Day Labor

Adrian poured the clear liquid over the ice in the shallow glass, watching it turn white in swirls and eddies. He turned off the lights and carried the glowing glass to the mirror. Rather than the mysterious, cool image he was hoping for, the sickly blue glow left him looking pallid and cadaverous.

With the overhead lights back on and the black light off, the liquid had the appearance of skim milk over ice. Adrian checked his appearance in the mirror. Even dressed as he was in his best, he knew he wouldn’t fit in. The word ‘poor’ might as well have been tattooed across his forehead in bold letters.

The party was less than twenty-four hours away. He wondered if he should skip it. It wasn’t like they’d pick him, anyway. He looked at the refrigerator and the invitation hanging there under a magnet advertisement for the day labor office.

He gulped down his drink without thinking. The ice cubes in the glass brought him back to the moment. He hadn’t even tasted it. Perhaps another? No, that was his one a day he allowed himself. Instead, he took his time sucking on the ice cubes, getting every last bit of flavor.

When the last of the ice was gone, Adrian undressed, folding his trousers with care and hanging them under the jacket, next to the shirt. Those two hangars, a second-hand pair of sneakers, and his battered work boots defined the contents of his small closet. The dresser beside it contained every other garment he owned.

He grabbed the first t-shirt his hand touched and paired it with work jeans chosen with the same lack of care. It was too early to sleep, long past dinner, and he felt he might explode if he tried to sit still. He left the small apartment, checking that the door was locked, or at least as locked as it could be.

Wandering around the neighborhood was his entertainment on those evenings where he couldn’t sit still enough to read a book. The blue glow of TVs illuminated windows throughout the brownstones. No doubt, they were all watching the latest news about the aliens.

He’d watched on the TV at the day labor waiting room when they first showed up a month earlier. When they turned out to look like elves from fantasy, speculations ran wild. Without a job for him that day, the news station in the waiting room was as good as it got.

The aliens asked for humans that were willing to return to their planet as ambassadors or something. They even had a website set up to apply. Adrian had used one of the computers at the day labor office to apply. Not that he expected to be chosen, with billionaires, stars, and politicians all saying they’d applied.

Last week, he’d gotten an invitation to a party for final selection of those that would be chosen He thought about it as he wandered past the bodega. Would he have to get a passport? Could he even afford one? Maybe the aliens would pay for it. What would customs look like?

A rat startled him, rushing to return to its hiding place under the stairs of a brownstone. It dropped something as it ran by, and he picked it up. It was a ten-dollar bill. A little chewed on one corner, but good enough.

Adrian turned around and walked with purpose to the bodega. He waved at the cashier as he entered and made his way to the back. There, next to the beer cooler stood his target. Nestled between boxes of wine on one side, and bottles of liquor on the other, stood a rotating shelf of used paperbacks.

Relying on the cover art to determine the genre, he picked out three by authors he’d never heard of. He avoided the romance novels with bare-chested, long-haired men on the cover, that were churned out by the hundreds each month. He chose a science fiction novel, a mystery, and one that was likely a drama.

He had enough for the three books and a day-old, plain bagel. Purchases in hand, he returned to his apartment. Without a key but just a wiggle and twist, his “locked” door opened. The promise of new reading material made sitting still worth it.

Adrian put a chipped coffee cup with half an inch of water in the toaster over next to the stale bagel and turned it on. He wandered back and forth between the kitchenette and his bed until the bagel was warm.

Nibbling on the warm, somewhat softened bagel, he sat on the single chair in his apartment and began reading the drama. Somewhere in the middle of chapter four, he fell asleep.

It was still the middle of the night when a rap on the door woke him. He crossed the apartment to the door and peeked through the peephole. It was one of the space elves!

He opened the door, and the five-foot-nothing, grey-skinned, pointy-eared alien asked, “Are you Adrian Keller?”

“That’s me,” he answered.

“I’m Cruit,” the alien said, and hoisted a six-pack of beer. “Can I come in?”

“Sure, sure.” Adrian motioned the alien in and gestured to the chair. “Have a seat.”

“Where will you—?” Cruit trailed off as Adrian sat cross-legged on the floor. “Oh.”

 Adrian accepted a beer from the visitor. “Sorry about the apartment. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

“A place to sleep is a place to sleep.” The alien took a deep drink of the beer. “Guys like us — except I’m a female, is that still a guy? What was I saying? Yeah, workers like us have to be happy with what we can get.”

“You’re a laborer?” Adrian asked.

“Much like yourself,” she answered. “I’m a manager now.”

Adrian raised his beer. “Congratulations. Better paycheck?”

“Better accommodations.”

“That’s not nothing.”

Cruit leaned forward. “Why did you apply for a position with us?”

Adrian chuckled. “Hard to find work. A steady job would be nice.”

“I talked to the people at Reddy Labor. They say you’re not afraid of hard work, and you pick up power tools and equipment operation quickly.”

“True enough, I suppose.”

“Would you be opposed to working on the ship?”

“Doing labor?”

“Yes.”

“If it’s a steady position, I’m in.” Adrian carried the empties to the kitchenette, put ice in two glasses, and grabbed the bottle of Ouzo. “What about the party tomorrow?”

“That’s for the fancy people,” Cruit said. “I’m guessing that’s as much not you as it’s not me.”

“True enough.” Adrian returned with the glasses and bottle.

“If you want it, I’ve got a position for you. It’s permanent.”

“Sure. When do I start?”

“I could use your help getting the ship ready tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’m there.” He held up the bottle. “Care for something a little stronger?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Adrian poured the clear liquid over the ice in the shallow glass, watching it turn white in swirls and eddies.