Dead Dogs Don't Roll Over
Written by: Alex Sandell

Chapter 13
Indiana, Let Your Hair Fall Down

No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to remember the locations of banks. Every other employee strolls over to their assigned bank with no trouble at all, while I always end up walking around the entire casino about three times, trying desperately to pretend that "I meant to do that."

I am constantly having points deducted for arriving late at my bank. Like most high school level jobs, "Broken Arrow" casino works on a juvenile point system. It doesn’t take very long for the average person to figure out that "Broken Arrow" is using kindergarten-like policies to reprimand its 18-65 year old employees.

How it works is, each employee has twelve points allotted to them every six months, if that employee loses all twelve, they find themselves in the unemployment line. If you're late more than fifteen minutes you're docked half a point. If you miss a day you lose out on another point. If you miss a day without calling in you lose an entire two points. If, within a six month period, you miss more than three days, without a doctor’s note, a note's sent home to your parents and you're unemployed.

Currently, I have one and a half points left, and they have to last me another four months, before I go back up to twelve. I'm almost looking forward to the day when Paul calls me into the office and tell me all my points are gone. Being fired will give me the chance to leave my hometown and go after that acting job that’s been waiting for me.

After walking in circles for 10 minutes, I decide to swallow my pride and ask someone where bank fourteen is. I stop and ask Carrie, the new girl who has an eerie resemblance to Harrison Ford, only with breasts and long hair. She has her back turned to me and I tap her on the shoulder, interrupting her customer transaction.

"Wayne!" she screams, "You haven't even checked into your bank yet?!?" I suddenly feel strange asking a girl who looks like Han Solo and has been working at the casino less than a week how to find a bank that I've been acquainted with for nearly a year. It reminds me of when I used to have a pre-school girl tying my shoes when I was in Kindergarten . . . come to think of it, she sort of looked like Mark Hamill. Weird.

"Um, I'm spacing out today, you wouldn't happen to know where nickel hell is, would you?" Carrie begins laughing as I wonder if she’s ever been stopped for an autograph. "This is nickel hell, Wayne, they've had me running over from fifty-centers until you arrive." I suddenly feel worthy of a job selling nickels to weird people with nothing better to do.

I feel my chest clenching up as I imagine Richard waiting around the corner to catch my late arrival. I pick off a stray piece of sleep stuck to my eyelash and ask Carrie where Richard is. "Oh, I don’t think he’s on the floor yet." I feel my chest begin to unwind.

"Thank Heaven, the way my day's going I figured that prick would already be standing here, deducting points." Carrie wrinkles her nose at me like a curious rabbit that looks strikingly similar to Indiana Jones. "What's wrong with Richard?" She asks. I remember how nicely Richard treats his female employees and end our conversation as quickly as possible. "Nothing. He’s okay, I guess." I say while scurrying off.

Once I arrive at my bank, I hear a dog barking. I glance around nervously, trying to locate the sound. I nearly fall over when I realize where it's coming from. Something’s alive in bank number fourteen.

Go to: Chapter 14

1997 Alex Sandell but, if you're a book publisher and, you wanna get this puppy out, please get in touch with me, hand me a nice, big contract and, of course, a 12 pack of Grape Soda and maybe we can do lunch.

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