I’m standing behind the counter at my job. My job involves exersizing extreme amounts of patience as what is apparently every old person and angry minority member in the state lined up in an unorganized, shouting circle. I’m currently waiting on an old Puerto Rican man with silver hair to hurry up and write his Goddamn check already. No matter how many times I tell him that his total is $37.45 (his items are a six foot HDMI cable and a copy of Mamma Mia on DVD (fullscreen)), he continues to stare off into space, occasionally asking me what his total is.
My eyes dart around. I see all the angry customers about ready to shout at me or hit me or press that button on the front of the counter that we get in trouble for every time it’s pressed. I call for backup; someone to either ring up a customer or tell them what we do or do not have in stock. Nobody answers. I begin to panic. This day will not end well.
Later, I find myself walking across the street to a local convenience store. This store has never been here before, I suddenly remember. Inside I find my friend, a security guard, still in his uniform along with a slightly pudgy, freckled kid with bleach blonde hair. I look around and decide to pick up some alcohol. Hey, it’s been a long day. However, I seem to forget what my preferred drink is (the answer is “anything, really”), so I follow my friend around, asking him what I should get. This is a question he never answers.
I look down at my watch and realize that if I don’t hurry up, I’ll be late for work.