At Least She Has a Job to Complain About

100 words about hating your job
(c) Ron Pruitt

The sparkling motorcoach leaves the lot and turns towards the passenger terminal. It arrived late, they were short-staffed and had to clean up the inbound passengers’ mess in record time.

She feels a spark of satisfaction over achieving the almost impossible.

It doesn’t last long – as the vehicle vanishes from view, she wonders how many minutes until another piece of gum is discarded in between its seats, until a spill of soda makes the floor sticky again and until someone misses the mark on the toilet.

Cleaning busses ain’t pushing a rock up a hill, but it ain’t far off.

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Been a while since I’ve joined Friday Fictioneers, but this week’s photo handed me a story on a silver plate, so how could I resist? Find all stories here.