Short Stories + Contest Entries

Awkward Flirts: Mini Creative Nonfiction

My job is far from difficult, but my mind does a wonderful job at creating a matrix of mazes and puzzles to complicate my life. In reality, my job goes like this; I stand there, ring people up, box some ink, answer the phone, and perform any other task that will make the time go by faster. But some days, I'm very lonely, and it's usually on those shifts I rely on nice and conversational customers to comfort me.

Needless to say, when I wish for it the most, the opposite happens. That's when the grumps, the silent miserables, the phone chatters, the complainers, and confused guests start to pile their way towards me. It's as if an alarm alerts for them to come to torture me. Still, there is nothing that can compare to one specific customer, the flirts. Particularly, the broken boy flirts.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not one to criticize people based on age or life issues, we all got them! But it doesn't take away from the fact that it makes me extremely uncomfortable, and dare I say it, disgusted.

Before I go any further, I must explain what my definition of a "broken boy flirt" is. It's a term (which can be used for any gender, by the way) that is meant to describe a person who uses their "broken and sad" attributes to flirt their way to another person's heart. Hence a "broken" boy. It's not the sad and depressing part that has me cringing, it's how they choose to flirt with me (and while I'm at work) that leaves my hope for humanity waning.

***

It was a closing shift, 7 pm, months before the hell of COVID-19. Two hours till the doors shut and I raced home. I leaned on the counter and heard my back crack twice. It was a long day and I was ready to collapse from mental exhaustion.

Then a man appeared, ready to check out. I straightened my spine and begin my monologue of "hi how are you? Do you want this in a bag" nonsense. The man had to have been in his late thirties. A  cast was around his left arm, his clothes and hair were messy, and his voice was tired with a raspy tang to it. I'm as nice as I can be, until-

"You're really pretty, missy"

Here we go...

"Umm, thanks."  I scanned an item.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen.." I put the item in the bag.

"I bet you have so many admirers. With a face like yours."

"Not really," I tapped on the screen.

"I doubt that. You're nice to look at. Way better than I am. And much younger too."

I stayed silent.

"You know how I broke my arm?" I stared. "I got mad and punched my truck."

My fingers fiddled tapped on the screen some more.

"And I also lost my voice because I sang sad songs in the car too loud. It's a hard life out here."

I mentally rolled my eyes. "Trying breathing from your diaphragm to prevent losing your voice."

He grinned "Wow, smart girl. Well, it was nice chatting with you. What's your name?"

Can he not read my name tag? "Mickey"

"Mickey. You're so cute and pretty. I hope to see you around soon. Have a good night."

As I started ringing up the customer after him, my cheeks still burned from awkwardness and my ears continued to buzz. Just when I thought the awkward interaction was over, he came back up to me and handed me a card, "In case you want to keep in touch." He winked and walked out.

I looked at the customer who stopped and blinked right at me. I had nothing left to say on the matter. I merely ripped the card and threw it in the trash. Some people just don't know when to quit...