The cashier was in his upper teens, tall, blond, pierced. Sullen. The inside of his forearm was tattooed in elaborate newspaper masthead/heavy metal album cover script. The word “Hate.” With a flourish.
The line of customers is beneath him, and he makes those ladies work for their discount cosmetics.
Between them and me is a customer I take at first for a child, 9 or 10, but she is also a teen, just small. 16 probably, maybe older. She holds a can of hairspray and a twenty. When she gets to the counter, she smiles coyly at the cashier and does a little twist. “Guess where I got a job…” she sings. He grunts and scans her hairspray. “Target,” she says proudly.
He: You realize people get fired really quick there.
She: Where?
He: At Target. They let a lot of people go.
He: At Target. They let a lot of people go.
She: I’ve been there a couple of weeks.
He: Yeh, they have that 90 day thing….
She: oh, right…
He: And most people don’t make it that far.
She: Well, they’ve been calling me every day for 2 weeks, I get a lot of hours.
He: And the first time you can’t, they’ll use that as a reason to fire you. I know like 6 people who have been fired from there.
She: Well I’ll see you later.
Me: He meant to say good luck.
I hate target!
ReplyDeleteNot as much as Walmart, I'll bet!! M.
ReplyDelete