still have some…” Bashir’s finger scratched at his spot near his temple. “There.”
“Thanks.” Despite her headache, her smile at him was sincere. She could count the number of genuine friends she had at her current firm on one hand, but Bashir was among them. “Good work today.”
After one last swipe and Bashir’s affirmative nod—she’d gotten rid of all the mud this time, apparently—the paper towel ended in the same garbage bag as her used gloves, and good riddance.
The soil was dirty in more ways than one. Until mid-century, a pesticide factory had operated on the site, polluting the facility’s surroundings with lead and arsenic. Because of that history, April had spent the last several weeks gathering samples of the soil to analyze for both chemicals. She wanted neither directly on her skin. Or on her jeans, for that matter, but paper towels were just a pain in the ass at the end of the day.
“Did I tell you?” As she gathered their paperwork, he slid her a sly grin. “Last week, Chuck told that new kid never to drink water in the exclusion zone. Because it’s bad practice, and goes against health and safety guidelines.”
Together, they turned to stare at their red cooler filled with water bottles, which she’d placed on the tailgate of their field truck that morning.
“Chuck’s a self-congratulatory twenty-two-year-old prick who’s spent almost no time on actual job sites.” At her flat statement, Bashir’s eyes widened. “He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, but is happy to tell everyone how to do their jobs anyway.”
At that, Bashir snorted. “Not just our jobs.”
“Oh, Jesus.” April rolled her eyes skyward. “Did he lecture you about hummus again?”
“Yes. Even though I don’t even eat much hummus, or give half a shit about chickpeas. I guess he just assumes I do, because…” Bashir waved a hand at himself. “You know.”
Together, they began carrying the paperwork to the company truck.
“I know.” She sighed. “Please tell me he wasn’t telling you to try—”
“The chocolate hummus,” Bashir confirmed. “Again. If you’d like to hear about its fiber and protein content, or perhaps how it’s a vast improvement over more traditional versions of hummus—the hummus of your people, as he put it—I’ve been well informed and would be delighted to share my newfound knowledge with you.”
He opened the passenger door for her, and she tucked the paperwork inside the latching case of her clipboard.
“Ugh. I’m so sorry.” She grimaced. “If it’s any consolation, he also has very definite opinions about how his few female colleagues should dress to score more jobs.”
In a small, private firm, consultants like her had to hustle for clients, woo them over lunches and at professional meetings, draw them aside at conventions and conferences about remedial technologies. Convince them she should be taken seriously and they wanted to pay her company for her geological expertise.
To remain optimally billable, she had to look a certain way. Sound a certain way. Present herself in the most professional possible light at all times.
Billable had become an epithet to her in recent years.
Reputation in her industry could be a fragile thing. Could be damaged. By, say, the revelation that a seemingly serious and practical colleague liked to play dress-up as her favorite pretend TV character and spent most of her free time discussing fictional half-gods.
Bashir rolled his eyes. “Of course he has opinions about women’s clothing. You told management, right?”
“Literally five minutes later.”
“Good.” Bashir walked by her side back toward the sampling table. “Hopefully they’ll fire his ass before much longer.”
“He knows nothing. Less than nothing, if that’s possible.” A pluck of her fingers at her shirt demonstrated how it clung damply to her. “I mean, look at how much we sweated today.”
“Copiously.” He glanced down at his own sweat-soaked orange shirt. “Disgustingly.”
Stopping by the table, she shook her head. “Exactly. Someone needs to set that new kid straight. Unless she wants to end up in the hospital for dehydration, she needs to bring water.”
Bashir inclined his head. “You would know.”
“I would know.”
And she did. Up until now, almost a third of her work hours as a geologist had been spent staying upwind of drill rigs like the one on this site, poring over soil samples to be logged and shoved into jars and sent off for lab testing. For a long time, she’d loved the processes and the challenges and even the physicality of doing field work. Some part of her still did love it.
Not all of her, though. Not enough of