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Nobody wants to be a Slopper.
Nobody told Chuck this as such, but he knows it's true. There are all sorts of jobs in the Glade. Who in their right mind would want to be one of the guys running around with brooms and mops when they could be doing literally anything else?
He's not sure which exact job he does want to do, but he knows without a doubt that he doesn't want to be a Slopper.
Absolutely not.
Unfortunately, he's terrible at just about everything else.
His day with the Builders goes awfully. Gally is kind about it, but Chuck can sense his frustration mounting through the day with every mistake Chuck makes, and it doesn't come as a surprise when Gally tells Alby in no uncertain terms that Chuck isn't welcome back the next day.
("He's a good kid, but he's gonna get himself hurt over here. No way. Not happening on my watch.")
His day with the Cooks is cut short when he manages to tip up a pot of hot oil. Frypan laughs about it later and sneaks Chuck an extra cut of meat, the first of many extras to find themselves on Chuck's plate, so Chuck is confident there aren't any grudges being held about it, but he's not allowed near the stove again and he's pretty sure he agrees with that decision.
("Sorry Albs, I can't risk that happening again. He's got jokes, though.")
His stint with the Med Jacks ends with tangled bandages and two too many close calls with a blade for Clint to think he's suitable for the job.
("We don't have enough supplies for this.")
He walks away from the Slicers on his own terms after Winston explains what their job truly entails.
("Don't worry about it, kid. There's a lotta people here who agree with you. I only do it 'cause someone has to.")
Which just leaves the Track Hoes for available jobs, and surely he can do that. Surely he can work the gardens without any problems.
Surely.
Surely.
In his defence, even he can tell that he's the youngest in this place by at least three years, and he has no memory of ever gardening before. He's sorry, alright? He didn't know that bottle was weedkiller, and he didn't know that applying that much weedkiller would kill the not-weeds-but-food as well.
It was an accident.
And, luckily, it's not a hugely costly one. Zart swipes the bottle from him before he can kill more than a couple of plants, and walks him out of the garden and right to the Slopper's supply shed.
"We'll try you again in a few months, yeah? Give you more of a chance to settle in first."
It's the only not yet he's gotten among a sea of no.
"We'll see," he says. "I might decide I like being a Slopper so much after all that I don't want to switch."
Zart flashes a grin. "You might! Most of the Sloppers are Sloppers by choice. Lower stakes, and all."
Lower stakes does sound nice. It's difficult to mess up cleaning in such a way that it's actually serious.
Maybe being a Slopper won't be so bad after all.