“Damn, it is so hard to see the difference between ‘7’s’ and ‘1’s.’” she said. Nurse Perez dropped two quarters into the coin slot of the coffee machine. Sighing she punched in 1B7E, coffee-black-extra cream-whipped. The machine answered with a few toneless clicks and began humming its coffee song.
“Hey, I thought you quit drinking coffee.” The Ferret, the other occupant at the break room tables said. No one knew his real name or why he was called The Ferret. The Ferret was the night orderly in the morgue and only came out in the early hours of the morning while it was still dark.
Unlit cigarette dangling from her lips, Nurse Perez answered back, “I quit smoking also…What’s it to you?” The television high on the wall opposite the coffee machine crooned a noiseless MTV music video.
Ferret slapped the table and laughed an open-mouth laugh you would see in a cartoon character, teeth fully exposed and tongue sticking straight out between his jaws. “Trixie, you slay me, just like all your patients.”
“Ferret, Mister Johnson in 17B performed his last dance about an hour ago. He’s napping right now and waiting for you,” said Trixie.
“What music did you play for Johnson? Was it Mariachi?” asked Ferret.
“Ha – Ha. I swear if you were on television, I would turn you off.” Everybody knew that Ferret had a thing for Trixie, except Trixie. She found it annoying that he only crept out of the basement during her lunch.
“You know I hate it when we flirt like this. Let’s retire to my suite and do it properly,” leered Ferret, missing a few teeth on the right side from the bar fight last year.
The coffee machine finished its clunking and hissing. Trixie snatched her cup from the narrow opening and brought it to her lips, shifting the cigarette to the side with her tongue so she could drink.
“Fat chance I would go anywhere with you after what happened last time,” said Trixie.
“What? I should let them talk about you like that?” asked Ferret.
“I am a Bad-Ass-Marine, I kicked your ass, and I took care of them,” she retorted. “I take care of numero uno, na jasine uihae,” blending Korean with Spanish is a habit and a curse of inner-city upbringing. You never know what is in that burrito, beef tongue or kitty cat.
“So did you give Johnson 70 cc instead of 10 ccs?” asked Ferret, now thoroughly subdued.
“Same as last time, he is waiting for you in 17B it was messy. Bring a mop and pail. It’s code brown” With that, Trixie sat opposite The Ferret at the only table in the break room, set her cup down with a small slosh over the edge, took a BIC lighter out of her breast pocket, and lit her cigarette. Exhaling smoke rings and expelling the remainder through her nostrils, “Ahhh,” she sighed, “it feels so good to provide a service to the elderly,” she smiled, pointing the index finger of her non-smoking hand at The Ferret.
Doc Winston poked his head through the door of the break room. White surgical mask in stark contrast to the color of his cheeks, his beard curling out from behind the mask. “Trixie, Corpsman up, hurry”
“Crap,” Trixie doused her cigarette into her coffee and jumped up. Her chair rattled across the linoleum floor, falling over on its back as she rushed to the door.
Now alone, The Ferret fished the cigarette out of the coffee, stirred it with his index finger, and raised the cup to his lips. “Ahhh, Trixie. One day, one day…” downing the remaining coffee, he frowned, one day you will have my children.
Another Point of View
Tats nudged me with his elbow. We were sitting on our sofa behind the coke machines. Hidden from the world and the supervisor. He pointed to the coffee machine and mouthed, ‘Trixie, The Freekin’ Ferret.’ No one ever sees us there playing chess behind the coke machines during our unofficial extended lunch break. We see a lot we shouldn’t see. If you want to know something, ask the cleaners, they dump the trash cans. What you throw away tells a lot about yourself.
Trixie sits down opposite The Ferret, her back to us, sets her coffee cup down, and blows smoke rings into The Ferret’s face. I turned and looked at Tats, forming an ‘O’ with my lips and raising my eyebrows. This is new. Since the barfight, last winter Trixie has always trashed The Ferret calling him a pendejo with four less teeth. Now he is her poquito jeguete?
She points her non-smoking finger at The Ferret and softly tells him, “Ahh, it feels so good to provide a service to the elderly.” What the hell? The Ferret may be older than Trixie, but he’s not forty yet.
Turning back to Tats, I see his wide grin. He mouthed, ‘this is getting … interesting,’ returning his grin with a smile and a vigorous nod, I directed my attention back to Trixie and The Ferret.
Just then, Doc Winston poked his head through the door and hollered, “Trixie, corpsman up. Hurry!”
Tossing the cigarette into her cup and standing up, chair skittering across the floor and settling in a legs up position. Rushing out, she whimpered, “Crap, and I was just beginning to have some fun.”
But it isn’t over yet. There is more. The Ferret fished Trixie’s cigarette out of the cup and flicked it over to the trash can – missing by a good foot and a half. I literally hate cleaning up after that slob. But anyway, job security, right? Raising the cup to his lips and finishing Trixie’s coffee, we heard him saying, ‘Trixie…Trixie…Trixie. One day, one day…” The Ferret then smashed the empty cup down on the table, leaving a smeared coffee mess, and slithered out of the breakroom.
It is hard to laugh silently, I don’t think The Ferret heard us over the hum of the coke machines, or maybe he didn’t care. Tats and I practice the art of incognito every night. You might call us the Ensigns Pulver of the night crew.