Stop

Trey entered his manager's office and shut the door behind him. "You quitting?" Mr. Scholl asked, looking disinterested in the answer either way (so Trey skipped it). "The harassment (all kinds) stops today," he said quietly. Mr. Scholl was suddenly paying the kind of attention that made time stand still. "You're fired," he hissed. "I'm not; this phone recording says I'm not," Trey replied evenly. "And all of the video and audio we've compiled and made public this morning says you're a dangerous, potentially violent and unhinged predatory piece of work. I'm not going anywhere, but you are." Mr. Scholl stood up, looking like he might add murder to his list of accomplishments post-high school. "And where, pray tell, is that?" Trey thought a minute, and then decided to share then truth. "To the bathroom for a good while, then to jail, I imagine; Livingston at the district office should be here momentarily to take over while you're in the loo. The police are on their own timeline, but they're soooooooper excited to meet you." Mr. Scholl might've said more recordable words but, at that moment, his guts made a squealy noise and he doubled forward. "Magnesium citrate," Trey explained, opening the door in anticipation of the speedy exit about to be made. "Non-lethal, but fast acting. We put it in your pop today, because you always drink the company dry first thing; that's what made you complain about the syrup levels. You'll be okay and, if they have to take you to the hospital for dehydration, have them do a colonoscopy and kill two birds with one stone." Mr. Scholl's guts were rolling like the deep and screaming with every wave, his eyes were wide and his brow was sweaty. He swore a blue streak as he rushed from the office to the staff toilet. "Hey, Carlos, turn the music up, okay? We are NOT going to want to hear this part," Trey said, laughing. He went back to work at the front, manning the cash register nearest the door, apologizing to the line folks and then the customers for his delay.