“Georgie, I need you to restock the citrus, please. Lemons, grapefruits, oranges. They cleaned us out yesterday,” my very pregnant boss Darlene said to me when I reported for work at five o’clock on a Thursday morning. My shift would end at one-thirty in the afternoon. “Once you’re done, set up a display for gala apples and kiwi, okay? Oh,” she added as she glanced at the clipboard in her hand, “we have a new manager starting today, Ry Archibald. He’ll be taking over for me when I go on maternity leave next week. He’ll be in around eight.”
I nodded before she moved on to hand out assignments to the others. I found an apron, and as I pinned my nametag on my polo shirt, I wondered if the guy would be a jerk. Darlene had been decent, as managers went, but she had been an oasis in the desert
