Kyle wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. Spikes of sweat-drenched hair hung in his eyes from under his visor. His mother had told him to get a hair cut before he went out and got a job. He showed her different when he got a job, but she made her point when his long hair made him miserable in the hot kitchen.

16-year-old Kyle set out to get a job just four days prior with the promise from his mother of an automobile acting as dangling motivation. He applied at every place in town, starting with the ideal places to work first. Unfortunately, his lack of experience in the retail area put the kibosh on his career at the music store, and his lack of formal technical education stood in the way of his potential at the computer repair shop. Desperation lead him to the food service industry. More specifically, Pete's a Pizza.

Pete's a Pizza was the embodiment of Hell to Kyle. All of his coworkers were older people who had either squandered their potentials in the past, or recently been paroled from prison. There were also a few young stoners, but they were drivers, and Kyle spent all of his time in the kitchen. He mostly kept to himself and tried to not fuck up.

He ladled sauce onto the pizza crust. He spread it on a little, then tried the technique that he had seen the other people do. He spun the pan, and held the spatula flat over it, but applied too much pressure. The entire middle of the pizza was destroyed.

'Hey, Kyle!'� Lester, the manager, was such a fucking creep. He waddled toward Kyle. Lester had the kind of gut that hung over to the point that one would wonder how he even had access to his genitals. He scratched his pedophile-esqu moustache.

'Kyle, I need you to go mop the ladies room. I don't know what the deal is. I mean, it's not like they have to aim anything. You know what I mean?'� He elbowed Kyle.

'Huh? Wh-yeah.'�

'Great, so. . . Get it cleaned up, please. . . ' He stood for a moment looking at a puzzled Kyle.

'Uh. . .where's the mop and bucket at?'�

Lester pointed over toward the cleaning supplies. Kyle found the mop without a problem, but the mop bucket was a whole different story. He figured that they would be close together, but couldn't see it. After a moment of searching, he found a bucket next to the ice machine. He filled it with hot water, and headed to the bathroom.

'Kyle, what the Hell, dude?'� Brad, one of the drivers came in the back door from a delivery.

Kyle froze.

'What are you doing with the ice bucket, dude?'�

Kyle looked at the bucket. It was then that he actually noticed the word 'ICE'� on the side of the bucket. 'Wha-uh-I couldn't find the mop bucket.'�

Brad snorted a laugh. 'It's right over there, man.'�

Kyle felt like an idiot when Brad pointed out the mop bucket next to the faucet in the back of the kitchen where he found the mop. He hung his head and started to dump the mop water into the proper receptacle.

'Hey, man. It's too late now. You might as well just use what you've got.'� Brad said.

Kyle thought for a minute. Cheeks flush, he turned and headed toward the ladies room. When he got in there, he discovered that it was worse than he could have ever imagined. There was no warning that he would be dealing with solids. He sighed, and went to work.

Scarred for life and skin crawling, Kyle returned to his post in the kitchen. His hands and forearms glowed red from the vigorous scouring in scalding hot water that had just received. He still felt filthy. He wanted to pour boiling bleach over his body. Only then would the evil be completely cleansed from his body. The feeling of disgust was nearly overwhelming. He decided that he would go up front and ask to go home.

The door to Lester's office was closed and locked when he got to the front. He heard coughing through the door, and noticed that the area smelled like his older brother's room. The phone rang. He knocked. The phone rang again. He knocked again.

'Lester?'�

Lester coughed again. 'Kyle, can you take that delivery, man?'�

Kyle had no idea how to take a delivery order. 'Uh-yeah. Sure.'�

He timidly picked up the phone. 'H-hello?'�

'Who is this?'� The voice on the other side of the phone was very deep and very angry.

'This is Kyle. Who's this?'�

'Kyle, why did my girlfriend call this number?'�

Kyle's eyes widened. 'What?'�

'I was looking through my girlfriend's phone. I knew that bitch was cheating on me. Why's she calling your number? Are you fucking Denise? Huh, you son of a fuck? I'm going to cut your balls off, you little piece of shit. You fucked with the wrong dude's girlfriend. You hear me?'�

'Uh-what?'�

'Where are you at, fucker?'�

'Pete's a Pizza. . .'�

'Is she there with you, mother fucker? Tell her that she forgot her phone, shit head. I'll be there in just a minute to give her the phone and hand you a fuckin' asswhoopin'. Are you ready for that, faggot?'�

'Uh. . .I guess. . .'�

'Get ready, fuckhead. What's your name? Kyle?'�

'No, it's Lester.'�

The man on the other end chuckled. 'Lester? Like Mo-Lester?'�

'Yeah, exactly.'�

'Brace yourself, mothercock.'� With that, he hung up.

Kyle let the previous couple of minutes fully sink in. He untied his apron and threw it under the counter.

'Lester,'� he yelled through the door. 'I'm out, dude.'�

The door swung open, releasing a wall of smoke. 'You're closing tonight. You can't leave.'�

'Peace. Oh yeah, there's a call in order on it's way in.'�

He was out the door before anybody could react. He had the new Jennipher Tanning movie at home, and promise of a glimpse at her whatnots to look forward to, rather than subjecting himself to the Pete's a Pizza bullshit.

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