Salty

Three | Boxed Wine

Three | Sloan

"There's a scuff on this shoe. I get ten percent off for a defect." A bright red heel was being held up to my face, as if I was blind. "How much would that be?"

After a week of retail, I had become used to obnoxious customers. However, this one had been into the store three times this week. My patience was being tested, and I was already in a sour mood. Today, my bank account officially hit a negative balance.

I gripped the woman's wrist and lifted it, revealing the sticker on the bottom of the shoe. My first thought was: why on earth would this woman need four-inch kitten heels in cherry red? And then I reminded myself not to care.

"They are ten dollars." I pointed to the newly applied sticker labeled $9.99.

"Right. But I get ten percent off because they have a scuff! How much off?"

Is she serious? I looked between the shoe and the customer as she idly waited for the answer.

"Move the decimal and subtract it."

"What decimal?"

The only decimal there is?

Yeah, I can't get a job with a G.E.D., but this woman drives a Lexus and can't move a decimal to the left. A dollar, moron. Ninety-nine fucking cents. I pressed my fingertips to my eyes, drawing a deep breath and talking myself out of laughing.

"That's fifty cents off." I allowed my inner bitch to win, scanned the shoe, and deducted fifty cents from the total.

The woman happily paid for her shoes in cash and strutted off with her amazing deal. I reminded myself I was going to hell anyway as I slid the cash into the register. I used my hip to slam the drawer shut before looking for more plastic bags to restock my counter.

My work day was nearly over, thank god. Exhaustion and the email notice informing me of my checking account bouncing didn't help. I spent three dollars on Melatonin to help with the lacking sleep and now had to pay a thirty-dollar charge for hitting a negative balance. The increased anxiety was just going to increase my sleepless nights, rendering the Melatonin useless. Being poor and depressed was a vicious circle I couldn't escape. My frustration was now being taken out on the box of bags as I took scissors to it.

"Here." TJ slapped an envelope down to the counter.

I eyed the envelope cautiously. Other than some minor register training, TJ had been keeping his distance. I liked it that way. He pushed it forward with one finger and then retreated his hands to the pockets of his navy dress pants.

"What is it?"

"It's an advance on your check. Just a week's worth."

I slid the envelope back towards him, unwilling to take his handout. "No."

Payday was next Friday. I would figure something out until then. I was great at pinching pennies when needed. Selling my car was still an option, especially with the amount of walking I'd been doing lately. That could be enough to stop some creditor calls.

"Sloan," he huffed, "you are stubborn and always have been. I get it. You work hard and don't want handouts. That is not what this is. You've got no money, right? You would not be standing in this store if you didn't have to be. How bad is it? You had money saved for school. Where did it all go?"

So many questions and none had simple answers. Tears were pooling in the corners of my eyes as TJ waited intensely. It was the first time I felt like having a breakdown here, and I wasn't prepared to break that seal yet. If I became comfortable crying at work, I'd never stop.