You Almost Died There

I put down the mop as soon as I saw the family of 4 saunter into the shop. I tossed it to the side, letting the wooden handle hit the slushie machine and fall in its mildewy glory to the semi-clean floor.

They surveyed the goods, walking slowly up and down the rows of tubs, musing and sighing to themselves; the usual.

Their son was the first to order. He jerked his head to flick the greasy black hair from his face. He placed his order.I grabbed a cup and the scoop from our dip well and made the first treacherous step to the freezer containing bubble bubble and cotton candy: our manliest ice creams.

Alas, my non-slip work shoes failed me. My right foot slid forward on the floor, practically inviting the bone of my hip to meet the unforgiving tile still sprinkled with sticky residue. 

With a panicked gasp and a jerk of the hands to my credit, I regained ground.

“Wow,” greasy boy stammered, “you almost died there.”

And for that, I suppose, I should consider myself lucky.