The music was too loud the first time I walked in.
It spilled out of the store and into the mall, heavy bass vibrating though the concrete floors. Inside, everything was varying shades of black with small pops of color, all meticulously folded and displayed. Chains hung from displays. The employees looked effortless, like they hadn’t tried at all.
I stood there longer than I meant to.
“You looking for anything?” someone called. I shook my head and left. Two weeks later, I was filling out an application.
On my first day, they taught me how to talk. “Don’t just say hi.” my manager said, leaning against the counter. “Anyone can say hi.”
He tapped the register with two fingers. “You need to know them.”
“Like…what they’re shopping for?” I asked
He smiled. “No. Who they are.”
We practiced on each other before the store opened. “Go.” he said, pointing at me.
I turned to one of the other employees, suddenly aware of how quiet the store felt without music.
“Hey,” I said. “I like your jacket.”
“Thanks.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“Online.” I hesitated.
MY manager cut in. “Too surface-level. Dig.”
I tried again. “What kind of music are you into?” The employee shrugged. “Mostly punk.”
“There you go,” my manager said. “Now build from that. Make it real.”
The first time I did it right, it felt like unlocking something. A girl came in, hovering near the back wall, picking at the sleeves of a hoodie. “Hey,” I said, softer this time. “You into this band?” She glanced up and said “A little.”
“They’re amazing live! Have you even been to a show?” She shook her head.
By the time she got to the register, we were talking like we knew each other. Music, school, how boring her town was. I rang up the hoodie, then added a shirt. Then another.
“Are you sure?” she asked, half-laughing.
“It all goes together,” I chided. “You’ll actually wear it.” She nodded.
$312
When she left, my manager clapped me on the shoulder. “That’s what I’m talking about!” After that everything came faster.
Praise. Hours. Responsibility.
“You’ve got it,” they kept saying. I didn't ask what it was. I just worked harder. I started staying late, even when I wasn’t scheduled.
The store looked different after closing. Quieter. Smaller
We’d sit on the counters, talking while we folded clothes we’d already folded twice.
“People out there don’t get it,” one of my coworkers said one night, gesturing vaguely toward the dark mall beyond the gate.
“Get what?” I asked.
“This,” she said. “Us.’ I didn’t argue.
When they promoted me, they handed me a key on a silver ring. “Don’t lose it,” my manager said. I turned it over in my hand. It felt heavier than it should have.
That night, I didn’t go home right away. I stood outside the store after my shift ended, unlocking and locking the gate just to feel it click.
It didn't take long for things to shift.
At first, it was just comments. A joke said too easily -- a laugh that lingered too long. Then it was the patterns
The way my manager talked about customers when they left. The way he talked about employees when they weren’t there.
“You hear what he said earlier?” someone whispered to me in the stockroom.
I had.
We reported it.
Nothing happened.
We reported it again. Still nothing.
“I’m done,” I said one afternoon, standing behind the register. “With him,” I added quickly. Not the job. Just… him.”
My coworker nodded like she understood.
I put in my two weeks that night. The district manager showed up the next morning. He didn’t sit down.
“Heard you’re leaving,” he said.
“Yeah.”
He glazed around the store, the back at me.
“What if you didn’t?” I couldn’t answer. By the end of the conversation, my manager was gone. Just like that.
Ten years, erased in a single afternoon.
“You’re stepping up,” the district manager said like it had already been decided. I should have said no. Instead, I asked about pay.
A few weeks later, I was on a plane. I pressed my forehead against the window, watching the ground disappear beneath the clouds. My head ached. My throat felt raw.
“You okay?” someone asked from the seat next to me.
“Yeah,” I said. “Just tired.” The buses took us the rest of the way.
Further and further from anything recognizable. Roads narrowed. Buildings disappeared. Trees closed in. We finally stopped, it was quiet. Too quiet.
“Welcome,” someone said, clapping their hands once. Then the days started to blur.
We stood in open fields, then inside a massive barn strung with lights that made your head buzz. Music played constantly, just low enough that it never quite faded into the background.
“Energy up!” someone shouted. We clapped. We cheered.
Hours passed. No one checked the time out loud.
“You’re not leaving early, right?” someone asked me on the second day.
“No,” I said
“Good,” they said. “Did you hear about what happened last year?” I shook my head. “They sent someone home. Fired them the next week.”
“For what?”
“Couldn’t handle it.” They smiled when they said it.
On the third night, the owner took the stage. The room shifted before he even spoke. People straightened. Conversations cut off mid-sentence.
He looked out at us like he already knew exactly what he’d find. “Hi,” he said. “I’m -------” A pause.
“How much money did you make me this year?”
Laughter rippled through the room. I laughed too. When he pointed at me, I answered without thinking. Numbers. Exact numbers.
228,517
“Good,” he said, already looking past me.
Later, I was still sitting in the same spot. The air had gone stale. My clothes clung to my skin, but he was still talking.
Growth. Expansion. Numbers.
More.
Always more.
Something shifted . Quiet and unnoticeable. Like a sound cutting out mid-song. I looked around.
Everyone was watching him. Still nodding. Still smiling.
I tried to think of the last time I’d talked to someone outside of work. I couldn’t.
My phone showed one bar of service. No messages. No missed calls.
I looked back at the stage. At him--all of us.
And for the first time, the thought came without hesitation:
This isn’t normal.
I stayed in my seat. I clapped when everyone else clapped. I smiled when someone looked at me, but something had already broken.
And I couldn’t put it back.