The crossover between the day and night shifts at DeRosa's always left Pen frazzled. What should take five-ten minutes top, took over an hour. Every damn time. It was cramped and uncomfortable standing still for that long, behind the counter between her grandmother and great-uncle while they bickered over the change missing from the register. Never mind that the difference was the same as the day before because, thanks to her, the bodega was on EvNPay and no longer took cash.
"Basta Modesta!" Tio Julio shouted, "I don't have time for this craziness!"
Pen zoned back into the argument, only picking up a few words here and there as the Spanish became too rapid for her to understand completely. She checked the clock on the EvNPay dock and guesstimated another minute or two of unfounded accusations before Tio Julio's alarm went off, reminding him that his favorite telenovela Las Estrellas En Tus Ojos would be starting soon. Her grandmother must have also seen the time because she finally began organizing her massive handbag, hauling it on top of the counter with a thud and filling it with the red and white peppermint balls from the cloudy glass jar by the San Lazaro candle.
"Julio, anda. Go watch your novela. Dile a Estrella I said hi."
"It's not a novela! It's a dramatic mini-series!"
"Ay si, tu con tu mini-series. Whatever you say viejo."
"If I'm an old man, then you are an old -" A series of off-key notes emanated from Tio Julio's wrist, growing louder as he struggled to find the right button to shut off the alarm. "Coño! This stupid watch."
Pen watched the twins maneuver their diminutive frames like mini tornados from one end of the counter to the other. Finally, her grandmother managed to take Tio Julio's watch off to fix it as Tio Julio filled in the empty gaps of the chips display while discarding his deli whites for his favorite faded flannel.
"Si Penelope, we know -" her grandmother started, "we take forever to leave -"
"-but you have everything under control," her great uncle finished with a loud zip of his overcoat.
"You'll be okay, mi vida." Her grandmother said, fluffing and then stuffing her mass of wiry hair under a black wool hat, "Remember to turn on the cameras -"
"- and keep Rambo close by." Tio Julio said, earning him a smack on the shoulder as he not so subtly wriggled his eyebrows toward the narrow tan locker behind her. A machete and a shotgun held places of honor in that dented locker. Though Pen would like to believe Abuelita Modesta was considering her safety when it came to having dangerous objects in such proximity, she knew the smack was because she wanted Pen to choose Jason the Machete first if she needed protection. The bodega hadn't been robbed in at least five years, and even then, it was a half-hearted effort - a rock through the glass door resulting in a hole only big enough to snag a couple of magazines and packets of gum that were in reaching distance. She felt safe working the overnights, but she acknowledged that before Della's Tea Room, Sunset Crepe House, and the twenty-four-hour Om Meditation Center came to the block, the bodega had been a prime target for those looking to scare up some quick cash. Rambo and Jason, for many years, were necessities.
Pen made a show of flicking on all of the small CCTV monitors knowing they wouldn't leave until they saw the army of green lights on the control panel reflecting off the lens of her glasses.
"Okay," she said, resisting the urge to rub her arm in front of them, "I'm good. Go home. Have Oswaldo bring me a bowl. At least try, okay?" She added when both of her grandmother's eyebrows popped up. Tio Julio chuckled, "It's leftovers tonight, nena, so you know..." he shrugged his shoulders and looked at her with a pitying smile, "Ajiaco a day later is the best, and it's everyone's favorite."
Pen rolled her eyes, "Fine. I can order something, I guess."
They both gave her quick kisses goodbye, her uncle muttering about bird food and her grandmother reminding him as the door closed behind them that Pen was "bien delicada."
She wasn't delicate; she was picky, which she'd always been, even before the incident. She loved her grandmother's food, and if she couldn't have it, then she opted for healthful. Which, if she was being honest with herself, wasn't conducive to her current schedule. Pen rechecked the time. It was a little after ten p.m., so she opted for a bag of pita chips from the stand by the door and picked up the smallest bag of ice from the freezer.
She placed the ice on a stack of paper towels and gingerly rested the back of her arm on top, hissing a little as the first bite of wet cold seeped through the layers of fleece and cotton protecting her latest tattoo.
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