Giant Robot Store and GR2 News

(Art by spoon+fork.) Howard didn’t bother to show up to work on Tuesday.  Didn’t get a phone call, either. I wasn’t surprised.  It was just a matter of time before this would happen.  He’d been saying he’d be there for years, but losing the laptop probably soured that fucker.  He had enough money, anyway. Based on my years of working down at the shore, the people who show up late keep showing up late the whole summer, if they don’t get fired.  That kind of worker doesn’t have the initiative to find another job or to muster enough courage to quit. The diligent ones, the people who show up on time, are the ones who leave for good.  No two-week notice.  Their phone number and address aren’t good anymore.  Any personal stuff they had at the job was already brought home over time.  That’s quitting Jersey style. So Howard actually broke the mold — he was the slacker who actually quit. I was ready for my break in the afternoon when I realized I might not be able to take one.  The lock was in bad shape and I didn’t feel like jiggling my key in it for five minutes so I dragged a chair outside and propped it against the closed door behind me. I stepped into the hotel office. “Howard didn’t call here, did he?” I asked Mrs. Angrywall. “Nobody’s called all day,” she said, crossing her arms and slouching lower in her seat. “He didn’t come in today.” “And I’m certain you miss him deeply.” I scratched behind my right ear and said, “You know, if he quit, that means no more, ah, smoking.” Her eyebrows rose. “I see. . .” she said. “It’s probably for the best.  Every time I lit up, I was putting myself at risk for serious bodily harm from O’Keefe.  He’d probably get you locked up, too. Anyway it’s way too risky for me to find another dealer.” “It’s a shame.  I truly enjoyed our time smoking together.  Are you still able to get away for breaks?” “I don’t know.  I better call Michael Conti.” “Smoke backy?” “Huh?” “Er, regular cigarettes.  Do you smoke them?” “Sure I do.  It’s like drinking soda instead of booze, though.” “This situation calls for a carton.  I’m off to the 7-11.  I’ll meet you back at your stand.” I went back to the hamburger stand, found the phone number on a fridge magnet and called Michael Conti, my boss whom I had never actually met. Someone who sounded as sleepy and unconcerned as Howard answered the phone.  I had to wait a while as he went to find Michael. A deeper voice then said, “Yeah?” “Michael?” “Yeah?” “This is Sean, at the hamburger stand in Shore Points.” “Yeah, the pothead.” “That’s me.” “Is something the matter?” “Howard didn’t show up today.” “So spank him when you see him.” “It would be a little tough working here by myself.  I can’t do a good job when it’s...
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