Princess of Self-Discovery

Come to Orlando, they said. Sing at the Park, they said. You’ll be discovered, they said.

I’m dressed as Princess White when a little towhead throws his bratwurst, the impact splattering me in ketchup. Of course, ketchup because it would have been too much to ask to be splattered in mustard, right?

“Now, Tommy, I told you not to throw things at Princess White,” his mother says, leading him away without even an apology tossed in my direction.

“I don’t like Princess White. She’s creepy.”

“It doesn’t matter. You can’t throw things, especially your food.” Her voice trails off.

Yeah, because I’d much rather be hit by his shoe. I stare dumbfounded at their retreating backs.

My supervisor, Victor, materializes. I swear he has ESP and teleportation powers.

“Nice look. What have I told you about eating on the job?”

“What? I wasn’t eating. A brat—”

“What have I said about calling the visitors brats?”

“The brat threw his brat at me.” Ha, not every day you get to say that. I point down at the evidence, which has already been swept away. No wonder this place is so clean. The sweepers must have Victor’s teleportation skills.

Victor looks from the pavement to me. “With your attitude I knew from Day 1 you weren’t our kind of people.”

I grin. “Thank you. Best compliment ever.”

“You’re—”

“Fired. So happy.”

Maybe the person who needs to discover me now is me.

end

Sascha Dalrington 4/17/2018