The City of Strangers

Chapter two

I hate the weekend. Growing up, the weekend was a time to relax and unwind; now it was a time to work twelve-hour shifts and deal with cranky people. Not just the native New Yorkers but also the tourists, which, believe it or not, are worse than the people who've lived like ice men their entire lives.

I didn't get to take my lunch until four-o-clock, and even then, I had to beg my boss to take over the sales floor just so I didn't pass out from low blood sugar. I grabbed a pretzel and smoothie from the food court and decided to sit on the bench opposite the Hallmark store. It was busy enough that people walked between me and the instore front to block me from the view of my co-workers. The only thing that kept me going was that I only had four more hours until I got to go home. Three and a half of those I have to work like a drunk elf.

I only noticed it after the flood of people went home after closing. The seating area in front of the store was completely gone. The couches, chairs, table, and even the rug were all gone. Custodians were moping the white tile floor while I counted the money in the till. An older couple stood near the employee exit tunnel, talking to each other while pointing near the newly empty space. What were they doing?

The next day two empty kiosks sat in the center of the aisle. Crisp, clean white blocks lingered empty like icebergs in the arctic ocean. All day, they were empty. Shoppers walked past the new additions as if they had always been there, but every time I looked out the glass window, I was shocked, like walking into the first snow of winter all over again.

On my next shift, the same old couple from the weekend stood idly near the kiosks all day. Cleaners came and went whipping down the wood. A contractor redid the shelving and rearranged the two carts. By the end of the day, the couple had boxes of inventory laid out on chairs and already being stocked. Watch bands and phone accessories. Just another tech cart to be added to the thirty others that already operated within this mall. Yay.

I had to close again. Typically I wouldn't complain of having to close alone because, hey, I was alone. I didn't need to rush to get done, and I could play my own playlist instead of listening to another half hour of here comes Santa Clause. But I am already so done with this day all I want to do is run into the raging blizzard and freeze into a block of ice, so I never have to return to this building ever again. Instead, I fight the urge to abandon ship. After all, I do have rent to pay and follow the closing procedures step by step. Clean, close the till, count the safe, turn off the lights, and lock the door. The final click of the lock is music to my ears.

I am not alone. I can hear the heavy metal door at the end of the hallway opening and closing every few seconds. I am always alone. Even if I leave at two in the afternoon on a Saturday, I am always alone.

I curse myself for wearing boots with a heel as each step I take echoes off the brown tile beneath me. Whoever is at the exit knows I am here. Please don't be a murder.

Before the doors are even insight, a fridged burst of air punches the oxygen out of my lungs until I am breathless. I can't even think. Instead, I lean on the concrete wall for support. I get it's the first freeze of the year, but it shouldn't be the fucking ice age yet. I hear the click of the door again and brace for impact, holding my breath to try and keep as much warmth my body has been able to create in the last minute.

"If you are going to keep opening that door every god damn minute, may I suggest just biting the bullet and go to your car?"

I really should not have been a bitch about it, but I am tired, cold and I just want to get home without frostbite. All I can do is hope the person on the other end is not some tattooed druggie ready to beat my guts into the ground.