In Your Head

two

One Month Earlier

September 1999...

"Receipt in the bag fine?" I spin on the balls of my feet to the front desk, reverting my eyes back towards the woman and trying to keep a smile on my face.

Don't roll your eyes. Don't do it. Don't do it, wait till she's gone.

I have to remind myself over and over, the same repetitive chant I've been saying these entire twenty minutes I've been helping her.

"Yep," she says, her voice dull and monotone. She still isn't impressed with me for whatever reason, but do I care? Don't know what her problem is, it's not like I spit in her face the moment she walked through the doors—although now I wish I had. But at this point it's whatever, I'm used to this. And at least the whole transaction is over, after the machine just screamed at her three times that her card wasn't working. Of course. Why do I always get the dumb, angry and annoying customers?

Throwing her receipt in the tiny bag with pink letters 'HMV' printed on the side, I hand it out to her. She snatchs it, spinning herself around while her short, spiky hair remains stiff. And she storms back into the hallway of the mall.

"Have a nice day," I whisper in the most fake-kind voice I can muster. But what's the point of telling her that when I know she's about to ruin some other poor associates' day at another store?

Yeah, that's right you old hag, get out of here!

If I'm being honest I like my job, it's good, most days. Of course there's always the god awful customers who're miserable and want to make everyone else feel the way they do. But at this point I've been working here long enough, not quite a year when I was sixteen, and now about five months since I've been back. Maybe I'm more fed up with people now than when I worked here at sixteen. I was eager to impress back then, even the snobbish and rude customers, which I have no clue why. As if my kindness could warm their cold demeanor, heat their freezing heart, but there was no helping them. And now, I just don't care anymore. Let their cold hearts remain frozen. I can't be bothered to thaw them and try to brighten their day. Now at nineteen, my blood boils under my skin and this nagging ache and rage grows in the pit of my stomach just with the sight of someone walking through the doors. But I try to stay calm—calm, there it is again, I don't know the meaning of it—as I clench my fists and bite my tongue and try to fake a dead smile like I'm fine, like this is the happiest place. But I don't have to wonder why I'm like this or what has changed over the years. I know how this happened, and everyone else knows too.

"Wow, what a sweet, kind lady. The nicest customer today by far!" a deeper voice emerges behind me, the sarcasm so present as my eyes roll.

"Oh for sure! I loved her. I wish she'd come right back and I could help her all over again." I force a smile on my face as I turn around to my coworker.

"Be careful, you might jinx it and she'll come right back here complaining that she wants a different CD."

"God help us if she does. She better be careful, or my body count will go up to two," I laugh as I head back towards the stacked boxes of new stock, CDs and movies ready to hit the shelves. But as these seconds creep by, I'm met with silence. Conversations outside in the mall amplify, suddenly more clear. And as I turn back around, John is just standing beside himself, an unsettled look crossing his face.

What? Why is he looking at me like that? God, I guess he can't take a joke.

Oh shut up, why are you so stupid? You know you can't joke around like that with everyone. You think you'd know that by now, no one likes those jokes except Mandy, she's the only exception. Hasn't Mom told you that about a million times now?