u/Desperate_Lime_443

The day was over. I fulfilled my obligations to the store and, consequently, myself because I'm punctual and efficient and that's my standard. I put the bags away, cleared my area, and headed off into the sunset hungry and tired. A voice from behind: "Where are YOU going?" I was taken off guard and felt a surge of adrenaline. I hate confrontation. I prefer peace. I think I said, "What?" She glares at me sideways with her stink eye (she's actually cross eyed) "You're just GOING TO LEAVE?" Why yes, Karen. That's what a job is. When I stay late or come in early, my free will is functioning. I am not obligated to stay longer. We are not friends. Our proximity is purely transactional. Apparently the lead didn't know I had a normal day for once, I usually have later shifts, so she gave me a look but then she realized I was right and was free to go. But Coworker Karen kept on and this is where I went sideways, I told her to stop and if she had something to say do it without the tone. My manager then chastised me for reacting. I apologized and left. I heard Coworker K say, "She just walked away!" Absolutely, K. It has to end somewhere. But because she's been here 65 years and has some kind of informal authority, she seems to think she's in charge of my breaks and my clock out. I feel no remorse for leaving on time. I cleared my area, took last minute customers, but there has to be an end. Unfortunately, my reaction became the issue, not her assault. I consider this teachable. Next time she comes at me, she'll receive my silence.

Are you too exhausted to hit the gym like you did with that reception job? Is standing, bending and lifting 8 hours a day, often 7 days on a row, turning you into someone you barely recognize? Are you tired of interacting with the general population because the performance you give every day is burning you out? You probably work retail, and you're probably mutating into an alien creature that bears little to no resemblance to the person you were before. When did you start identifying potential troublemakers at a glance? When did you start lumping people into collective stereotypes rather than enduring them individually? When did you start seeing other people as the enemy? This job steals more than your energy and more than your time. It drains you in a way nothing else could. It burns through your optimism like a laser, leaving nothing but a shadow behind, a shadow that collapses onto a chair after the day is done, arguing with yourself about what time, if any, you can do the laundry that's been sitting there for weeks. This is your life now. This is how you pay bills and stay alive, but it's not living. Thank God for your cat.

I had to choose flair but there wasn't anything for random thoughts so I picked gross, just because I feel gross today.

Customer approaches. She is not elderly. She doesn't look like Karen...but looks are deceptive. Drops the book on my counter. It's a discount book because this is a discount store. The cost is about $4.99. The literature you find here, like everything else at this location, isn't top of the line obviously. The second you walk in you should know where you are. She wants more off. Why? "The page here is a little bent." Excuse me? "The page is bent." Ok. You want dollars off an already cheap book by an author nobody ever heard of because....one of the pages was slightly bent at the corner? You miserable fuck. First of all, paper bends, you idiot. Second, that's not a damage or defect. Go to Barnes and Noble if you don't believe me. And third, how the hell do I know you didn't bend it yourself while you were taking a walk past the $2 tube socks? I try to explain. She won't hear it. Then she says it's a gift, so...Oh, a gift you say? Funny, you didn't ask for a gift receipt or wrapping. You only mentioned it when I pushed back. But of course, she gets what she wants. Everyone does.

"Every customer leaves happy."

Ok, Manager Karen, what if happy means stabbing me in the throat?

"Well, let me see your neck then."

So we haven't quite learned that tolerating bad behavior BREEDS bad behavior. We haven't quite connected the dots. When you let customers "return" washed, worn, frayed, destroyed clothes that sends the clear message: YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH ANYTHING! You don't need a receipt, you don't need tags; you don't even need to prove you were here. Just march up to my register, drop a disgusting piece of torn fabric onto the wrap stand, and tell me to get a manager because you "washed it and didn't like how the fabric felt after." Yes, YOU. The creature in the shabby track suit who brought her daughter in to show her how you scam a pushover store. The woman with the sunglasses from Walmart. The one who insisted you "just bought this" yet it looked about ten years old. You should be ashamed of yourself but I know you're not. You're proud. You were proud when you lifted the torn fabric out of that plastic bag that probably came from the dollar store, crumpled and smelly like years of sweat and lies, and dumped it out in front of me while your kid watched. Yes, YOU. I bet you sleep well at night. You have no remorse. You have no morality. And that's how you'll raise that kid. But you're so proud!

I thought this day might never come. I thought it might exist only in my nightmares. I thought, I'll never see it with my own eyes but only hear about it through legends told by firelight when the kids are asleep.

But no. Today, the legend appeared. Patient Zero of disgusting, deplorable behavior. The Big One. The Grand Kahuna. The Source.

She was enormous naturally. Her hair was unbrushed, unwashed. On her feet were bathroom slippers. On her person was a bathrobe, open fully to expose the attire chosen for an afternoon shopping, an afternoon out among peers and children. An outfit crafted by the devil himself. An old bra--not sports bra, not halter top--and old, sagging bra with nothing over it. And on the bottom: her underwear. Not even booty shorts. Not athletic wear. Not undersized shorts. Actual underwear and nothing else. Her body was on full display, and the bathrobe hung open, unbound by the belt attached which was presumably tailored to hide yourself. But there was no hiding. I rang her up, my eyes burning and twitching with both pain and denial. So between scans, I sneaked another glance hoping maybe my eyes deceived me. They didnt. She was shopping in her underwear. A grown woman, an adult, a human being--possibly. Exposed and lethally, tragically unencumbered by personal dignity.

So this is where we are. This is where we're headed as a species. Farewell, shame and class. We barely knew ye.

Not much explanation needed, the title says it all. Why do customers get to know my name? The answer, which your managers won't tell you, isn't that it creates a synthetic bond between you and the Rhodes scholars who appear at your register. It's so they have a name to give when they complain. Imagine if Karen had to describe whatever poor soul she was picking on that day. She'd have to be almost insulting especially if the cashier had a visible defect. But they need ammunition and that comes in the shape of a tacky, plastic badge that tells everyone who you are. And it's not the same as a bank fiduciary whose name is placed discreetly on his desk or on a business card. Retail associates have to walk around with these ugly things attached to our bodies like we're someone's pet. It's also a mechanism of social control. Name tags are associated with perceived "lower" status. Think about high income jobs. Do CEOs wear them? No. These abominations are reserved for the people they need to feel lower than them. It's the hierarchy. They need to remind the cashier that he or she occupies a lower rung. Forget dignity. We apparently don't deserve it.

I'm watching my managers from behind the register during pauses when the line doesn't extend halfway through the store, occupied by zombies on their phones. The one manager practically jogs through the store. Her voice is manic, reaching high levels of performative niceness. She sounds like a programmed robot. It's not even genuine niceness, it's the sickly-sweet, over-enthused staged niceness where every syllable oozes with synthetic cheer. It's one thing to be pleasant but you can be pleasant without mania, without simping over every customer, and it makes me wonder what she's like when the mask finally drops. Customer calls, she runs like a dog. Her voice reaches into the colacaturra wavelength, dripping with melodramatic cheer.

Being around these people is exhausting. You can do customer service without love-bombing. What happened to a polite greeting, expediting a transaction without gushing and simping, or just being yourself? Hello, thank you, let me help you can all be done calmly and without shaking like a nervous chihuahua, eyes wide and bulging. And it's ok not to smile all the time. American society says otherwise, but it's ok. The Bible doesn't say "grin like an idiot" at everyone. It says be decent to everyone. And DECENCY does not have to appear in the shape of phony extroversion.

A little boy raged and threw himself into the wall at my register. His face turned red and I thought, this will be the youngest stroke victim on record. He told me to scan faster, he wanted his toy. The mother did nothing. She told him I had to do my job. But she didn't tell him to stop bashing the wall. Then the charming toddler came behind the register and messed with the hangers, face still contorted. I kept my eyes on my work. I'm not getting involved.

Then of course the parade of sweaty bodycon women appeared with an equally attractive male specimin, adorned in a stained tee shirt and old gym pants. Nobody's even trying anymore.

The only ray of light appeared in the form of an elderly dog named Lulu who was shopping with her mom, sweetly resting at her feet while I scanned. God bless animals.

Ok....so a child just lost her mind over gummi bears. Screaming, raging, crying, arms flailing, face beet red. The mom, while spending $700 on kids clothes, kept saying "I will kick your ass, shut the fuck up!" The transaction took at least 10-15 minutes as I filled about 5 huge bags. The kid tried reaching over my counter yelling and crying, "I want gummi bears!" I thought I was in a movie. I just kept my head down, totalled her stuff, expedited as best I could.

So moms, do you realize that you have no control over either your kids or yourselves? Because I bet that kid hears cusses all day long and has no emotional stability. The woman looked like a crack addict. You guys want babies so bad then turn them loose on the rest of us. Please stop reproducing.

Why do they stand directly behind me? Wtf are you watching? I never stole anything, I never mouthed off, do you not get that your proximity is contributing to mistakes? Get away from my register! If you have an issue then tell me directly, but don't lurk there like a psychopath with your eyeballs on top of me.

Do managers not understand psychology? That watching someone from behind is incredibly intrusive? Just back off. There's a camera directly above me. I'm not doing anything. I promise.

Aside from physical exhaustion and pain, the customer service voice is the worst. Hi, how are you, over and over, an endless succession of forced empathy, the smile plastered onto your face when all you want is to burnout in silence. The managers looming behind, listening to your pitch--did you sell any credit today?--and watching while you endure the nagging small Ted talks given one after the next by customers holding you hostage.

You mask. All day long. For the customers and your colleages. You're not you. Of course, how could you be? You're a shade of you. Hollowed out. Gutted. At the end of eight hours spent standing, pulling, scanning and bagging, you barely feel human and you definitely don't want to talk anymore.

That voice. The creepy, cringey, phoney, sing-along voice that you hate hearing come out of your face. You force it for eight hours knowing at some point, although not when, it's going to crack. Nobody can mask forever. It's like a ballet. They can't twirl forever. Feet weren't meant for that.

Hi, how are you? Hi, how are you? Hi, I can help the next in line! The half-smile. The cursed chit chat. And after all that, when your shift ends, you're too exhausted to live. You have no energy to give yourself, let alone others.

What mess is this? What fresh hell?

Is this all there is?

Just this. Body drained, mind exhausted, no energy for my own life anymore. Beyond depressed. Collapsed in a chair. Feet burning, my muscles hurting, I am not close to the person I was.

Is this normal?

My first major headaches started in grade school. I remember riding the bus home in agony. I also remember my mom saying I was too young to have headaches. In grade 6, math class, I had my first aura with migraine. Life since then hasn't been the same. But of course you get misunderstood a lot by people who think you're being dramatic or, again, you're "too young" to experience pain whatever that means. Nothing like being gaslit when your head is exploding. I hate pain.

Today I'll be inside all day. I can barely get out of my pjs. People really don't understand that severe allergies are often like having the flu. Today everything hurts. It's windy, pollen is going everywhere, I'm taking pills and feel like an absolute shipwreck. People who don't experience this bombardment think I must be either exaggerating or making it up completely, but today really is a lost 24 hours. Total exhaustion and body aches too. Glad I didn't have to work today because it would have been a miserable shift.

Do any book stores sell vintage children's books? I have been nostalgic lately. I already found A Winkle in Time which I know predates me but I read it nonstop in school. I also just ordered the Anastasia series which is going to be an interesting read as an adult. I miss those days. Was anyone else a reader? I read for hours in the summer when the days actually felt long and time wasn't a predator consuming us.

I don't mean to get weird but the world is just not the same when it's timed by alarms, commutes, lunch breaks, grocery runs, and divided into swiftly moving dimensions that seem to accelerate and then shrink every month. Even relaxing feels like pressure.

Anyway, thanks

It's not UNALIVED. It's MURDERED. Here, I'll use it in a sentence: Karmelo murdered another person which is why he is going to jail.

It's not SELF DELETE. It's SUICIDE. Here, I'll use it in a sentence: she committed suicide because she had chronic, untreated depression after Karmelo murdered her friend.

It's not SMEX. It's SEX. Here, I'll use it in a sentence: they had sex which led to the birth of their first child, who sadly grew up to be a killer that numerous people defended because murder is ok if you're the right...phenotype.

It's not PDF. It's CHILD ABUSER. Here, I'll use it in a sentence: he might have killed someone but at least he wasn't a child abuser i.e. pedophile.

This will trigger those who are terrified of truth but I don't care. George Carlin famously preached against "soft language." He was right. Call things what they are. I mean...refer to particular nouns and verbs based upon their perceived origin and context of course without causing offense to those who control the current narrative in our morally decayed society.

I'm an unmarried adult, no kids. How do people maintain friends when everyone you know has found their tribe? Rightfully, my friends with families have to put them first. Plans can't be spontaneous and usually wouldn't involve late nights, although I haven't given up on midnight bowling someday. The only people with similar freedom are seniors...and that's definitely not me. My age group is either married or on the way; I never get asked out so I doubt I'll ever travel that road. So how do you guys manage life on the periphery?

What did you think "adulthood" would feel like?

I don't think I'm there. I feel like a taller child who still sleeps with a teddy bear on my bed. I don't have "the answers." I don't even know all the questions. I don't feel wise. I don't feel strong. I inhabit a shape that simply grew up but I'm not a master of the universe. I still get scared, awkward, wistful, dreamy, unsure.

Anyone else?

I haven't been to the Falls in so long. It's awesome. And speaking as an American, I admire how clean and manicured everything is. The landscapers, whoever they are, have 200 IQ because it's all beautiful. I don't have the guts to do the zipline though. With my luck, the cord would break sending me on a fast and perilous journey into the rapids. I have done Cave of Winds and that was fun. I was drenched. I plan to return soon even if it's just for the drive and looking at the gorgeous mansions on the water. Why does our summer have to be so short?

Clarence Park. That was it for me. I loved feeding the geese (which are no longer there) especially this one big, fat grey with an orange beak that led a mob of his comrades toward me when I had bread in my hand. Many of the play sets are still there including, yes, the pelican wobbly seat which was my childhood obsession. I'm sure everyone notices how much smaller everything is when you're an adult. I recently went back and asked my mom, is this really the same park? It looks so...little and walkable. Time and dimension change so much when you're grown. It's wild. When did 10pm become "still early"?

Anyway, it's still a gorgeous park. I wish the geese were there though.