Price of a Nap

Oliver had to admit that the couch at Miles’ place was much better than the attic when it came to sleeping. But after nights of inspiration, he liked sleeping wherever the opportunity arose in the restaurant.

“Oliver, are you alright?” asked Anita, watching Oliver’s head bobbing as he wiped a plate.

“I’m fine. Late night.”

“Oh, we’re not open yet so you can go rest in the breakroom for a bit. I’ll let you know when we open.”

Oliver nodded, setting down the dish and towel before sluggishly making his way to the back. But the breakroom was too far, and the attic even better if he wanted quiet. He blinked as he realized that the storage room door was open. One of the morning cooks was probably inside doing inventory. The kitchen was closer, so Oliver wandered in, finding it vacant. He found a small shelf out of sight of most eyes, making himself comfortable to take a quick nap.

Sierra left the storage room, in hand a full list of items Cyrus needed to order from Frank at corporate. Hopefully.

“Sierra,” called Shasta from the door to the storage room she had just left. Sierra looked up from the list.

“Check with Anita if there is anything in the front they need.”

“Sure thing.” Sierra made her way to the front, finding Anita cleaning the bar area.

“Any food products you need?”

“No, I think we have everything…” Anita checked every shelf and the small fridge to make sure they weren’t out of something. Sierra looked around the restaurant, noticing Oliver was missing.

“Where’s Oliver?”

“I sent him to the breakroom for a nap. He had another artist night it seems.”

Sierra sighed, checking the clock above the register.

“Alright, but five more minutes, then we open up.”

“Right.” Anita nodded in agreement before going back to work. Sierra headed for Cyrus’ office when she noticed something in the kitchen slightly more colorful than the stainless-steel décor. She went inside, spotting Oliver asleep on a shelf.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she whispered to herself as she set down the pen and paper on the table then marched over to Oliver. “This is the last place you should be sleeping.”

She looked back to make sure Shasta hadn’t come in yet before trying to pull Oliver out, but she was taking the rolling table with her. Sierra braced one foot on the table, struggling to pull Oliver’s long body out without the table moving. She adjusted her grip on his arm, shifting her position closer to his armpit.

“Stupid short legs,” she cursed as she pulled more of him out. She moved down to his chest, pulling even more of him out, but his gangly legs still clung to the rolling shelf.

“Stupid long legs.”

Sierra pulled Oliver’s legs taking the cart with them.

“What is this?”

Sierra froze, feeling a glare at the back of her head that threatened to bore holes into her skull. She felt a hand grab her by the collar of her work uniform and remove her from Oliver.

Shasta walked her over to the entrance of the kitchen, placing her outside. She looked up at him to see eyes with murderous intent now directed at the still sleeping Oliver. Sierra ran to the front, where Anita setting up boxes of chopsticks at the tables.

“Anita, come quick, Shasta is going to kill Oliver for sleeping in the kitchen.”

“Sleeping in the kitchen? I told him to go to the breakroom.” Anita dashed off to the entrance of the kitchen, stopping Shasta from what looked to be a lethal throw.

“Stop!” She ordered, barring Shasta from throwing out Oliver.

Shasta looked down at her, his murderous gaze lessening until it was no more.

“Stop hurting people when they go into your kitchen; it’s a bad habit that needs to stop.”

“He knows not to go in my kitchen,” Shasta grumbled.

“Yes, it was very rude of him, but that still doesn’t give you the right to throw him.”

Shasta looked down, ashamed of his actions in front of Anita, but Sierra could still see he was still angry.

“Sorry, I won’t throw him.”

“Good. Now hurry up; we open in a bit.”

Anita smiled before skipping to the front to unlock the doors.

Shasta dropped Oliver on the floor outside the kitchen.

“What’d I miss,” he asked groggily, looking from Sierra to Shasta.

“Don’t sleep in my kitchen again,” snarled Shasta, returning to the kitchen.

“What happened,” he asked Sierra.

“You did something stupid, and Anita saved your life.”

Oliver nodded, trying to understand the situation.

“That would make for a good art piece. Heroine Anita saved me from the villainous Shasta.”

Suddenly a ladle came spiraling out of the kitchen, hitting Oliver square in the head. The man fell back on the ground, not entirely unconscious, but his head was hurting.

“Not if you want to live long enough to be a successful painter,” advised Sierra before going into the kitchen.

Oliver considered his options; deciding to live another day might be better. And staying on the floor for the next few minutes would be fine.