Being Shot

P h o t o #42 - The Walmart Effect

P h o t o #42 - The Walmart Effect

The automatic beep sounded as I scanned yet another can of green beans, watching as the prices upon my dim cash registers computer screen begin doubling with each swipe.

"Having the family over for Christmas?" I asked, hoping to deter the dirty looks I was getting from the stout old lady in front of me.

She scrutinized my bright blue work uniform behind her thin, red glasses, puckering her pruned maroon lips, "Why, you think I'm gonna be eating all this food myself, Emma?" She responded to my question with her own, her eyes darkening as they scanned over the plastic white name tag pinned to my vest.

Just as I began squeaking out a baffled "no", the woman kept speaking hostly, "I want every can in its own separate bag, young lady. I won't tolerate dents in them."

'Why, you going to show case them at Christmas dinner or something?' I bit back the snide remark as I shot her a forced smile, tentatively bagging each and every can separately, 'It's a waste of bags, but I can't risk having to deal with another raging costumer back in Customer Service again.' A memory of my last spat down at the station from hell in the back of the store sent a shiver through me.

"Receipt in the bag okay?" I inquired mechanically, used to these trademark phrases rolling off my tongue with ease after working at the Walmart just a few intersections away from my home for so long. Though it was one of the better stores in the district compared to most, Walmart was still, in fact, Walmart after all.

The old lady snatched the receipts from my fingers, her wrinkled face pulling back into a sneer as she shoved it into her overstuffed leather purse. "H-Have a good day!" I called out as she trotted off with her cart full of individually wrapped cans of green beans, the front wheels squeaking harshly against the mucky white tile like most of our carts did.

I sighed and leaned back, resting my elbows against the edge of my little cubicle after a swift tightening of my low ponytail, "Really, who comes to Walmart at 8 p.m. just for two dozen cans of frozen vegetables." I muttered, brushing my hands over my khaki-clad thighs. Leave it to Walmart to bring out my very much dormant attitude. It seemed that I had it too good for too long after being let off for the last few months.

Standing at my station as I waited for another customer with a cart full of goods to find their way to the check out lanes, I observed as Zachary flirted with a woman who was clearly at least five years older than him down over at the express lane just a few stations over. It was a slow night tonight, which was saying something for this oversized super store, what with the unimaginable people coming in at all hours of the night, especially around the holidays, and usually I would pay no mind to the college student and his games, but we were the only two workers down at the front end of the store so nothing else was really worth watching.

Just as he gave her another curt nod as she clicked away in her low black heels, two bags of who-knows-what on each arm, I quickly took notice of the small piece of paper he noticeably stuffed into his vest's front pocket, a phone number, I presumed. With a huff, I shook my head. Seems like the few months he shouldered both his shifts and mine had taught him nothing about the consequences of acquiring female friends while on the job.

Zachary caught my stare, his light green eyes sparkling even at a few yards distance, "What? Jealous?" He teased, dark eyebrows raised.

My only response was to lazily look off into the distance and give a long sigh, my un-amusement evident.

"You know," Zachary began, scratching at his midnight black hair, which he was keeping in a fashionable close crop these days in contrast to the unruly mop he had before, "you could at least act a little flustered. It hurts my feelings." He raised his hand to his heart, feigning his pain.