind the register. He takes a deep breath when a wave of slight dizziness washes over him.
Barely 5 minutes into opening, he is scrambling around behind the counter, pouring a coffee, then cutting a slice of bread, then running back to the register, then pouring more coffee, then cutting a *different* slice of bread. He does this two more times, all with a different type of bread.
âI havenât forgotten about the next customer, I promise!â Dantae shouts over his shoulder
By the time he's finished cutting the last slice, there are three more customers, all of whom order espresso drinks, making it impossible for Kelly to help him on register.
There is a brief moment of reprieve, after finishing those three orders, before he hears the familiar chime of their moble order printer. He groans inwardly and puts all the stickers onto the cups. He groans out loud when the machine chimes again. And again. And again. Then a fourth time. None of these orders are single item tickets. Two of them are delivery orders, which are packed by hand, usually by the person expediting the process. Of course, Dantae didnât have that luxury this morning. One of those delivery orders is six separate items. The other is four. More customers enter the store as he sorts the stickers into two categories; food/drip coffee and espresso drinks.
"I'll be with the next guest as soon as I can!" He shouts, as he sticks what feels like the 400th sticker onto a cup and sets it with the others near the espresso bar.
When Dantae opens the small warm breakfast refrigerator, he wants to curl up into a ball and roll away. There are no items in the small refrigerator. They're all in the back, in the thaw-fridge. He near sprints into the back, grabs the sandwiches he needs for the enormous delivery order, returns to the front and all but tosses them onto the cutting board next to the oven before tending to the other customers. The next person in won't be in for another hour and a half. Until then, Dantae is unable to finish putting away the rest of the pastries and finish the bread.
He spends the next ninety minutes running back and forth from the register, to the coffee urns, to the thaw-fridge, to the mobile order machine. Even when Kelly has the opportunity to help him ring, heâs still jogging around the entire front of house. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees his coworker, Evan, come through the door.
"Help... me..." he mouths as he walks behind him to clock in. Evan gives him a look that practically screams âeekâ before disappearing into the back to put his apron on. He clocks in as fast as he can and dashes to the register, finally giving Dantae the opportunity to finish the pastries. He makes the mistake of believing the rest of the day will be easier from then on.
Ever the unlucky, he finds several incorrect labels, forcing him to spend far too long on the aforementioned pastries. He's ready to pull his hair out by the time he's finally finished. He expects to be able to take a minute or two to breathe and mentally recover. However, those precious minutes never come.
As soon as he takes over the bar, there are four mobile orders in a row, then 5 more in-person orders. Kelly didnât even get the chance to walk away, to start her own work. Dantae gets through three orders before they were being rudely snapped at by an upset customer, who asks about the drink she had ordered not even three minutes previously. She tells him her name and he scans through the panels of orders, making a mental note of the number of drinks across all the orders.
"Let's see... Linda, right? You're 7th in line. We'll get it out to you as soon as we can, I promise!â He cries out in exasperation. She scoffs and glares at him. She then goes on a two minute long spiel about how young people âthese daysâ aren't living up to her unrealistic standards. Dantae has begun to block her out as more orders are queued.
Dantae had been working in a non-stop, dizzing blur, for four hours before he's finally able to take his ten-minute break. He heats himself a sandwich, makes his large iced latte, then staggers to the back. He takes a stress-free minute to catch his breath, take a long drink of cold water, and try to calm himself before he's nearly knocked off his seat by a tornado of dizziness. He's got the computer desk in a death grip as he grabs his latte and takes a deep drink of it, thinking maybe he just needs more fluids. He sucks down a third of it before pulling away. Heâs incredibly grateful that itâs Friday and that he has the next two days off.
Not more than thirty seconds later, as heâs looking down at his sandwich, he comes to the realization the sensation in his gut, from the beginning of his shift, was not from an impending sense of doom; it was slight nausea. He wasn't dizzy from holding his breath earlier, but rather because he's sick. He pushes the offending sandwich away from him.
He suddenly feels the muscles behind his jaw clench and his mouth floods with saliva. He has only enough time to slap his hand over his mouth before he's gagging into it. He scrambles out of the chair, making for the nearby mop cubby, as itâs the closest thing he can think of, but manages to get his boot caught on one of its legs. He crashes onto his hip and promptly vomits on the floor. His hand returns to his mouth as he retches loudly. Watery, coffee colored vomit sprays from between his fingers, causing even more of a mess. He instantly regrets gulping down so much water and coffee so quickly.
Kelly peeks around the corner at the sound of Dantaeâs retch. The scene before her draws a soft gasp from her. While Dantae is facing away from her, she can still see the pool of liquid in front of him and splattered on the wall. For a split-second she thinks heâs unconscious, until he scrambles, on his hands and knees, to the mop-cubby. She sees his head disappear and his back arch as he vomits again.
She hears the angry screaming from the steam wands and hisses in pain as boiling milk splashes onto her hand. She turns it off and abandons it to rush to Dantaeâs side. Evan leans back to peer into the backroom and his mouth falls open. He quickly turns back to the confused customer and comes up with the best excuse he can as he finishes the transaction.
Meanwhile, Kelly puts a hand on his back, but withdraws it as his somtach rebels again. Sheâs holding her breath and leaning awkwardly over the puddle of sick that Dantae had inadvertently kneeled into and smeared across the floor in his scramble to the cubby. Thereâs tears of exertion, embarrassment, and pain trailing down his face as he begins to dry heave.
Kellyasks the obligatory, âAre you okay?â
Dantae lets out an exasperated grunt.
âNo, Iâm far from okay, sorry,â he says, still facing the drain, gagging again.
âOkay, well, I have to call house keeping and close the store, so you sit here, head over the basin, and wait,â she replies, no sympathy detectable in her voice. Dantae nods weakly and spits away the thick string of saliva hanging from his bottom lip.
âCan you hand me some paper towels? It came out of my nose, too.â
âThatâs disgusting,â she sneers, but grabs him a few and hands them to him before walking away. He could hear her telling the customers that they needed to leave, as they needed to close. He swears she was more gentle with them than she was with him. He knew they butted heads, but he thought sheâd be more understanding of his predicament. The thought hurts his soul.
He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and sends a quick text to Ryan, explaining what happened. Ryan responds quickly, agreeing to come get him. Dantae stares blankly as his phone screen, swallowing thickly. Heâs not swallowing back saliva this time, but rather, the lump in his throat. He tips his head back and wills away the tears clouding his vision.
âI thought I told you to keep your head over the drain,â he hears Kelly say as she walked back over to him and sat down in the desk chair, looking at the computer. He tips his head forward again and those tears are back and falling down his cheeks. He stays silent as he listens to her speaking with the head of housekeeping (The mallâs term for the janitors and maintanance workers), requesting a bio-hazard cleaning. His cheeks burn with embarrassment and shame. He closes his eyes but still struggles to keep them dry as he silently sits on the floor, shins covered in his own vomit, waiting for his husband.
It takes Ryan fifteen minutes to reach the store. He sends Dantae a text to let him know that heâs here. Dantae stands slowly, wincing at the pain in his hip and knees. He refuses to look down at his dirty shins and boots, lest he start throwing up again.
âRyanâs here. Iâm really really sorry for the trouble Iâve caused. Iâll see you next week,â he says, his voice wavering. He steals a glance at Kelly as he walks past her, heading toward the front of house. She doesnt turn her head from the computer before speaking.
âItâs okay. Iâll see you Tuesday.â
Dantae canât help but notice that she didnât tell him to feel better. He knows heâs overthinking, but it still hurts nonetheless. Heâs swallowing back tears again, trying to keep his breathing even as he clocks out. He makes his way across the now empty store and outside. He sees Ryanâs car idling in front of the store, speaking with a cold-eyed security guard that he didnât recognize. He must be new, he surmises. He catches the end of the conversation as he slides inside, careful to not get anything dirty.
âSee, heâs here. I wasnât sitting here for shiggles. Now, if you please, I have to take my sick husband home.â
