Double Shift
By Christina Hergenrader

1

Disappointments

I live on the Gulf Coast where June is always wet. All month, all summer really, we have hurricane warnings, tropical storms and ninety-nine percent humidity. Ugh! Tonight was no different. The rain pounded the windshield of my boyfriend Phil’s Cabrio convertible. Twice, as we argued in my driveway, he had to crawl into the backseat and push towels under his leaky convertible top. The interruptions were a relief because the atmosphere inside the tiny car was as hostile as the storm outside.

Phil closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “We promised no more stupid arguing, Katy.” He opened his eyes. “Didn’t we say that?”

He clenches his jaw when something—in this case me—is really annoying him. I’ve never told him he does this because I love to know when I’m frustrating him.

“I didn’t start this fight. You’re the one who 

volunteered me for a job without checking with me first.” I turned to watch the wind blow the trees in my front yard.

Silently I prayed—God, please let us make up. I don’t want to lie awake all night reliving this fight.

“For two weeks you’ve complained about being unemployed.” He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I’m sorry the rest of Clear Lake got the good jobs in May when you were graduating, but now you have a chance—”

“A chance for what?” I interrupted. “A chance to be so lame that my boyfriend has to get me hired?” I huffed. “Great!”

Truthfully, it wasn’t only that Phil had volunteered me for a job that was causing our fight. Something happened tonight while we were at Taco Bell for dinner, something horrible, and that was also bothering me. Tonight—and actually even before Taco Bell—I noticed how snobby Phil and I have been acting. We’re in this habit of making fun of anyone different from us, rolling our eyes when someone doesn’t meet our approval. Our snob problem has grown over the past two years of our relationship, but only tonight did I notice how hurtful it can really be.

During my thoughts of how horribly we’d acted at dinner, Phil was still arguing about the job he told his friend Greg I would take. “Katy, you’ve applied at every coffee shop, bank, and clothing store, but won’t take the waitress job I found for you? You’re guaranteed to make more money waiting tables. Just go down to Greg’s family’s restaurant tomorrow and start working!”

But I still wasn’t really listening. Instead, I was staring at the dashboard, cringing about the scene earlier tonight. Had Phil forgotten what happened only a half hour before? Or had we become so calloused that we didn’t even notice whom our judging hurt?

“So?” he asked. “Are you going to take the waitress job at Schwarz’s?”

I inhaled a shaky breath, trying to keep my voice patient. I didn’t want to argue about the waitress job. I wanted to talk about how mean we’d acted at dinner. But I was worried Phil would become defensive if I brought it up. “About tonight—” I tried. “About making fun of Paige and Beth. Do you . . . do you feel bad about them hearing us?”

He shifted in his seat and was quiet for a moment. “Yeah . . . I didn’t want to hurt their feelings. I just—” He stopped and shrugged.

Copyright 2004 Christina Buehring Hergenrader. Published by Concordia Publishing House.  All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Concordia Publishing House.