"Hey Kelsey, can you do me a favor and clean up the shoe party in aisle 10? It's pretty scary," my manager's voice bellowed through the earpiece attached to the walkie talkie clipped to the wasitband of my jeans.
Following her instructions, I scurried over to the aisle in the men's section to check out the mess. "Going noowww," I sang into the little microphone hanging off of the earpiece.
Oh Lord.
Whoever had graced this particular aisle with their presence left a mountain of shoeboxes, stuffing, shoes, and peds (those little wrinkled, paper-thin tan socks you use to try on shoes) right in the middle of the area. There had to have been at least fifty pairs of shoes mixed up and strewn all over the floor. The excess trash alone would need at least two large garbage bags and twenty minutes of reorganization, that's how disastrous it was.
"This might be the shoe apocalypse over here right now," I groaned into the mic.
"THIS IS IT, THE APOCALYPSE!" one of my coworkers sang horribly off-key in response, causing the few employees throughout the store to double over in laughter.
I ran up to the front of the store to grab a roll of garbage bags and quickly returned to the cluttered aisle. After ripping off one bag, I bent down and tried to get somewhat comfortable on the floor, considering I would be there sorting shoes for quite some time.
After a few minutes, I had correctly matched a couple of pairs of shoes to their boxes and gathered them to return them to their holy homes. I bent down to pick up the pile of boxes, struggling to balance them all as I lifted my torso upright agai -
Aaaaand there's a body.
And apparently some more tissue paper, too.
Whoever was behind me was dangerously close to me when I stood up, causing my backside to collide with the other person. I easily lost my balance (though you would think that I would have terrific balance, being a dancer and all but think again) and took a slight step forward to stop myself from falling over, only I had stepped on tissue paper and slipped from the sudden momentum. Before I knew it, my perfect pile of boxes was a smaller version of the mountain they were previously apart of, and I was staring at the millions of tiny rows of thread woven into the carpeted floors.
Fantastic.
I flinched as I felt a hand on the small of my back. Quickly getting to my feet and brushing myself off, I turned to address the person whom I had embarrassingly bumped into and was met with a strikingly familiar face.
You have got to be kidding me.
"Didn't know my little slut worked here, hey." Jesse loomed over me, a devilish smirk on his face as his icy blue eyes scanned every inch of my body.
"I - I'm sorry. My fault," I mumbled as I spun around to once again pick up all of the boxes and shoes that had tumbled out of my arms.
"Nah, don't be. It happens."
What were the odds of running into Jesse here, of all days? Was I getting Punk'd or something?
"So, um, did you need help finding anything?" No matter who the customer was, I still had to fulfill my duty as a sales associate and give him the best customer service possible - or at least try to - even if he were a serial killer.
"Not anymore." His hot, weed-ridden breath filled my ear as he whispered directly into it, causing me to jump and knock over the pile of shoeboxes. Again.
Really?
"Please don't do that," I practically whispered.
"What time you gettin' outta here?" Jesse made himself comfortable on the orange cushioned bench next to me as I cleaned up my mess for the third time.
