Semi-Daily Scribbles

Loni left her notes on the kitchen table. The realization, five minutes before she was due to deliver her presentation, triggered a stomach cramp and droplets of sweat along her upper lip. She tried hard not to picture the damage being done to the armpits of her borrowed silk blouse. Loni was up most of the night tossing, and turning, and worrying about her speech. She was no public speaker. She was not much of anything, if she was completely honest with herself, but she could run the registers and the fry station better than any of Leonard's sorry crew. Given that fact, Loni did not understand where her boss got the idea she was assistant manager material. Loni didn't mind hard work, even the hot, greasy kind at places like Chik'n & Biskit. But handling squirrelly people and their nonstop drama? Loni flat out told Leonard she wasn't interested in Chik'n & Biskit's Leadership Program. She didn't have time to read handouts, and take tests, and get up in front of other Biskiteers and give a talk on What Customer Service Means To Me. Leonard hounded her about the training and wore her down until Loni finally agreed to go. He said she'd thank him for it someday. So, at the close of the six-week course, Loni wrote down discussion points on 3×5 index cards, which she flipped through before leaving for work. It was a long Monday (with no sleep the night before), and one more chore left to do. Loni couldn't decide what was worse: listening to her fellow graduates fumble through their speeches on various aspects of the food service industry, or having to get up there and wing it. Loni swallowed hard, and prayed for whatever nuggets were wedged in her addled memory to shake loose.