Scarred for Life
The following is actually a recount of what happened to me LAST Sunday. Nevertheless, the effect of the scarring is still just the same, even to this day.
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Today was my first official cash shift. No big, right? I mean, I've done cash before...but this was my first SCHEDULED one. Didn't go too bad at all...as soon as I arrived, Kelsie hooked me up with the express lane, "Register #19." It was dead. It was slow. I was on express. Things were going great.
Now, I don't think I need to tell you that "all good things must come to an end." The thing about cash is that it's so robotic and repetitive that the sliding motion and button pressing just becomes automatic after a while. You kind of just zone out and scan, scan, scan. Well, that is until I came across a particular article of clothing...scarlet red lingerie. Revealing scarlet red lingerie. Okay, before you say anything, I'm 18, and as immature as I may be, I think I can handle ringing through someones underwear. In fact, it happens all the time. So then what was the big deal? Well I looked up and there was this elderly lady, smiling through a row of alternating absent teeth. Okay, pause again: what people buy is their business, and there's no need to jump to conclusions or judge our beloved customers. Who knows, for all I knew, she could even have been buying it for someone else, which to be honest is what I had hoped at the time. As if on cue, that theory was thrown right out the window, and this leads us to the point where I was scarred for life (Remember: once you read something, you can't unread it). Okay, you've been warned.
The lady looks at me and says, "It's my husband and I's 45th anniversary." (Okay, fair enough, congratulations.) "Tonight is a special night." She then proceeded to wink at me.
...
Oh, God. She kept it going by continuing to tell me how old she was (I think you can speculate that she's well into her 60s based on how long she's been married...) and asking me to bag her "item" in several layers of bags so as not to "ruin the surprise". What would have otherwise been a perfect cash shift became a moment of emotional scarring and psychological damage for my poor soul. I don't think we're paid enough for this...will minimum wage compensate this trauma?
Really, do what you want to do, but DID YOU HAVE TO TELL ME? Why would you TELL ME!? Is that what you tell EVERY random person you bump into in public?
Well, thank you for sharing in my pain. It lifts my burden somewhat to be able to express this, albeit at the cost of adding to yours. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to apply excessive amounts of soap and sanitizers to my brain.