Trailer Park Princess by Delia Steele, J. J. Williams Page A

that shit, Rory; you are no victim here. You wanted it just like I did.” He jumps from the truck and zips his pants. I reach for the shorts he threw at me earlier and pulls them on.
    “I didn’t mean do that ; I meant do what you were doing with your mouth!” I scream at him. We make our way to the truck, and when I climb in, I do not move over near him. I just stare out the window.
    “I’m sorry, Rory. I didn’t know that’s what you meant. I thought you wanted it. It felt like you did. I mean, how am I supposed keep up with you? It’s like you are on a bipolar rollercoaster or some shit all the time.”
    I don’t acknowledge him. I just keep looking out the window the rest of the way home. As he slows to let me jump, I hear, “Call you tomorrow.” I just jump, actually falling to my knees because my mind is elsewhere. He doesn’t stop. I bet he never even looked back. He stopped tapping the brakes a long time ago.

    “What do you mean, Jim?” I ask, crushing the paper in my hand. “Yes, I know it’s late, but the water is not coming on, and I know the bill has been paid. I need water. I have to shower. I have work tomorrow!” Jim makes me sick. He is that guy in the park at the very back with a spray-painted American flag trailer. I have never seen him in anything except a stained up wife beater, blue cutoffs, loafers that look more like house shoes, and for some reason, he is always wearing these stupid lion ears attached to a headband. Something about being the king of the jungle…I don’t know; he’s just a dumbass. Jim has obviously lost his marbles. Then again, his yard shows that. He has a hoarding problem when it comes to plastic kiddie pools, pink plastic flamingo’s, and duck decoys.
    “Oh, dear night, Jim, I swear you are the worst superintendent I have ever had. And trust me, that is pretty dang sad.” I slam the phone shut. I cannot even believe I wasted my minutes. If he weren’t so wrapped up in Nascar or his trashy wife, he might be able to do his job. I mean, come on, people, the 80s called; they want their clothes back! Flo runs around here acting like she’s thirty instead of pushing fifty. She wears these old pants that she cut off and a tube top. Her eyes always seem to have blobs of blue shadow splattered on them, and those red heels she wears have more scuffs than a pair of skateboarder’s Vans. Do not even get me started on that teased-up-to-the-sky hair or fishnet tops she wears over the tube top sometimes. She chases the drunken boys, while Jim chases her. It’s so gross.
    I kick Carol’s foot as I make my way out the door. Work’s going to suck today. I smell like dried-up Toby. I feel like I smell…fishy! I could have gone to Rome’s and showered—I  probably should have—but I could not face him like this. I am so ashamed of myself. I feel like I am acting like my mother.
    “Don’t kick me, you cunt.” Carol rolls over and scratches at the nasty carpet, searching for a long dried up beer bottle. She lets out a cough and rolls back over. I just roll my eyes and head out the door.
    I usually love the ding of the bell over the door, but today, I do not want to be here. And I sure as crap don’t want to wait on Ashley. But of course it’s her that walks through the door. Just like always, she makes her way to my section with her plastic friends and sits down.  I make my way over to their table and roll my eyes.
    “What can I get you girls to drink?” They ignore me. It does not really bother me; this is our game. They come in, harass me, and I take it because it’s my job. As I turn to walk off, I hear them giggle.
    “Oh, waitress, we need three strawberry shortcake shakes on the double. Chop, chop.” Rolling my eyes again, I write it down and walk off. I hate them. I wish they would evaporate. After I make a complete mess of the shake station, I manage to get all the drinks back to them. I could hear them laughing hard about something while I was behind