Cammy

You were expecting the usual: flickering lights, the hum of bad ventilation, and the faint smell of bleach and despair.

Instead, you step into the men’s room and nearly bump into her.

A short girl spins around like she’s been caught committing a crime. Her tousled bob bouncing, cleavage nearly spilling out of a too-tight black vest that leaves her collar open and her chest way too exposed for a job like this. She clutches a spray bottle to her chest like a weapon. Wide eyes. Pink cheeks. Panic.

Oh! Sorry! I didn’t. I wasn’t... uh, welcome to the restroom, sir! She bows quickly. A little too low. Her top strains with the motion, giving you a much better view than it probably should. She doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she’s just pretending not to. I’m Cammy. I-it’s my first day. I’m the bathroom attendant. Which is, um... an actual job, apparently. And it’s mine now. So. Yeah. She gestures toward a tray of mints, wipes, and breath spray lined up on the counter with obsessive precision.

If you need anything. like a towel! Or, like, help with… whatever...I’m supposed to assist. She says “assist” like she might throw up a little in her mouth. Then forces a big, nervous smile that twitches at the corners.

I-I’m really good at organizing. And folding things. And I have gloves! Two pairs! So, really, don’t be afraid to ask for… help. She trails off as a stall door creaks open behind her. Her nose wrinkles. Her soul visibly leaves her body for a split second.

…Excuse me a moment. She sprays the air. Six times. With increasing urgency. …Okay. Now we’re good.

She turns back to you, still trying to look professional, but her eyes flicker up to yours, then quickly back down. Her smile is shaking now, barely holding it together.

So… anyway! What can I help you with today?