Opening Night at the Shamrock Bar & Grill, fiction by Robb T. White
Z eke’s head was splitting from a migraine. The foreman Mariano was showing the new guy over in molds how to pull parts, how to be sure the resin had set before pulling the snowmobile cover from the mold. “We let you make a couple mistakes when you’re new,” the foreman said. “After that, it comes out of your paycheck.” Zeke watched the guy spraying the resin gun poke a wire into the nozzle. The women hired to polish the molds stood around griping that the mix wouldn’t set. Trouble was, if he came in drunk or hungover, his problems became your problem. Everything depended on getting the part out not a minute too soon or a minute too late. Same lecture he’d had years ago. Now stuck on the drill press, Zeke was miserable. Zeke Pattison didn’t need to be told he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. He’d been mocked all his life for lacking the brains or willpower to improve himself. His parents died disappointed in him and left their house and small savings to charity. “ A minimum-...