The Boy, The Bitch, and The Buzz

       “I’m sorry, babe. It’s over.”

           I feel the blood rush to my cheeks and my hands start to tremble. I’m not embarrassed or sad or whatever petty emotion I’m sure he expects me to feel. I am enraged. My fists curl to stop the shaking, and I start to calculate what I will say to this asshole. This must be your sad attempt at a joke. I think of responding. You are breaking up with me? You, who cheated on me not once, not twice, but nine times with the girl I hired to work at The Buzz? You, who would be an actual vagrant if I hadn’t given you a job when you got fired from testing video games because even that was too much work for you? You, who thought the honey I sell comes from fucking butterflies? You, who forgot our anniversary every year for the past three years? How do you even forget that many times? You have a calendar on your phone! I know because I also set your alarms so you can get your sorry ass up for shifts after you stay up until three in the morning playing the same goddamn video games that you couldn’t play for work. How does that even make sense?? Please explain it to me. I am dying to hear you rant about how capitalism kills dreams.

           “Um, babe?”

           I realize I’ve been staring a hole into the wooden floors that this bum obviously neglected to sweep despite my asking him to this morning. I look up into his eyes or at least try to. They shift around like those of a guilty rat who’s been stealing food from the cupboard. He shifts his weight and avoids my gaze. His hands are buried in the pockets of his jeans which I know haven’t been washed in weeks. Why did I stay with you? After all the times you messed up, I knew and still I chose you. I could do so much better than you, you rat-faced failure. I own a business for Christ’s sake, and a successful one too! I don’t need you holding me back, you disgusting, greasy man-child.

           “So… Wanna help me pack up my stuff?”

           We’re looking eye to eye now, but I don’t know if he can seem the flames burning in mine. I long to incinerate him where he stands. I still have to sweep the floor anyway, what’s a few more ashes? You want my help? I would not give you a three-day old burger that had been trampled on the floorboard of my car if you were an old beggar on the street fifty years from now, holding up a carboard sign that reads “Anything Helps.” And let’s be honest - without me, that’s exactly where you’ll be without me to do everything for you. Unless, of course, you can trick your side piece into fulfilling your mommy issue fueled fantasies the same way you fooled me.

           He steps toward me, a strained look of regret glued to his face. He makes his best attempt at puppy dog eyes, and even tries pout his thin lips. I know exactly what you’re thinking, you skeevy little wackadoo. We will absolutely NOT be having break up sex, especially with your new girlfriend working right below us. I bet she’s pocketing raspberry lip wax or listening to us through the vents as we speak. Even if she couldn’t hear us, I still wouldn’t give myself to you again because you’re a selfish lover! And guess what? I faked it EVERY SINGLE TIME. I hope your new girl has plenty of toys because that’s the only way she’s ever going to-

           He interrupts my private roast by reaching for my hand, and I know I have to actually say something.

           “I - I need to check on something at the shop,” I stutter as I pull away. I start to turn to leave, but I summon the courage to say one more thing first. “Pack up your stuff and be out before I come back.” Not as satisfying as what I had come up with in my head, but it got the message across - I would not be helping him pack or get off. I turn my back on him for the last time and walk away, making sure to swing my hips ever so slightly to remind him of what he will be missing.

I don’t actually need to do anything at the shop, and I wouldn’t be in the right mindset even if I did, but I had to get out of there. Where else would I go but down the stairs to my cozy little honey store, The Buzz? Maybe I could make a nice hot cup of chamomile, sweetened with local honey to calm me.

As soon as I enter The Buzz, I hear my name, followed by the sound of one of my thrifted teacups shattering as it hits the floor. There she is, practically crouching behind the counter, her usually feline facial features fraught with fear. Now I’m the cat, and she’s the skanky little mouse with her fingers covered in my cheese. I wonder where else her nasty fingers have been. I would never do it, but I bet he got her to stick them up his –

“Hey, girlfriend, so, I’m sure you know by now. I wanted him to talk to you sooner, I actually begged him because I knew what he was doing was totally unfair to you. And I never wanted to hurt you, I mean you’re super cool and I’m really grateful that you gave me this job. And I just want you to know -”

I tune out her nervous rambling and begin to formulate my response. Would you shut up for once in your pitiful life? I don’t want to hear your flattery or how you aren’t the bad guy in this situation. You aren’t an innocent bystander - you willingly slept with my boyfriend. No, we aren’t best friends, and no, you don’t have any obligation to me other than being my employee. But how could you come into work every day with that perfectly glossed smile on your flawless face and lie to me for the past two months? You have to be an actual psychopath.

“- and the store has been doing so well lately, I think it’s because I’ve been hyping it up to the peeps in my yoga class. I even brought everyone free samples last week – they loved it and said they would totes be coming in for more! I honestly don’t know where this place would be without me -”

Oh my God. Is this bimbo still talking, and about how my store would essentially be nothing without her? Where do you shop? Because I need to know where you got the audacity. The audacity to give away my product without my permission and then pat yourself on the back for being the store savior. Tell me! You don’t do any actual work while you’re here. I don’t pay you to flirt with the customers and my boyfriend, and that is the only task you put your back (and ass) into. You are more useless to me than a yellow jacket in a beehive, and I dare say even more destructive.

“- and that’s why I had to end things with my yoga instructor and find a new studio. So do you kind of get where I’m coming from?”

I have no idea where she’s coming from because I had tuned out the majority of her babbling, but this is it - my opportunity to say something. “Honey, I don’t think you can work here anymore.” She blinks at me, looking as confused as a child who was just told “no” for the first time. “You’re fired,” I clarify. She responds by bursting into tears and running out of my store. Simple, yet effective, I think to myself.