"Joe?"
A flash of anger rides up the back of my neck as I try to answer as calmly as I can. "It's, uh, Joel, actually," I say, tight-lipped.
"Right. Ain't that what I said?"
"Yes, sir," I say, "must've heard you wrong. My apologies."
On your first day of work, no matter what the job is, I find it's best to agree with whatever anyone is saying. But this isn't just any first day; this is my slow descent into the third ring of Dante's Inferno.
"Right. No big deal, son. I'm not a stickler like that, just be sure to keep up."
He leaves a pause in the conversation; I take that to mean it is my turn to acknowledge his profound wisdom. I give a slight nod.
"Anyways, I'm Randal. One L, by the way, in case you were curious," Randal said.
I'm not. He is a portly man, mid-thirties, and sweating in inappropriate places. He is constantly wiping his forehead with a tattered napkin. Balding, but sporting the comb-over in a way I've never seen. We are in the break room (read: two chairs in what seemed to be a closet hiding multiple skeletons) and he is positioned with his foot on the chair, arms crossed over his thigh, as if we are pirates searching for lost treasure. Every once in a while, I am graced with his spittle flying high out of his mouth and landing smack-dab in the middle of my forehead. But, hey, it's my first day, so I take it with pride.
Wendy's is the establishment I picked to throw myself at. And they'd taken me. Arms spread wide, wide open. Upon first arrival, it seemed to me as if I were the only white, non-jailed citizen to be currently employed at the gracious workplace. As I slowly wandered around, throwing up awkward "hellos" and "hi there's," I noticed how much I already hated the place. I had been there no less than five minutes. Welcome home, working-class. In this economy, you have to take what you can get.
The snapping of Randal's fingers brings me back from my daydreaming. "Hey, Earth to Joe. You in there, buddy?"
Oh, how I hate to be called Joe. "Yeah, I'm here. Sorry, spacing off."
"Yeah, well, don't be caught doing that on the floor, you'll catch some serious heat from the bosses. Here's your nametag by the way."
He throws it to me so lopsided I almost have to jump out of my chair to grab it. The nametag reads: "Joe."
My name is Joel.