My Counter (I am Stuck)

Y’know those retail stories you hear from social media? The horror stories, not the good ones; it’s literally never the good ones. Yeah, I never quite fully believed those. People like to exaggerate for comedy or to make themselves look cooler for social brownie points. I started believing them, however, on the second day at my job. As I continued working there, my little tidbits of cynical doubt quickly turned into the ugliest truth—retail sucks. Retail was my own personal hell and I am convinced that a cash register will be waiting for me when I die.

One time I was stuck cashiering in the women's department, alone per usual, for my entire shift. It wasn’t out of the ordinary. Most shifts that I worked were closing shifts, and I was the only employee for the entire department. From a purely profit standpoint: this was brilliant.

“The teenager can do the work of 4 people and we can give it minimum wage!”

I was never impressed by company policy.

As I was saying, this basically means that I was totally alone. I am at the counter with an awful line of morally gray people. None of which have any problem in telling me that our store sucks—like, trust me. I know. I continue to ring people out as fast as I can. I don’t like making people wait and I don’t like listening to them complain about things that they are choosing to buy. I took my job more seriously than most. Looking back, that was probably my biggest fault. I was so afraid of being mediocre and disappointing my employers that I forgot it was a starting job. My very first job, regrettably, but one I would not be stuck with forever. I really didn’t have to try that hard. Had I sucked just a little, I probably wouldn’t be doing womens’ by myself either. My managers would give me some help because I wouldn’t be able to do it all by myself—like a normal person.

My thoughts wander as I hand another customer their things after neatly tucking the receipt inside. I seem attentive and engaged, but in actuality I am on autopilot. I hate it here and closing time could not come any faster. However, I am rudely snapped out of my own head as a man wobbles his way up to my counter. He leans on it, seemingly needing it for support. His hair is greasy and it looks like he attempted to slick it back; it was very obviously ruffled, though. He smells of alcohol, which caused me to glance back at the clock. It was just a sliver past 6pm. My eyes swerve back to him. He moves his hands, flailing them about lazily as he talks. I couldn’t quite get everything he said, but it seems that he’s asking if we have any coupons out today.

We do, but I’m not really supposed to tell them that. Although, I think I will make an exception for this very obviously hammered man in case he decides to get violent. My manager gave me a few, which I had tucked away under my counter, in case a customer is unruly about a discount. It’s all about damage control. I slip one out and graciously hand it to him, faking the politest smile I possibly could. He looks around, still standing at my counter, before reaching over and grabbing a pink hairbrush off a shelf directly next to us.

I wordlessly ring it up and toss the coupon in the trash. One per person—company policy. He stares at me, confused. He then lurches over the counter, slamming his hands down and getting in my face. He yelled to me and to everyone in the store about how I took his coupon and how I’m a fraud. Typical Saturday night. I just called a manager, who had me give him another coupon so he could buy a shirt that was ten feet away. Wonderful.

If I had not been so afraid of being seen as a bad employee, I probably would have told that guy off. If I were not so afraid, I could have quit my job much sooner. I can’t be afraid my whole life; good things will never happen if I don't accept change (or quit my job).