Okay, I'm horrible at keeping a blog. I admit it right now! Tomorrow I promise to get you updated on what has been going on for the past week and half. But I have only one more day of work left and school starts in five days. Today was insane at work, and even despite it being my second-to-last day to be there, I couldn't catch a break. So, this entry is dedicated just to work.

        I had a four-hour shift. What can happen in only four hours? I turned to Crystal, another coworker of mine. She's a freshman in college, having just completed a summer session at the local community college so she can get a head start on her education. And with her being a freshman, that means everything that happens to her in college is some new experience that she has to tell everyone. "I had to wait in line to drop a class. Oh, it was so long." Or, "Have you ever had to go from one building to another to another to get signatures for one paper. Sheesh, that is just dumb." Welcome to college, freshman. I suppose this would be easier to tolerate if she were attractive. Sadly, that is not the case. I hate being shallow, but good lucks do go a long way. Personality is what really counts, but no one will ever know if the good-personality person has a shell that fends everyone off. Short legs, forty pounds overweight, and a slight acne complexion on her skin could be the ingredients I refer to, but it's just a hunch.

        "So Brenton," she said, as we both stood up front at the registers, waiting for the three people in the store to choose what they wanted and bring the items up to purchase, "I'm enrolled in this math class this fall. And it's like, hard and stuff. And all of my classmates are talking about dropping it before it even begins. But I don't know, you know? Like, I could have a B in there. But maybe I might get an A." She stops to breath in more of my air. "But I could get a C. So I think I might drop it now. And just take it later. You know? Because I don't need that on my transcript. But I don't want to drop too many classes, because then I hear that W's look bad on a transcript. So I think I won't drop it." Her eyes wandered off of me as she talked, and onto box of foot-shaped candy items on a stick. "Oh, these look cool." She grabbed one and started sucking on it.

        I leaned against the register and watched the customers. I prefer not to look at Crystal when I talk to her, especially when she has something in her mouth that she keeps putting in, and taking out, and putting in, and etc. "Honestly Crystal, it doesn't matter. You can drop it, or you can stay in. Who cares about a W? I've dropped around seven classes so far. It's just something you do. It's not a dramatic moment. Either stay in, or go out. That simple." I see an older woman approaching me with an armful of cooking things. "Besides, you don't get W's for classes right now, since the semester hasn't even started."

        "Well," said Crystal, "you don't have to make an issue out of it." And then she stucl the candy back in her mouth. "It's not like you're a freshman right now or anything. College is so new and big, and cool."

        I took a deep breath and counted to three. "College is a sneaky trick to sap our money so we'll have to use the degree afterwards to get a job to pay back the money we borrowed to get that degree." As the woman put her items on the counter in front of me, I turned to Crystal. "It's just like working in a place that sells food. You're going to have to pay for that."

        Crystal's eyes swelled up and her cheeks puckered around the candy inside of her mouth. I know she probably got mad at me again. Who cares? It's not like I'm setting the stages for a long and prosperous career here.

        I began ringing up the woman's items before she even finishing sitting them all down. A register keypad can look daunting the first time you see it, but give it three weeks and it's easier than typing a resume for a new job. Within seconds, I was finished ringing her up. "That will be," I said.

        She raised a hand for me to pause. She reached over and grabbed a few of those foot-shaped candy suckers. "My grandchildren love these," she said and smiled.

        I returned a crease of the lips. Some might call it a smile, but a smile carries emotions. I simply carried a desire for her to decide when she's finally ready to be standing in front of me.

        "Alrighty, that's it," she said.

        "Okay," I say. "Your total is fifteen dollars and eight cents." I stood behind the register and expected something like a twenty dollar bill, or maybe three fives and some change. Nope. She sat her purse on the counter and pulled her checkbook out. I looked past this to other customers who came in. Some were shopping. But a large number (five or so), were walking briskly to a certain location and grabbing a specific item.

        "What is today's date?" the woman asked.

        "It's the twenty-sixth," I told her.

        "Oh, I should have known that," she says, smiled, and looked up at me. "My daughter's birthday is in three days and I still haven't bought her anything yet. You see, I don't know what to get her. She married a fella that had his own place, so she's not hurting for stuff." She looked back down at the check. "But, he is good to her kids, so I suppose that's all you can ask for." Then she scanned over the check. "Now where was I?"

        I watched a small line that started to form behind her. "You were on the date, ma'am," I said. I looked over at Crystal. Around four people were in her line, but they were quick hits. A soda, maybe a candy bar, too. All cash. I then looked back at my customer.

        "Let me put my glasses on," she said. "I can't see nothing without them." She laughed a little under her breath.

        I reached under the counter and grabbed a bag for her items. I started with the flour, then the cake mix, then some candles. I then wondered how old this woman is, if she can't remember a date when it's obvious that the date is the reason why she came here to begin with. I then passed some more time by thinking about the complicated nature of string theory and its affect on everything we see. Thinking enough time has passed, I looked down at the woman and her progress on the check. To my horror, she had just finished writing the totals in.

        The line behind her was growing. This wasn't a typical time of the day for a rush, unless someone (this woman) created one by blocking all access for an extended period of time.

        She recited her name as she signed the check. She then carefully, and slowly, tore it out and gave it to me. "There you go," she said with a smile. "Is there anything else you need? Driver's license?"

        Under most circumstances, yes. But more important was getting her out of the line of progress. "No, no I think that has it," I said and looked down at the woman. She took her time putting her checkbook back in her purse, then throwing the purse over a shoulder. I needed to hurry her along. "Thank you," I say as she grabbed her bag of items.

        "And thank you," she said, but I've already flagged another customer in to ring them up as quickly as possible.

        My manager walked in, in that eerie sense that no one ever hears him coming and he just appears from nowhere. He stood behind me and observed the lines backed up on both registers. "Brenton," he said, "I don't mean to put pressure on you, but you should work a little faster so these people don't have to wait in line for so long." He patted me on the shoulder, then walked off to do whatever he does (Finish painting a sign that will require admission for entrance into the store, employees included, is my guess but hey, what do I know?)

        Each customer that came up was a little more disgruntled than the one before. I hope no one thought this was my fault. I place sole responsibility on the little old woman who causes no one any harm. Here's my stance with old people and checks: I believe that in order for people to have the right (yes, it should be an earned right, not a general option) to write checks, they must be able to pass certain speed writing tests. The ability to write checks in under a certain amount of seconds. The test should be administered every four year upon renewal of the driver's license. If a person can meet the speed writing requirements, then he or she may continue to use checks. Otherwise, they would be delegated to strictly using cash or given a debit card.

        See, these are the people that are frustrating. I wish we had mirrors at the front of the line. No, not so we can pay attention to who might be stealing in the store, but just so these slow people can see behind them and realize what kind of a line they're holding up. But I really doubt they'd care. It doesn't matter if I'm fast at my job or not. These people can come in, take their time, then leave when they're done and not have to deal with the mob that is forming behind them. That's my job. I have to control the mess they made of a line!

        When Crystal and I finished with the rush, I leaned against the glass behind me and breathed a sigh of relief. It's hard to say if this job is hard or not. Certainly, a degree is not required to jockey a register. But there's just something, some certain aspect, that I can't quite figure out. There's a certain amount of stress that comes with the job, but I doubt it's more than say, a dentist. We're not doing surgery that will impact people for a majority of their lives. And we do have air conditioning, typically. So the sun doesn't give us second-degree burns like say, a construction worker. Maybe the job is just so normal and somewhat routine, and lacks any specific task that sums other jobs, that it creates a unique aspect of irritation.

        "Brenton, you busy?" My manager walked past the counter with a large box in his arms. He looked over at me.

        What could I say that contradicts my one moment of peace before another rush? How could I be busy, but by being so, isn't obvious to the naked eye? I obviously don't get paid to think, so that option was ruled out.

        I couldn't think of anything in the moment of decisiveness. Damn.

        "Come give me a hand," says my manager. He doesn't deserve a name other than his profession title. It makes him happy, anyway. To him, this job is what embodies who he is. "Since you two have a break," he added with a smile.

        I looked at Crystal, who shot me a snap of the eyes and again sucked on her foot-shaped candy. Whatever, maybe a rush would hit while I'm away and she'd be stuck to do it all herself.

        I follow my manager outside. There, he opens the box and pulls out a large banner. Unfolding it, I saw it said, "We Appreciate Your Business." Hmm, nice.

        "This here is the atmosphere we want to create in there," said my manager. He stretched it out across the concrete parking lot. It must be twelve feet in width. "What we're going to do is hang it up there," he said and pointed above the door. "As people drive off, that's the last thing they'll see." He dusted his hands off and was ready to start hanging. "Go grab me a ladder, will you?"

        Why didn't he ask me to bring one out while I was still inside? I walked back in the store. Crystal was sitting down and reading some glamour magazine that she obviously doesn't pay attention to. I sighed and grabbed the ladder from the backroom.

        Back outside, my job was to climb up the ladder and insert brackets on the awning to mount the banner on. My manager held the ladder below. The sun bore down on my neck. I could feel the early stages of a first-degree burn.

        As I finished all of the brackets, I climbed down to get the banner. "Oh, don't worry," said my manager. "Just feed it to me and I'll mount it." I watched as he climbed the ladder. "Okay," he said, "give me an end." I stood there and raised a banner over my head as he slowly took it in and mounted in. Why I'm out here, I don't know. I let go of the banner for a moment to see if he noticed. He didn't. So obviously this was a one-person job. Me or him, but not both of us. Unless he doesn't feel like a whole person.

        He stepped down the ladder to observe the banner. "Step back and admire that," he said, and stepped back. "Just gorgeous."

        I stepped back with him, but I wondered if maybe we were looking at different things. All I saw was a cheap banner with simple maroon fonts on a white background. "Uh huh," I say. What else am I supposed to say?

        "Still," he added, "maybe we should get some lights to shine on it." He looked over at me, then back at the banner. "Really draw some attention to it." He shook his head up and down, agreeing with himself.

        "Don't you think," I said, "that people are going to come in here, regardless if we have that sign?" I looked at him, than back at the banner.

        He turned around and looked at me, as though I just insulted his tie. "Now Brenton," he starts.

        "I mean," I said, interrupting him, "if it's midnight and someone just needs some coffee, a donut, and has to piss, I really doubt they'll choose this place because of the service." I looked at him, knowing that he's about to go into some sort of small-minded, small-business tangent. "It's more out of necessity, since there isn't another convenience store for two miles."

        "Brenton," he said, and walked in front of me, "I don't like this attitude you've been getting. In fact, I don't like it at all." I guess he didn't notice his redundancy. "In fact," he said, "I'd say you've been slacking at the job."

        I straighten my back and prepared to defend myself. "Well, I don't see it that way."

        "Maybe you don't," he said, and crossed his arms, "but I have years of experience in the profession, and I notice things a lot sooner than others." He just admitted to working in a convenience store for years and is proud of it. That is what I'm dealing with here. "Look at today," he continued on. "I walked in and you had a line backed up. That stuff doesn't fly, kid."

        I interjected with, "Did you see how slow that woman was writing her check? She caused the line to back up." I crossed my arms, too. He has nothing on me.

        "I don't want to hear you blaming the customers for your mistakes," he said. "You need to respect them. Yesterday, I saw that look you had on your face when that girl simply asked for a bag." He was actually getting red in the face.

        "Well first off," I said, "that girl threw pennies on the counter that I had to pick up on my side of the floor. Then I had to count them for her. And then she wanted a bag, a bag, for a twelve-ounce soda!" I paused and let myself breathe in, so to not match his redness of the face. "We're not talking alcohol, just a soda." I looked in his eyes. "There is no logic in that."

        "Well listen here, son," he said.

        "You're not my father," I said, cutting him off.

        "I'll let that slide," he said.

        I won't.

        "These customers pay your salary," he continued. "Because of that, you have to like them and respect any choice they make."

        "First off," I said, "you pay my salary. If they're actually my boss, then maybe I should petition them for a raise, because you sure aren't giving any."

        His eyes narrowed at me. "Can you give me one reason why you should get one?"

        Perhaps because I have to entertain conversations like this? The list can go on. I settled with, "Because I've worked here four months and am still making minimum wage?"

        He widened his stance. "I give raises to those who deserve them. Last week, I gave Crystal a ten-cent raise, and do you know why? I'll tell you why. Because she earned it. She does what she is told, and she makes good use of her time."

        "She's in there reading a magazine," I said. I wasn't trying to be a snitch, but if you put me against a wall and I have to choose between defending someone I don't like or trying to make a point, I am going to prove my point.

        My manager looked through the glass and saw her waiting on a line of people. "Looks to me like she's busy doing her job."

        Damn it. I can't catch a break if my job depended on it. Which it just might right now.

        "And judging from the line that is forming," he said, "I'd say you should go in there and help her out. A person can't do that job alone. And you're just standing out here talking." He hung on that last line, eyeing me.

        I bit my lip. I can go on and on, but I don't like talking to him as it is. So with a chance to leave the conversation, I took it. I walked back in and took my position behind the register. A section of Crystal's line migrated to me. Some guy approached me first with a twenty-ounce soda and a cap.

        "Hey man," he said, "I have this cap that says if I buy one drink, I get a second free. But I don't have any money on me, but I buy sodas here all the time." He looked at me, unsure if I'd go along with his plan. "So I figure it will even out in the end."

        I looked at him, and then looked out to my manager as he eyed his banner. I saw nothing wrong with this offer. I turned back to the guy in front of me. "Sure man, sounds good to me," I said.

        He gave me the cap. "Hey, thanks," he said.

        No problem. Besides, it sounded like a strategy I would use. I have to respect that in a customer. If you don't believe me, just ask my manager.