Squishers can't be choosers.
— The Gooed Shoed
The Boxtan Inn wasn't exactly a healthy working environment, and living there made matters worse.
"What time is it? Who and what needs to be hosed off where? Yeah, yeah, I'm on it." And often in it.
And my patience was wearing thin.
I was already starting to look for a more suitable living arrangement when there was an incident that bothered me more than the others, which is saying a lot.
It was a brutally cold December morning. I was awake, but still in bed, curled up under the covers, trying to stay warm.
I jumped when I heard what sounded like someone trying to break the lock on my door.
I grabbed a lamp and yanked the cord to unplug it from the wall. And I waited. The moment the door opened, I was going to slam the base of the lamp into the skull of whoever came in and wrap the cord around his neck.
But the sounds stopped.
Then, a man who I presume was the would-be intruder screamed, "No! NO!" followed by... I don't know... the sound of something like a log and a watermelon hitting concrete. Then, everything got quiet, which made sense based on what I'd just heard.
I looked through the peephole, hoping to see what happened, but all I saw was a giant eyeball which had a surprisingly deep voice. It said, "STAY."
I did.
Then something which had previously been a person was dragged, shoveled, and squeegeed away.
The sound of a hose came next, which was odd since that was part of my job at the Boxtan Inn.
Finally, the eyeball appeared in the peephole again.
It said, "OKAY."
I was unconvinced.
I needed proof, but when I looked down, I got plenty.
I didn't see the floor. Instead, I saw fate, telling me it was time to find a new place to live. And a new job. And also new shoes, because a whole lot of goo, or should I say eww, which had previously been part of a who, was seeping under the door.
I was in quite a hurry to find new shoes, as you can imagine, so I trudged through the snow to browse some of the vintage shops around Miller Beach.
Miller Beach is a nicer neighborhood in Gary. Technically, any neighborhood was a nicer neighborhood compared to the Boxtan Inn, but Miller Beach is actually nice. Ish. Look, it's all relative, but the funk in my squishy shoes was a reminder that somebody's family now had one less relative and squishers can't be choosers.
Again, to be clear, I didn't squash him. I was just wearing squishy shoes because of him, and those shoes had to go.
I found some frilly boots at The Shady Lady Exchange, which is sort of like a thrift store for vintage clothes, sundries, and "For Display Only" weapons. The store's logo is a girl holding an umbrella, but the handle is a crowbar. Legal stuff is sold out front. The rest is in the back. Yeah, it's that kind of place, but for chicks, which I assume is why it didn't get raided.
They had a help wanted sign next to the cash register, so I applied for a job. The manager at the Boxtan gave me a glowing reference, most likely to get rid of me. I think the fact that I wasn't afraid of the place made him more afraid of me than the criminals.
I can't imagine why, but I didn't care.
I was sick of buying new shoes, so I needed a new gig.
The Shady Lady turned out to be a great place to work. Sure, it was a dump, but the gals had sass and the customers seemed to like it. Plus, nobody got shot, nobody got dragged, hauled or shoveled away, and nobody's entrails ever got removed with a hose before being squeegeed into an unbelievably icky drain.
The Shady Lady was a huge non-squishy step up from the Boxtan Inn, and life became boring in the best kind of way. I had a job I liked, and it paid just enough for me to afford my own apartment, which I immediately found. Okay, it was less of an apartment and more of a semi-furnished basement. Kind of like a pleasure dungeon, minus the pleasure.
It was shitty, sure, but it was mine, which meant it was more than I'd ever had before.