I have been to hell and back, and it is Retail.
Huh. That’s a pretty amusing quote, I think, smirking to myself and clicking the scanner button over another item. I’d better remember to tell someone that. Keep up my reputation as the hilarious and charismatic coworker. Yep, that's me. Probably the only bright part of these people's day.
I sigh. Then I scan a bag of potato chips, wincing at that atrocious beeping noise I am bombarded with every two seconds, and glance up at the customer--a big, overweight guy with a stained graphic t-shirt and acne he should have grown out of years ago. For some reason he is squinting his eyes at me. He twitches his lips. For a second, I’m worried that I have something on my face, and instinctively reach up my hand to wipe my mouth.
Oh, I guess he thought I was smiling or something. Ha. I give him a nice, friendly, not-condescending-in-the-least grin, and he makes another face. The scanner beeps a couple more times.
Damn, I can't make this expression out at all. But I decide it's probably better not to smile anymore ever. Just in case.
I bag the last item and hand him his stuff, tell him to have a nice day in my most cheerful emotionless robot voice, and tear the receipt off of the printer.
"Thanks," he mumbles without looking up from the card scanner. The guy pushes away the cart with a clatter and then I crane my neck over to look for the other customer. But there’s no one in line yet…just maybe…yes. It’s lunchtime—no one ever goes to the store during lunchtime. Which means that for the first time, all day, I am finally left alone.
I savor my rare few minutes of solitude—or, at least, as ‘in solitude’ as you can be when standing in a giant department store with a thin plastic wall the only thing separating you from the busy lines of eager shoppers--and look up at the ceiling with a sigh. God, I know I sigh too much. If your life was even a little like mine, you would probably sigh a lot too.
The walls that are visible beneath white metal shelves of useless crap are a blank greyish plaster, made even more garish by the fluorescent lights set in the plaster ceiling tiles. Banners hang from the ceiling advertising an endless number of sales and promotions and specials. Funny. I never see anyone change those, but yet they still somehow manage to transform into something that just happens to advertise our sales for that season.
(Actually, I think it might be Paulo that does it. He has the early shift. I make a mental note to ask him sometime.)
My attention wanders again, and I close my eyes. I am surrounded on all sides by chatter. The clacking and rolling of shopping carts, footsteps on linoleum tile, crinkling packages of chips and cookies and clinking of bottles. The calm, factory-processed pop music sounding from invisible speakers is always there just in case there happens to be a moment of quiet, a steady source of background noise ready to numb your mind whenever…
“Fuck,” Suddenly I hiss under my breath. Oh god, I am so tired. I could just…. No. I cannot afford to fall asleep right now. Dammit.
But even as that thought is processed through my mind, I can feel my eyes unfocusing and my balance sliding and there is a ringing in my ears and a pounding in my head and….
I lean against the partition wall so I won’t fall over, pressing my fingers over my squeezed-shut eyelids as the ringing sound intensifies, then slowly fades away to the sounds of the store again.
“Uuugh,” I groan to myself. I need some coffee.
A quick sneaking glance over the partition wall reveals that Geoffrey, the store manager, is busy trying to kiss the ass of an “upset” customer--and he’s well out of view. This is my chance.
I grab the plastic triangular sign proclaiming this aisle to be closed and set it quietly in front of the register. Another peek across the registers shows that no one who cares is noticing me take a quick unwarranted break, and, acting casual as fuck, I lounge my way over to the little coffee stand over in the corner.
“Hey,” I say to the girl behind the counter, my friend Najma, after the last customer leaves toting their overpriced espresso.
“Hey yourself,” she says back, with this little eyebrow raise that pretty much embodies the exact textbook definition for flirting--that is, it would, if I hadn’t realized after six months of crushing on her that Najma, this cute snarky Indian girl, acted like that to just about everyone that she talked to. It had taken more rejections then I wanted to admit before I had accepted the fact that we would just be friends, and nothing more.
(Well, that was before a certain someone came into the picture. But I’m not thinking about her right now, okay?)
I lean over the counter and bat my eyelashes at her. “You know what I could really go for right now?” I undo a button on my polo shirt, my mouth slightly open, and tilt my head. Gettin’ pretty James Bond up in this shit.
Najma shakes her head, smiling. “Oh, I think I do,” she plays along.
“Jeez, I just meant a cup of coffee…I don’t know what you were thinking of!” My voice is laced with mock disgust. A moment of silence passes, and we both burst out laughing.
“God, you’re so sarcastic, Carter,” she smiles and hands me a paper cup of coffee.
“What are you talking about? Are you saying you don’t think everything I say is sincere and heartfelt?”
She smiles, but turns around to fiddle with the settings on some coffee machine behind her. “Ha, ha. Very funny.
Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you, you can’t keep coming here asking for free stuff. Geoffrey’s already bitched me out about not breaking even this week. I mean, if you want to fuel your caffeine addiction, I’m not going to stop you or anything…” She says with a knowing tone, half lighthearted and half serious now. She’s looking down at her fingernails instead of at my face. “Why don’t you just get some vitamins or something? Or, hey, here’s an idea, why don’t you get some more sleep, instead of sitting on the internet all night? Hell, what do you even do on there all the time? …Ah, never mind, don’t answer that question. I probably don’t want to know.”
Sighing, I wipe my fingers over my eyes, self-conscious about the perpetual blue bags under them. Oh god, why did I ever even mention how much time I spend on the computer? It would have been better to say I spend every night collecting my snot to keep in jars or something. Ugh, and it’s not even like I spent that much time looking at porn or whatever she was accusing me of. Mostly it was just talking with...a certain person.
“Sorry,” I finally looked up at her a moment later. “I guess it’s just an excuse to take a break and come hang out over here instead of scanning never-ending carts of toilet paper and potato chips for minimum wage. And you do make a pretty good cup of coffee.” I avoided saying that it was mainly for the cheap burst of energy to keep me awake to do the scanning and the minimum wage part.
“Well, I guess that’s understandable.” She smirks at me. “It’s just—“
“Carter, you are requested in aisle 12, Carter to aisle 12.” Lindsay’s voice calmly interrupts us from the intercom system in the ceiling.
“Shit,” I say, gulping down the rest of my drink. It must be Geoffrey. Oh god I hope I’m not in trouble. A quick burning sensation is there at the top of my head, the feeling you get when you’re scared and dreading doing something you have to do.
But then it passes. It’s probably nothing. Someone probably just knocked over a display or something, not that big a deal.
“Good luck,” Najma calls after me as I toss the empty cup into the trash and jog off towards the specified aisle.
I can’t see her, but I can practically hear the eyebrow-raise in her voice.
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Author's note: Sorry it's kind of short, I just felt I really needed to upload something even though it's been months since I've made this account. And don't worry, Molly is introduced soon, and it gets a lot more exciting than just a kid with a shitty Walmart-esque retail job.
