10-99
down at his feet. He wonders if his toes are too big.
“What’s the address we use again?” John asks the unkempt man next to him.
The instructor comes in the room. He is a tall man with an orange shirt, with the letters “Transient Trainer” monogramed in white. His tan trousers are crisp, and John can’t help following the ironed creases in the man’s pants.
“Fuck, they said it twelve times. Pay attention.” John looks down to his hands. His right foot begins to jiggle. “I was looking at the donuts,” John says as he wipes the crumbs from his face. His mom used to take him to The Donut Shoppee™ every Sunday after church. John, a creature of habit, would pick the sugared jelly donut and for the rest of the day his mother would be swiping sugar particles from his face. “Put this building’s address. They even wrote it on the board.” John looks up. The building’s address is on the board and in bold letters it says Use this address. He wishes he paid more attention to things. John scribbles the address down on the form. He gets stopped again when the form asks if he is a business, independent contractor, or other. Thinking maybe the answer is somewhere close, he scans the white board and is rewarded because in red it says Check the box that says Independent Contractor. He checks that box and mentally pats himself on the back. He signs his name, John Christian Rhoades, and dates the form 10-01-10. All those ones and zeroes remind him of his former job. He thinks when he gets back on his feet he’ll buy himself a lottery ticket. Then he’ll hit the big money and he will finally have enough money to buy back his apartment from Kristen and get a new pair of shoes. Those new running shoes that separate each toe really frighten and intrigue him. He wonders how the shoes know how big a person’s toe is. What if a person’s toe is too big for the shoe? Can one take the shoe back? Does a person get measured at the store and then, three weeks later, one’s shoes come from someplace like Africa? John looks
MM Wittle
“Okay, people. Here’s the deal.” The instructor waits for the room to settle down. The woman across from John reaches out her grubby hand and pulls three more donuts off the plate that rests in the middle of the faux oak conference table. John tries to follow where she puts the donuts, but she’s had lots of practice hiding precious items and John loses track of them. She grins at him, showing she has four teeth. John shudders and looks back at the instructor. “From the hours of nine to five, you will be stationed outside one of the surrounding Dada’s Convenient Stores, Inc. Your job is to open the door for the customers and ask if, on the way out, they can spare some change. We will provide you with baseball hats to assist with the collection of cash.” Deep within the room, a voice calls out to the instructor, “What kind of baseball hats? I won’t wear any damn Mets hat. And you can fuck your mother if you think I’ll put a Florida Marlins hat on this head! Don’t know what they were thinking trying to win the pennant against us!” The instructor, without so much as a pause says, “Actually, we had some guys stationed at Pattison during a Phillies Hat Day giveaway a few months back. We still have enough hats for all of you.” A grunt from the corner allows the instructor to continue. “Have your patrons deposit their change in your hat. Once they are out of site, put the money in your pocket. Once your pocket is filled, walk to your nearest
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