The Fucking Temp Service  I'm at the big bakery in town that I recently worked at, but it is different. It is still a bakery. My aunt Willow Redding works there. I am stacking frosted sugar cookies on a small plate. They still need to be baked. I see someone using a larger plate, so I switch to a larger one too, which is good because the plate I was using was too small. A man tells me that the cookies go in the freezer. I think they must be no-bake cookies or something. I bring donuts and beer to the freezer. It is crowded. I set some stuff down and have to arrange the freezer so it all fits. One of the can s of beer is open. I put it in anyway. The man asks me if I have been stealing. I say no, and am lying. I have eaten frosting and other little food items when I was by the cookie-making area. I say to the man, "I'm from the fucking temp service." I tell him I've been here a week and that I do good work, and he can ask my supervisor if he doesn't believe me. I surprise myself for swearing. He is surprised that I swore at him. He says he has no choice but to fire me. I say okay, and walk out. I get in my truck and hurry away. I start to drive in third gear, and then I realize I'm in third, and shift to second since I'm already moving.