Introduction to Sheila

Not the first chapter of the book, but the first one describing the main character. Hope you enjoy.

The problem with being Sheila Baxter was that you couldn't be anyone else. This is a common enough problem for most people, but for her it was particularly upsetting. Not only could she not be someone else, she also found it very difficult to complain to others about being her as well, a common respite for the self challenged. Sheila had been cursed with a sort of extreme normal, being not ugly, dumb or unskilled but neither particularly beautiful, intelligent or talented. She fell somewhere in the middle of all things by which a person may judge their character. She was just shy of 5’7, with brown shoulder length hair with the shape and consistency of spanish moss. She had blue eyes *3 that had no need for the use of glasses. If she had ever by chance stepped on a scale, the scale would ponder for a moment, shrug its shoulders and declare her ‘so-so’. All in all on the report card of life, she had been given a C+.
This was unfortunate, because like all people there were many things about her life that she hated with gusto. The problem being that when an abundantly average person complains to non-average person, they tend to give them the look that you might see a starving child give upon discovering that some people complain because their sandwiches came with crusts, or with the polite patience of someone with stage 3 cancer listening to the complaints of a hypochondriac who just knows this time its serious.
She lived with her boyfriend who, by her own admission, was out of her league. He was handsome, had a job that paid well enough to support both of them comfortably, and never argued with her unless absolutely necessary, and even then did his best to be as reasonable and understanding as he could. He was intelligent and caring, and everyone liked him in that default way that feels more like a lack of things to hate then genuine admiration, but he got along with anyone who still called sheila ‘friend’, and he truly did, from the bottom of his heart, love her. He was also incredibly boring.
It wasn't his fault, not really. He really did try. But he was the kind of person who knew the names of each of his coworkers children, held up office meetings to discuss some minor problems he had noticed since the last meeting, and really meant, with feeling, his holiday wishes. He took sheila out to dinner every Thursday to the same 4-and-a-half star restaurant, and always ordered himself the lemon salmon and steamed broccoli. He also ordered for sheila, (as he believe this is just what gentlemen do for their lady), and always picked her favorite dish, one which he may have been surprised to learn she actually never really cared for. He found every movie he watched fun and exciting, and was always quite surprised when he was informed of things like subtext and underlying themes in films which he thought were simple summer action blockbusters.
Sheila had a sneaking suspicion that if she had decided one day that she never wanted to work again, that she only wanted to stay and look after the homestead, that he probably wouldn't argue much and, in fact, might even welcome the idea with open arms*4. She came to this conclusion after losing her 3rd job in 2 years. During these bouts of unemployment he always seemed a bit happier, his smiles a bit wider and his peppy step a bit more springy.
Her current place of employment was the sophisticated and luxurious ‘tipsy pins’ bar and bowling alley that housed only amateur bowlers and the most bored of young adults. She was currently the lead *5 custodian and was expecting a (mostly lateral) promotion to customer service expert very shortly. She was paid just enough over minimum wage to consider her job status much improved over the fast food industry she had become so used to, but on some dark lonely nights, when everyone had gone but her and the urine soaked linoleum of the mens bathroom, she very nearly missed the angry, fat customers and the smell of old fries.
But today was a special day and she would be doing most of her cleaning while the customers were still around, and she wouldn't be locking up until the last few minutes of her shift, for today was Saturday, and a very special one indeed. Today was this years first bowling tournament, a most exciting time for all those who crave the sound of pins exploding in all directions. A time when bowlers from all over the tri-county area come together to compete for the chance to be entered into the state championship, where they would go up against the best bowlers in the state, the winner taking with them the Hiddleston Trophy, named after the owner of the first alley in the country, or some such nonsense, sheila was sure. It was a covetous title that came complete with half off all games at participating alleys, and permission to use the special ‘reserved’ middle lane with the larger tables and newer score screens. There may have been something about cheaper food too, but Tipsy Pins wasn’t a participator in that particular offer.
Any mess that sheila couldn't clean tonight while the bowlers were doing what bowlers do would have to be cleaned by the morning shift (which was her, 8 or 9 hours later) before opening hours. It was, as can be imagined, the busiest time of the year.
She had just left the house and began her mid-day commute. Her car, a gift from her parents when she graduated from high school nearly half a decade ago, chugged along the back-roads and side-streets she found after repeated desperate improvised alterations to her established course, after many a late night wiki-walks (about topics she never knew were so interesting) left her wanting for more sleep and a louder alarm clock. She found herself arriving just as her boss, Mr. Ifet, owner and night-shift supervisor, was finishing up raising a small vinyl flag banner. It was the surefire way to attract attention to your dying business.
“Jesus Christ Sheila, what’s wrong with your car?” He asked.
“what? Oh... the smoke? I don't know, i figured it was rain evaporating or something.”
“I was talking about the sound. Its a four-door and it sounds like you’re driving a god damned tractor. And besides,” he added, folding up his ladder “it hasn't rained in weeks.”
Sheila had been doing her best to ignore all the telltale signs of imminent car failure. She had become an expert at it. So good in fact, that she was beginning to believe that her belief that the car was just fine may have actually been the one thing keeping the car running.
“it’ll be okay.” She said. “I’m taking it to a mechanic in a few days.*6”
“alright listen, the big names will be here in a few hours or so, so go make sure the tables are spotless and clean up whatever mess the kids from the birthday party made in the arcade. I think i saw one of them putting their gum on the pool ques.” and, almost quiet enough to not be heard “little s***s.”
She proceeded into the building with Mr. Ifet, and left him to make her way towards the storeroom, where she donned her apron and gathered those item which form the arsenal of janitors everywhere, engaged in the never ending battle against uncleanliness. She spent the next few hours making her rounds, cleaning any large and obvious messes first, then on to the unoccupied tables by each of the lanes. Then she moved on to the bar, the arcade room, then into the back rooms that were reserved for the employees, only breaking her cycle for special jobs like the occasional big spill and bathroom emergencies. After her second lap, she grabbed her broom and made her way to the front to clean the entrance to the establishment, because it was ‘very important to have a nice entrance,’ she had been told, because ‘the first impression of a business is its walkway.’
This was usually Sheila's favorite part of her job. She got to escape the ever present din of the alley, the rolling of the balls on wood, the crash of the pins, and the ‘hit’ tunes of yesteryear, cycling through its playlist like some never ending swan song. It was a chance to get some fresh air, and above all else, escape the ever watchful eyes of her employer, who never allowed his employees to wonder where he had gone for long. Mr. Ifet never went outside if he could help it, presumably because leaving the scent of burning tobacco was harmful to his Health, and the outside air was lacking sufficient amount of nicotine.*7
Sheila swept what she could, then sat on a small bench that overlooked the large, flat parking lot. It was that peculiar time of day, when everything was varying shades of blue, when the sun was still theoretically in the sky, but had given the moon the go-ahead to start its shift. She looked off into space, her eyes soft focusing, watching the headlights of the distant cars zoom past at varying speeds, overlapping, merging, passing and flashing. Her mind wandered from topic to topic in a way that only made sense in the moment. The kind of thinking that leads to questions like ‘how did I start thinking about that?’ or ‘wait, what was i just doing?’ She thought about the day when she would quit this job and try her hand at college. She thought about careers. She thought about her boyfriend, her family, and occasionally, much to her dismay, she thought about the same 3 lines of lyrics from a song she hadn't heard in years, but which nevertheless had burrowed its way into her mind and occasionally made an assault on the forefront of her consciousness on a near daily basis.
There was a calm, windless quiet. The road was very suddenly empty, but she wasn’t aware of when this happened. The zooming and wooshing of cars flying by had faded away, leaving a deafening nothing that seemed almost tangible. Sheila closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths.
When she opened them, the sounds came back, slowly but all together as one. She stood from her bench and watched as two vehicles pulled into the parking lot. The first, a large, black, windowless van with two red stripes going down either side, and the second, an old, dusty brown two-door that she was aware was called a muscle car, though she was never very good with makes and models. It looked a bit rusted on the bottom, where rain and mud must have caked on over the decades.
The van pulled into a more forward spot, while the two-door parked in a spot closer to the street, a few spots from sheilas car. As the drivers exited their vehicles sheila began sweeping again, pretending to be hard at work. The van driver walked up the pathway first. Sheila recognized him. They had a lot of nicknames for him here, though she was sure he perpetuated them himself. Names like ‘The Satan of the alley’, ‘Beelzeball’, and sometimes simply ‘The Monster’. He was a tall, lanky man with a long hooked nose and blonde, slicked back hair. He wore a black and red trim button up with a stitched pattern of a flame just above the left breast pocket. He held in one hand a large black leather bag, presumably to hold his ball, and a large dufflebag slung over his shoulder. Sheila noticed as he sauntered closer that he smelled very strongly of cologne, the spray on kind that was called ‘body spray’, and would be advertised to teenage boys in a way that would suggest that it wasn't just body spray they were buying, but pure, finely extracted sex pheromone, though it would end up smelling like military grade paint-stripper.
With his free hand he pulled a half-finished cigarette out of his mouth, and with a puff of smoke from his nostrils, gave sheila a slow, lazy wink, that reminded her of a Galapagos iguana. He then flicked his cigarette to the ground and continued walking, slowly, with an effort to look cool that made him look more like he was missing his kneecaps. The cigarette bounced and rolled down the pavement til it rested at sheilas feet. She stomped it out and swept it into her dustbin.
“How do you not see me cleaning?” she muttered “Or do you just not care?” then, a little louder, “A*****e.”
She froze. Okay she thought, that was a lot louder than i intended. She looked up the pavement at the man. His hand was a few inches from the pull handle on the entrance door. He turned slowly and faced her.
“What.” he said. and he said it. It was not a question.
Sheila hesitated. “…uh…what?”
They stared at each other a few seconds longer than was comfortable, his face full of indignation, and her, wide eyed and purse lipped in a rather comedic fashion*8. He turned suddenly, pulled the handle hard and marched into the building.
Sheila stood still for a few moments, staring at the dark tinted doors. She was then aware she was being watched. She turned and looked at a second man, the one who owned the two door. He wore a burnt orange sports jacket, jeans, and a faded white t-shirt with a picture of a red star. He looked older than her, probably in his mid thirties, clean shaven, with short red hair that peeked out from under a black flat cap, which looked a bit out of place. He had a cigarette in his mouth that was almost burning to the filter. He was watching her carefully.
“That was a bit awkward, huh?” He said simply, smiling.
Sheila didn’t know what to say. She looked back down to the ground and started sweeping. The pathway would be very clean today. The man took the cigarette from his mouth, looked at it, and snuffed it out on the lip of a trash bin and then dumped it in. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and continued up the path into the building. After a few minutes, Sheila took a deep breath and followed him inside.

Reviews

[Tomoe Tellez]

I could easily see that it was a comedy novel from the first chapter. I like the way in which you describe Sheila and her husband, I could actually imagine them and their personality and identify them as real persons, people that could exist. Sheila really seems like a unique character. Your style makes the story easy and entertaining to read. I could only tell you to give it a grammar check, sometimes Sheila is written with just lowercase letters. Great job!

[Natasha]

I love your writing style. It's that rare way with words that some people have that makes everything interesting. You even make bowling sound exciting and I could hear the sounds of the bowling alley in my mind as I read your description. Also, your character is very interesting. Everything about her suggests that she should be mundane and boring, but she is intriguing to the reader in a way even we don't entirely understand. She is relatable and sassy, making your story a fun read. Overall, great work! :)

[Relinqua]

The use of dialogue is very useful in exploring the comedic sense, and furthermore the language clearly explores that further more. The way you depict Sheila is very interesting to us the audience. Furthermore to me when I read it I for some reason was alluded to continuing on due to the mystery sense. Quite like, and a great opener, quite liked the part where we get to know about Sheila,her boyfriend and her values and daily life.

[ReedWrite]

I loved the opening. I captured my attention, making me want to read further. Always a good thing. Not all writers can manage that. There were some grammar issues...not many...and a few word choices that 'felt' rough to me...which doesn't make them wrong, just something that I personally might do differently. I liked Sheila...character development is key to any work, and Sheila is a protagonist that comes alive and tweaks the reader's interest. :)

[Abigail Bergeron]

Interesting, believable, relatable character.

[Laura S-C]

I liked it it was a lot. Just as i would begin thinking it needed something interesting to happen there would be a comment that kept me interested. Good job i look forward to continue reading this story and having a look at some of your other stories.