Day Thirty One

Stingwich Reconn. #3

Before my shift began I stopped by the break room to drop off a salad in the fridge. Elvira was in there, eating a sandwich. I asked her if she had heard of any recent lunch robbery. She told me her lunch was stolen the previous week. She had to buy food and that was tough for her since she had just moved to a new apartment with her son. Money was tight. I felt bad for her.


No more reconnaissance, it's go time.

I went to my register and talked about the lunch thief with O.C.Daisy (now in a foot brace). I told her that I planned to buy sandwich materials and Ex-Lax after work to make a stingwich. She totally dug the idea. We brainstormed ways of covering up the laxative by means of crushing or grinding the drug. Daisy said I should make different types of sandwiches and use different containers. This was the best conversation that she and I had ever had. She was being really nice and wasn't full of bitterness like she usually is. Maybe there is a chance for friendship here.


Richard Gere: Part One

So, this song comes on:

I was tired enough to be goofy enough to start busting a move in front of the registers. I was also too tired and goofy to realize anyone else might be watching. From around the corner came an older female customer who decided to join me in the dance. She was ready to check out so I pulled her cart into my line while doing some dance move that could only be described as a slow motion seizure. When I turned around to face my customer, who was having a great time, I noticed I had another spectator: A younger version of Richard Gere dressed in medical scrubs, holding a basket full of vegetables. He smiled at me.


Heart: melted.

I told my customer, who kept grooving, to check out the guy who looks like Richard Gere in the register behind her. She inconspicuously walked over to his register, pretending to choose a magazine she wanted to buy. After checking the guy out, she walked back to me.

WOMAN: [handing me the magazine] No wedding ring and you're right, he does look like Richard Gere. He also looks good in those scrubs.
ME: Right? Doctor, I'm HURTIN'.
WOMAN: Yeah, we need mouth to mouth here.

I couldn't have asked for a better person/wingman to have this inappropriate conversation with. I saw him walking away after purchasing his vegetables and I wondered why I had not ever seen him here before. Maybe he is back from vacationing for half of the summer. Maybe he is one of those Doctors Without Borders. He came home and needed to fill his fridge with vegetables because he is an animal loving vegan. The version of this guy I have created in my head is quite the catch.

Maybe one day he will see past my ugly green t-shirt and carry me out of the store like this:

O.C.Daisy, Klepto Sue and Nil, The Girl Whose Name We Can't Pronounce

I found out why O.C.Daisy was being so nice earlier in my shift. She was given some head cashier duties for the day and was training two new employees. It was amazing to watch her be nauseatingly fake nice to the new people.

I was approached by a fellow cashier/grocery worker named...well I can't ever pronounce it...I'll call her Nil for now. Nil joined me in witnessing the spectacle of O.C.D.'s aspartame demeanor and I found out that she knew one of the new trainees. Apparently the new girl, Sue, used to work at another health food store in Denton, TX called The Cupboard, and she was fired for showing up late and for participating in a situation involving theft. Nil was a coworker of Sue at The Cupboard and was adamant in her refusal to be a reference on Klepto Sue's application. Nil is a cool, honest, sincere and hard working person, she didn't strike me as a gossip or a liar so I believed her. Klepto Sue later came over to help me bag groceries when the lines died down. She was friendly and personable but I remained leery.

I needed Daisy to swipe her card and enter code on my register for a return. The whole time she stood there, she grumbled about how Crazy Red Head Vegan had not come back from a break and I don't remember what else. I have begun to tune O.C.D. out as soon as she starts talking shit about others. As soon as she walked back to her trainees it was all half-toothed smiles and "Hiiii darlin'!" Ridiculous.

Update: Crazy Red-Head Vegan

It turned out that CRV took longer than a 15 minute break because she is having ANOTHER bad day. She began to tell me a sob story about how the love of her life has been deployed.

ME: Your boyfriend is in the military? Which branch?
CRV: He is not my boyfriend, he is in the Navy.
ME: Oh, so this is a guy you like? What about your boyfriend?
CRV: We broke up.
ME: Again?
CRV: We didn't really get back togeth-bla bla bla bla bla bla...

She kept talking and I stopped listening. She may have said something about writing letters. I don't know, I don't care. I don't give a shit about her drama anymore.

Petty Duke

A guy from the produce section came up front to notify one of our managers that there was a woman sampling one grape from each of the bags of grapes. All of the cashiers looked to the back of the store and surely enough, there she was, still plucking grapes. Daisy walked back to tell her that she can't do that. We all went back to doing our jobs but then a guy from the bulk section caught my attention. Petty Duke had made her way from the produce section to the bulk section. She stuck her hand in nearly half the bins she walked by, sampling nuts, dried fruits and candy.

There is a fine line between sampling and stealing and Petty Duke was crossing it. Our store allows sampling in the bulk section, but customers are supposed to ask bulk section workers for assistance. O.C.D. went up to her again and told Petty Duke to stop. I tried to figure out whether this woman was underprivileged or cheap. It was more likely to be the latter. She ended up buying a lot of food at Klepto Sue's register. How perfect.

Day Thirty

Old Lady # 8

A sweet old lady walked into my check out lane with her husband. As the husband unloaded groceries the old lady asked me how my morning was going. I replied, "So far, so good." I told her how had woken up early, walked the dogs, harvested some tomatoes, ate a good breakfast, did some chores and did a little bit of singing before coming to work.

OLD LADY: [in a gritty voice] Singing?! I used to love singing. I loved it. What voice are you?
ME: Believe it or not, [I said in my low voice] I am a soprano.
OLD LADY: Really! I was an alto. I was in my school's glee club and I would sing everywhere I go. Everywhere. It would drive him nuts. [pointing at husband]
ME: Do you still sing anywhere?
OLD LADY: I sang for a little bit in church, but it didn't last too long. I ruined my voice. I had to quit from smoking too much. [she then gave me a stern look] Do you smoke?
ME: No.
OLD LADY: [pointing her finger at my face] Good. Don't do it. Don't even start. You'll ruin your voice.

I felt bad for the old lady. When she talked about how she used to sing, it was with the bittersweet affection one would have when speaking of a lost love. Her voice, filled with regret, sounded like sandpaper being rubber against wood. I do have a couple of singer friends who smoke that are currently doing alright, so I wondered if this old lady just smoked several packs a day. Maybe to the point of almost eating the cigarettes? I heeded her warning, but I am also allergic to cigarette smoke so knew this would not be a problem for me. The couple paid for their groceries but before she left I had to ask this lady one last question.

ME: What was your favorite song to sing? [I handed her the receipt]
OLD LADY: [she smiled from the fond memory of her response] The Hallelujah Chorus. [taking the receipt and squeezing my hand] Have a wonderful day.

Buffalo Lady

It was busy for a moment in the store so my line was backed up. While checking out a customer, I heard a lady down my line talking to a girl  in front of her. The string of enthusiastically told, unrelated conversational topics was unmistakable. I looked up to see Buffalo Lady, smiling as usual. I kept an eye on the teenage girl in front of her, praying that she would be kind and thankfully she was. Eventually it was Buffalo Lady's turn to check out. I was totally ready for this.

BUFFALO LADY: Hellllllllo!!! You know, I once met a lady who the most beautiful long black hair. I asked her where she came from and she said that she came from [she paused for suspense, then with eyes wide open]...BANGLADESH!
ME: Ooh! Isn't that something?
BUFFALO LADY: Let me tell YOU something. My cat loves to eat my dinner food. I don't know why I buy her food at all! [slamming counter for emphasis]
ME: My dad used to feed my cat rice with a little bit of beef curry when I was a kid.
BUFFALO LADY: Did you know that chili peppers are hotter when they are smaller? I bought the wrong size and I was crying when I ate it! I'm telling ya, freezers are only cold when the door stays closed!
ME: Ice is always cold. Go for the ice.

I handed her a receipt and she waved goodbye before leaving. I wish I could have let her keep talking. Maybe next time when it is less busy I will let Buffalo Lady cut loose.

Old Man #7

Another old couple walked into my line. Once it was time to pay, the old man, who looked like Carl Reiner,  frowned at the credit card reader.

ME: Hit the green button if you want to pay with credit.
OLD MAN: I can't read it. I can't see anything on this darn thing! [He lightly backhanded the reader]
OLD LADY: Take off your sunglasses, dear.

Roz

Roz isn't a far cry from the Monster, Inc. character of the same name.

Roz is our bookkeeper. She stays in a locked office counting money all day long and wears a sweatshirt with the company logo on it. She smells funny and seems grouchy all of the time. Not necessarily mean, but grouchy. I used to call Roz every morning to find out when my shift started. I usually check the schedule for the next day whenever I countdown my till at the end of a shift but sometimes I forget to look. When that happens, I wake up at 7am and give Roz a call. At first, I thought she was cool with this. After once calling three days in a row for my schedule, Roz finally griped at me.


ROZ: Miranda! You need to copy down your stinkin' schedule! I don't have time for this.

Okay, damn...I made sure to never call Roz ever again after that. I copied my schedule or took pictures of it with my phone. Today, Roz stepped out of her office and looked at me.

ROZ: Miranda? You didn't call today. How did you find out when your shift started? [she smiled]

First of all, I wasn't aware that Roz could smile. Second, was Roz being funny?

MIRANDA: I took a wild guess?
ROZ: [she turned to Cake Eyes] Miranda didn't call today.
MIRANDA: I'm sorry, I will make sure I call you every morning from now on.
ROZ: [smile now gone] You better not.

Funny Roz went back into her office. Perhaps she is more than an old grouch. Maybe she has an interesting story to tell.

Stingwich Reconn. #2

I still had plans to take down the sandwich thief. I learned that the sandwich thief not only stole sandwiches but other food items as well. Everything except vegetables was at risk for being robbed from the break room fridge. I also had recently gathered information on a couple of suspects. One of them was one of the guys who worked in the bulk section. I had caught him a couple times reaching into the bulk bins to grab a quick snack, an activity that can only be best described as "grazing". Bulk Boy came into my line to purchase, of all things, a sandwich. I read the label: roast beef. So sandwich thief may have bought his sandwich today. Has he turned a new leaf? Has he reformed or do I have the wrong guy? There IS also Jay from the meat department. He never buys anything and never brings in a lunch. Jay also looks like he doesn't give a shit about some random person going hungry due to a stolen lunch. Just a hunch.

Update: Cute Guy, Maybe (Not Really)

It had been weeks since I had seen Cute Guy so I asked Patti what the deal was. Apparently CG got called into the office for being late everyday. It wasn't just that, he always had a bad attitude and took really long breaks. Our general manager just tried to address this to him, not necessarily fire him for it. This is darn near the most difficult place to be fired from your job. CG didn't feel like being reprimanded, I suppose, because he decided to quit.

It is possible that CG is just a brat but I don't think that is what it is. I thought about how his mom died recently. He was living here in Texas because his mom lived here. His dad, the president of our company, lives on the West Coast. He has no reason or means to stay in Texas unless he is getting an allowance from his rich dad. I hope he is okay, wherever he is.

Restraint

A woman was unloading groceries on the belt and when she wasn't looking, her son picked up a carton of eggs out of the grocery cart.

WOMAN: [to her son] Put that back, NOW. You drop those eggs and I will MURDER you. Do you hear me? [the boy didn't put down the eggs, so she walked over and slapped her son on the arm, taking the eggs out of his hands]

I was so disgusted. Her son was mentally retarded. How could this woman be so acidic and say such a horrible, unloving thing? I didn't know what to say. Eventually that carton of eggs was in my hands. I wanted to hurl the eggs at this woman's face, but they made it into a plastic bag instead.

I gave her no eye contact for the rest of the transaction. Instead, I tried to smile at her son but he never looked at me, his eyes remained pointed to the floor. My heart sank. I wondered if his mom was always like this. Was this how she was raised? Did her mom or dad use death threats in lieu of simple commands? Was she mad that she was dealt this card? She was clearly not capable of learning the right things from having such a wonderful kid. I bet it is difficult, but there is no excuse for talking to a kid like that.

I didn't hand her the receipt, I just put it down somewhat within her reach. I didn't say goodbye or wish her a nice day. I just silently wished that she would become a better human being.

Day Twenty Nine

Zombie Sunday

After hours of working at the church this morning I made my way to the store to start my shift as a cashier. I forgot how much I used to look forward to a nap on Sunday afternoons. Waking up four hours before I sing, singing one or two services, being pleasant, friendly and helpful to everyone I meet and then busting ass trying to prepare a season of music for a choir...there is no amount of coffee that can keep me going after that. I stopped by the local Starbucks and get a latte anyway. I would hate for any of my customers to be a victim of my sleep deprived wrath. The latte ended up not helping. Maybe the Starbucks baristas were out to sabotage me by slipping me a decaf...

...monsters.

Emmy

I decided to give our manager, Emmy, a month's notice that I was going to quit. Upon hearing that I was going to be a trumpet prof. her eyes lit up. Apparently, Emmy also plays the trumpet. She played from middle school to high school, "Seven years total," she said with pride. She has a family full of instrumentalists. They get together at Christmastime and play carols.

EMMY: We have to play trumpet together sometime!! Do you know Johnny Be Good?
ME: Not really.
EMMY: [GASP] You don't know JOHNNY BE GOOD!?! [she proceeds to sing the trumpet part from, no doubt, an old marching band arrangement, pretending to hold up a trumpet] I still have my lyre that I used to read music from!

I didn't feel like telling her that I could play or transcribe any melody by ear. I didn't feel like telling her I mostly play classical and jazz music on a considerably more advanced level than that. At first I thought she couldn't differentiate the professional from the amateur, but I still couldn't bring myself to educate her.

EMMY: We SO have to play trumpet together. We'll play Johnny Be Good.
ME: Sure!

I truly do not believe that Emmy thinks the dichotomy in musical ability lies in whether you can play Johnny Be Good or not. I think she was just excited that we have a love of playing trumpet in common. After all, she plays for fun and I admire anyone who plays for fun, young or old. Playing a musical instrument is a special, wonderful thing to be able to do, no matter the ability level.

Updates:

J.V. continues to improve socially. Today we had a pleasant conversation about how tired I am.

I had a customer walk up who was wearing a military dog tag. Banshee was standing nearby. We talked about this customer's grandfather's service in WWII. Pretty cool. After he left I turned to Banshee and told her I have a dog tag on which I have been wanting to engrave the phrase, "Keep your feet on the ground, when your head is in the clouds." I want this phrase or a similar phrase engraved in a French translation because I think French is a beautiful language. She told me she studied French for years and would help me find a translation. Lately Banshee has become more fun. She still yells in an unpleasant fashion and I almost always wish I had a pair of earplugs whenever she pages anyone. She is starting to look pregnant again and maybe she is in a happy mood because of that. I dare not actually ask her if she's pregnant. Most pregnant women don't want to talk about pregnancy until they are ready to announce it. Sometimes they are not actually pregnant.

I found that a lot of people can't stand Copycat. People try to talk shit about her to me but I will never hear it. It seems that almost none of my coworkers have the patience to work alongside someone with autism. She has become more brave. Now she stops by everyone's till to wave goodbye, not just mine. Half the time she will say bye, wave and stay there at your till until you stop, look right back at her and say, "Goodbye Cat! Have a great evening!" Sometimes, she will then again say goodbye and you just have to stop and say goodbye to her again. This is not hard. I will seriously bite off the head of the next person who complains about her to me.

Apparently Crazy Red Head Vegan did not break up with her boyfriend.

CRV: My boyfriend and I went down to Dallas last night.
ME: Whoa, whoa, whoa...You're back together with him?
CRV: Yeah, I don't think we actually ever broke up.
ME: What...

I thought of all of the energy I spent trying to cheer her up or cover for her that one day she told me they split up. I felt highly annoyed as I do whenever I am the irrational bitch friend who consoles any of my freshly dumped, low self esteemed friends with wine, chocolate, kleenex and the general recovery slogan, "Fuck that guy, he's an asshole!"--only to find that they run back to the dickhead days later. From that point on, I made a point to never invest much of my mind or ear to CRV's drama. She later talked about her mother, about how she sits at home all day and does nothing, about how with her dad, she gives her mom tons of money and all she does is online shop. The mom doesn't help clean or cook and doesn't have a job. I didn't care. A lot of CRV's stories are sounding like tall tales and exaggerations.

Last but not least, I heard that O.C.Daisy possibly broke her foot. I can't say I feel sorry for her. I'm sure her foot hurts, but I was happy that I wouldn't have to see her for several days. It's hard to feel bad for or support someone who is mean to you. I was too tired to be a better person.

Day Twenty Eight

Update: Ghost Protocol

My favorite Jeremy Renner doppelganger was walking toward my line. Normally this would have set off the girly giggles in me but this time he was toting around more than his groceries. He had a beautiful Asian girlfriend with him. I would say "bummer" but again, there wouldn't have been a Taylor Swift love song to be written here in the first place. I wear an unflattering T-shirt at work and my hair has to be tied up. Why not go the whole nine yards and throw a net on my head so I can look like one of those perpetually bitter cafeteria ladies from my elementary school days? I digress.

I observed GP and his girlfriend. They didn't talk much, to me or to each other. They were the kind of couple that doesn't show any PDA. They both looked down the whole time. GP wasn't cordial like he was last time and the girlfriend stood aside while he packed the cart. Maybe GP doesn't want her to ruin her delicate hands. Maybe they were having a rough day. Maybe they are just a quiet beautiful couple. Ok, fine. I'll say it.

Bummer.

The Haters

A woman was about to wheel her cart into my empty line when her husband abruptly halted her and told her to go one line over, into O.C.Daisy's line where they would have to wait. I was baffled. I wondered if they were friends of Daisy or one of her regulars. I turned around and looked at them.

ME: Are you all having a good day?
MAN: We're fine. Thank you.

Hostility check, clear...but he spoke with a smidge of disdain. After they left I asked Daisy if she knew them. She said she didn't. I wondered why they chose to leave my line. Maybe I gave them bad service once. Maybe I forgot to hand them one of their bags that contained an important ingredient for the woman's cherry rhubarb pie recipe. Maybe that one incident alone ruined a very important dinner. Perhaps they like to get their groceries checked by a toothless old hag with bad hair. If that's the case then I totally get it. That's how I prefer my Waffle House waitresses to look.

Old Lady #7

It had been a while since an entertaining old person had walked into my line. This sassy old lady was fully clad in a track suit and matching sneakers capped off with a sun visor. She had a bunch of bulk items and like many others had forgotten the codes, but instead of watching me try to find the codes in our code book she apologized then darted off with impressive speed to the bulk section. I looked back to her with the annoyed faces of the customers waiting behind her in my peripheral. She was barely tall enough for me to see her. I then heard her shouting at the top of her lungs.

OLD LADY: DARK CHOCOLATE CHERRIES-6790!! [she walked to another item] FRIED OKRA-6110!! [and again moved to another item] CRANBERRIES-6248!!

This carried on until I scanned all 8 of her bulk items with uncontrollable laughter. She power walked back to me and said:

OLD LADY: See? We just need to work together, like on Sesame Street.

The I in Insecure

An Indian couple came into my line and after dropping their groceries off on the belt they stared at my face with inspection.

INDIAN MAN: Are you George's daughter?

I froze.

ME: Yes I am.
INDIAN MAN: We saw you direct the band last year. They were great!

I gathered that they went to church with my parents. I helped form a praise and worship band with some of the teenagers from that church for an inter-parish music competition. A competition I despised, but I was getting paid to teach them, so whatevs. All beside the point.

INDIAN MAN: Do you work here part time?
ME: Only for the next month. I got a job as an adjunct faculty member for a University and I will also be starting a job working as a choral director for a church in the same town. I finished my doctoral coursework in May. I needed something to do, you know?
INDIAN MAN: Right. Wow! Congratulations and good luck!

That was mostly the truth, but not the whole truth. I felt like such a loser for feeling the need to talk like that. I needed to work a summer job to earn money, pay bills and be able to go out and have a good time every now and then. I needed income to fill the gap between the end of my private teaching last May and the beginning of my new professional positions as an adjunct faculty member for a University and a choral director for a church in August. I was grateful for this current job. I needed it.

I have an insecure knee jerk reaction to Indian people inquiring why I am working a non-professional job at my age. Where many others are medical doctors, nurses, I.T. people, engineers, (you know, Indian people jobs) etc., I am finishing up schooling for what has been so far (and will always continue to be) an incredibly long journey of being a professional musician and teacher. This is a profession my parents refused to let me do at first. This is a profession that, when my brother went to school for Bassoon performance, some older Indian people from my parents' church laughed at him and said, "What are you going to do with THAT?" Even members of my extended family thought my parents were crazy for letting us go into music.

I guess I just wanted to let this Indian couple know that my parents didn't make a mistake in letting me pursue my dreams, that you can be successful in doing what you love. I wish I had the guts to just tell them the truth of the matter but I was afraid of judgement, afraid of how they would view my parents. I wish I had given this couple a chance to show me that they know better. Maybe next time.

Update: The Infamous Patti

Patti looked so sad today. She was sweet and kind as usual, but I could tell she was distracted. Once my shift was over she counted down my till in the office. I asked her if she was okay. She said, "No." Apparently her niece's apartment burned down to the ground. Her niece had stopped renter's insurance because she was laid off months ago. All of her belongings, destroyed, and not be replaced. Her nephew was then visiting her niece and staying over for a job interview he had in that town and many of his belongings went down in the fire as well.  Patti's niece is now staying with her parents, in the same house Patti is staying in. Patti gave her niece a ton of money to get back on her feet.

This woman has been through so much in the past year and yet she still manages to be the nicest person at this store. She has shown me that none of us really have a good excuse to be anything but kind. Sometimes it requires a tremendous amount of strength, but it is always possible.