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Every Shift is a Sentence, Every Customer a Warden
| Mainlining The Secret Truths of My Mahchine | 11/14/24 |
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Date: November 14th, 2024 10:55 AM Author: Mainlining The Secret Truths of My Mahchine (It bumps the BOOM thread like a FRIEND Or else it gets the hose ) This morning began like most: Tabitha’s shrill laugh cutting through the breakroom like a chainsaw. She was perched on her throne, a reinforced office chair with "Maximum Weight Capacity: 350 lbs" proudly displayed, enjoying her morning ritual of powdered donuts and Diet Coke.
As I clocked in, she gave me her usual sneer, followed by her favorite line: “Let’s see how long you last today, Evan, you twink ass.”
First up was Karen No. 1, the self-proclaimed Coupon Queen. She slammed a stack of expired clippings on my register and insisted, "They don’t expire if I say they don’t.” I called for a manager, but Tabitha waddled over instead. “Evan, just comp it,” she barked. “You’re slowing down the line.”
Karen flashed a triumphant grin as I entered each bogus discount, totaling $0.35 for her entire cart. “Maybe next time, you’ll learn customer service,” she hissed, strutting off like a victor in the Battle of Walmart.
Then came The Nutjob—a homeless guy we call Captain Cartman for his uncanny resemblance to the South Park character. He barreled into the store, screaming about government chips in the bananas. I paged security, but as usual, they were "busy."
Tabitha waddled out instead, shooing him with a rolled-up flyer. “Scram, freak!” she hollered, sending him into a tirade about how Safeway is run by lizard people.
Captain Cartman eventually retreated, but not before grabbing a fistful of hot deli chicken and declaring, “I’ll take this as tribute!” Tabitha just shrugged. “Write it up as shrinkage,” she said, heading back to her snack throne.
By mid-shift, I was running on fumes. Lisa, our resident Wellness Guru, floated by to remind me, "Stay hydrated, Evan. Dehydration clouds the mind." She offered me a sip of her $17 artisanal water, but only after making a dramatic show of wiping the bottle rim with a silk handkerchief.
Finally, as I collapsed into the stockroom during my break, Tabitha loomed over me. “I don’t know why you even bother, Evan,” she snorted. “Life’s hard, and you’re soft.”
Lying on a bed of flattened cardboard, staring up at the flickering fluorescent light, I murmured to the void: “Yes, friend. This is fine.” |