Feeling vaguely disappointed, I selected a diet soda and got in line. One of the men ahead of me was flirting with the clerk, who responded with coy giggles. I idly scanned the lot, wondering if I'd get checked out before my drink warmed up.

She came around the side of the building, stepping into the yellowish glare of the outside lights, and paused to pick up a crumpled candy wrapper. She shoved it into a trash barrel near the door, and I saw her frowning. The plastic receptacle was overflowing. The buzzer went off as she came in, causing the others to look around. The clerk's gaze flicked over her dismissively before returning to her flirtation.

The woman moved back behind the counter, peeling off a windbreaker too thin, she should wear something warmer to reveal the hideous pumpkin colored uniform. "Martina, you didn't pull the trash?"

"I didn't have time." She'd finally finished with the first customer, but he hovered near the door, waiting. The second one only wanted a pack of gum, but she managed to missring it twice.

The dark haired clerk went to a time clock on the wall, pulling a card out of a folder and clocking in. She took a tape out of a security VCR and replaced it with a fresh one, making a note on a sheet as she set the used tape on a shelf. "You'll do it before you go, right? They want me to wash down the lot and the glass tonight."

"Um. Come on and get this change out done, Free. I got things to do."

The woman came over with a clipboard and pencil. "Get your last customer, Marty."

Martina looked at me disinterestedly. "You don't mind waitin' about five minutes, huh? We gotta do shift change."

Before I could answer the other clerk said gruffly, "For heaven's sake, ring her up! It's one soda."

"Yeah, well it's nine right now, and..."

"And we'd be finished by now if you hadn't been batting your eyelashes."

Martina scowled. "Don't get nasty just cause you're jealous, Free."

"Me? Jealous? I'm happy for you. But ring her up. You don't leave a good customer standing like that."

Grumbling, the girl complied. She slapped my change down in front of me and punched a button that sent the machine into a racketting, coughing fit, spitting streamers of paper. "You could have asked if she needed anything else." she said mildly.

"They don't pay me enough to kiss ass."

Shaking her head, the older woman quickly counted the cash in the drawer, getting the younger one to confirm the count. Then she handed over the clipboard and removed the receipt tape from the machine as the girl took her paperwork to a desk in the back corner.

"Sorry about that."

"It's alright."

"No, it isn't, really." Her voice was low. "I don't think Martina is with us for long. She just can't grasp the fact that actually being pleasant is part of the job."

"Will you fire her?"

This seemed to amuse the woman. "Me? Dear girl, I'm not in authority here. I'm just one of the draft animals."

Martina, wrapped in a leather jacket and sporting a tiny gold lame` purse slipped past, headed for the door. As she went, she called, "Paper work's screwed up, Free. Fix it, willya?" The customer grabbed her butt when she came within reach, and she shrieked with laughter, shoving open the door.

"Wait, Marty!" She raised her voice to be heard over the buzz from the security warning. She could be heard well enough, but Marty didn't care to listen. She was hustling into a grey primered Camero. "Marty, the trash?"

The door slammed, an engine roared, and there was a squeal of rubber as the car pealed out. He shoulders slumped. "I'll be damned," she said quietly, as the buzzer faded. "Screwed again." She glanced at me apologetically. "I'm sorry about the language."

"Forget it. You were more polite than I would have been."

"So, did the ice cream and the hydro-therapy help last night?" So she'd remembered.

"A lot. Wonderfully decadent." I offered my hand. "I'm Dana Scully. Did she call you Free?"

She shook hands. Her grip was warm and gently, fingers just a little rough. Probably from all the cleaning she had to do. "Fraid so. Short for Freedom. Freedom Littlefountain."

"Let me guess. Your parents were hippie Indians."

She chuckled. "Southern red necks. I'm too old to be a hippie child. I was born in the late fifties, I was too young to enjoy the sixties, to scared of my mama to enjoy the seventies, too tired to deal with the eighties, and too disgusted to mess with the nineties. I'm trying to keep my hopes up for the millennium. No, the name is my own fault. It's a translation of two of my names. Believe me, the originals sound much weirder."

As she spoke, she went back to the desk and examined the paperwork. "Good God, how did that child manage to ball this up so badly? I can scarcely believe it's incompetence. It's so bad it looks deliberate. It'll take me half the night to straighten this out, if it's possible at all."

"Then leave it. Let her take responsibility for her mistakes." "Easier said than done. I have more seniority, I'm supposed to make sure things run smoothly. I hate being responsible for what someone else does. I'm supposed to control the younger workers, even if I'm not management. I hate having to give orders. No one ever listens, anyway."

"Am I keeping you from your work?"

She looked surprised. "Dear, you are my work. Is there anything else you need? Anything I can do for you?"

When was the last time anyone had said that to me? Of course, it was the woman's job, but as Martina had demonstrated, not that many people saw it that way. "No, I'm fine." A beat. "Are you alright?"

Free considered, as if startled by the question. She shrugged, smiling. "I will be. I'll survive." The smile became the tiniest bit... not really bitter. Wistful. "I don't have a choice."

"Good night, then. I'll see you later."

"Be safe, now." As I pushed my way out, Free was beginning her first song of the night. "Some say love, it is a river that drowns the tender reed..."