Work.

The dreaded word.

I don't care who you are, no one likes work.

Ok, maybe some people like work. 

But that's because they don't have MY job.

Let me elaborate. 

I work at a fast food restaurant known as 'Speedy Joes.' Now, I know, it doens't sound too bad. But listen. My job at Speedy Joes? Yeah. I'm the janitor. I'm the girl that has to do all the cleaning. Mopping, sweeping, cleaning the toilets, the works. The worst part? The grease pots. Ya know those little rectangular things that you fry stuff in with those little baskets? Yeah. Speedy Joes is also known as 'Greasy Joes'. And for good reason. Every day I'm there from 8 AM to 9 PM. Except on weekends, and a week every two months. Some other sorry sucker gets to clean then.

That's where I was now, my H/C hair pulled up in a hair net as my gloved hands scrubbed away at one of the grease pots. I was the only one there, it being past closing time. Everyone had gone home except for this poor gal. At least, everyone should  have gone home. A sound from the back room pulled my attention from the yellow mess before me. I listened for a moment, but heard nothing. Maybe it's just my imagination...

(A/N: First choice! Choose wisely, Gems.)

Go investigate? Go to page 2

Shrug it off and go back to your grease pot? Go to page 3