the bonds of minimum wage fr
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Summary
Jason’s halfway through restocking the shop’s supplies when Tim swings into the backroom and hisses, “Bruce Wayne is in our fucking line.”
It’s 9 o’clock on a Thursday. Jason’s shift started an hour ago. It’s only him and Tim in the shop and Jason knows from experience the morning rush does not allow this kind of gossip break. Hell, he’s only out back because Tim hates restocking for some reason. If Jason goes fast enough to viably put the milk away last, he can get away with not showing his face for half an hour.
“So?” he says, hands half-full of cleaning supplies.
“So,” Tim says, voice still bordering a hiss as he walks into the backroom. Jason can only imagine what kind of impatience is unfolding outside. “You serve him.”