Another Night Behind The Counter

It was supposed to be an average night. Just another meaningless shift behind the counter at this shitty retail job; an eight-hour sentence before heading back home to drink myself stupid. I wasn’t expecting someone to come in and try to rob the place. And I certainly wasn’t expecting him to be so trigger happy. A bright flash blinded me, a loud bang rang in my ears and an angry cylinder of metal was screaming its way towards my face, about to turn twenty-something years of life into a meaningless pile of meat and bones. In that split-second, every regret I’ve ever had bubbled to the surface. But one in particular stood out in my mind in these last moments.

Earlier in the day, I had been sitting in my living room, watching tv with my roommate and her friend. My roommate was pretty cool, a young blonde from Canada covered in tattoos and piercings. She was really into music, art, and dogs. Her friend, though, holy shit. A tall brunette with big fat fucking chipmunk cheeks that made her look like a sixteen year old after a visit to the dentists’ office, despite being twenty four years old. And once that cherub mouth of hers opened, it never fucking closed, and the only thing that came out of it was bullshit. Good God, she was annoying.

Anyways. I was sitting on my couch, trying to watch this stupid “reality” show about tow truck drivers and their oh so wacky clientele because there is dick-all on tv right now, and she’s starting up her motor mouth. A dizzying one-sided conversation about bad exes no wait college exams no wait people in traffic no wait the juvenile events of a recent party no wait I don’t fucking care! And, obviously, I’m not going to just scream at her to shut up. One, I don’t want problems with my roommate because I screamed at her friend. Two, I just don’t have it in me to do so; it’s just easier to keep it all in and come across as a misanthropic dick in my inner monologue, instead. Either way, I just wish she would shut up.

Later that day, at work, I had been doing my menial tasks when the motormouth’s brother comes into the store. He didn’t know me, but I knew him. Knew of him, at least. He approached me, seeking assistance. I went out of my way to be curt and unhelpful. Not like super rude or anything like calling him names and being aggressive, just being the antithesis of what a service employee should be. I should have felt bad when I did this. You see, this man had lost his leg in a really bad car wreck, and got around on crutches. I was an asshole to a one-legged man because I thought his sister was annoying. What the hell is wrong with me?

And now there’s a bullet heading my way, and I can’t help but think that maybe, I deserve this.

One thought on “Another Night Behind The Counter”

  1. I actually really liked that. the writing was smooth and evocative, and casual in a way that didn’t come across as unprofessional or anything. I would love to read more stuff like this from you!

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