Not quite tanned

It was early morning. I was at the shop, helping to load tools in the maintenance truck.

The irrigation specialist, Bryce, appeared behind me and tapped me on the shoulder.

“You’re not working on the maintenance crew today,” he said, grinning with his disgusting, tobacco-stained teeth. “You’re working with me.”

“Oh, c’mon,” I said. “I did a job with you last week. Can’t you pick someone else to be your grunt?”

“Nope,” Bryce said, spitting tobacco juice on the shop floor. “You’re the best there is.” 

Just then, Crew Leader Carl walked by, carrying a weed eater.

“Carl,” I said, “tell Bryce that you need me on the crew, and that I can’t work with him today. Tell him I’m your most valuable employee.”

Carl looked me up and down, then turned to Bryce. “Take him.”

“You jerk,” I said.

As Bryce and I were driving to the job, he reached on top of his head, then started feeling around on the dash.

“Dammit,” he said, spitting tobacco juice on the floor. “I left my sunglasses at the shop.”

“You want to turn back?” I asked.

He thought about it, then shook his head. “Nah. I don’t want to waste the time.”  

When we got the job, Bryce pointed out a damaged valve box that was leaking water. 

“Get a shovel and dig the thing out,” he said. “When you’re done, I’ll replace the valve.”

I went to the truck and fetched a shovel and a digging bar. Bryce went to the nearest tree and started dozing.

I glared at him. “Yeah, good thing you didn’t waste time returning to the shop. Jerk.” 

The digging took forever. The ground was saturated, and every shovelful of dirt seemed to get heavier and heavier. 

Worse yet, it was blazingly hot. The box was out in the open, away from the shade of the house, so I paused once in a while to catch my breath and to wipe the sweat from my forehead. 

Bryce continued to doze.

I kept digging and digging, creating a huge pile of soggy dirt. The heat engulfed me, and my head started to feel light. I panted, tugging at my sweaty collar. 

“It’s way too hot,” I said to myself. “Something’s got to go.”

So I peeled off my shirt and hung it from the pipe rack on the back of the truck. My neck and forearms were bronzed, but my chest and back were alabaster white.

As I returned to the valve box, Bryce came walking around the corner.

“Oh my god!” he screamed, covering his eyeballs and dropping to the ground. He started flopping like a caught fish. “My eyes! My eyes! They’re burning! Of all the days to forget my sunglasses!”

I stood there, glaring. “Exaggerate much?”

“It’s like a laser beam coring out my eyeballs!” Bryce screamed, rolling around. “My sunglasses! My kingdom for my sunglasses!”