“TELL ME THAT you understand.” The Supervisor nodded slowly, as if that alone would make Maggie agree. “You understand that there’s a right way, and a wrong way, and only I know the right way.”
“Sure,” Maggie mumbled. “You know the right way. Got it.”
The Supervisor’s mustache quivered, the way it did when he was about to explode. “Check your attitude, young lady. I’m doing you a favor here.”
Maggie stared at the space between his shoulder and ear. “Sorry, sir.”
“You’re lucky I don’t write you up.” His face, already a puffy red, turned even redder. “Is that what you want? Do you want me to write you up?”
“Because it seems to me, with your attitude and that smirk you’ve got on your face, that you want me to write you up. I will, you know. I will write you up.” A gob of spittle began to form at the corner of his mouth.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll work on checking my attitude, sir.”
The Supervisor poked a finger into her shoulder. “Your problem is that you think you deserve better. You think that the work here doesn’t matter. You think you’re too good for it. Well, you’re not too good for it. You’re not.”
Maggie forced her face into a neutral expression. Wasn’t he done yelling yet? She had to pee.
The Supervisor shook his head and hitched his thumbs in his pockets. “Why do I waste my time with you? Get out of my sight.”
Maggie ran passed him and towards the restrooms. What a douche.