“Yeah, you would know all about this. I need a lovey, romantic card for somebody,” the large- framed man said in a lowered voice. He glanced around the store from the counter where we stood and squeezed the fingers together near the top of his chest. He made me feel like this was a secret, but he also didn’t know that I was a new employee, so I didn’t know exactly where the cards were unless they were for an anniversary, a brother-birthday, or a bar mitzvah. I also might add that I don’t know anything about “lovey romantics” because my last “relationship” was in sixth grade, and I wouldn’t let him hold my hand at lunch or even sit beside me most days. For these reasons, I called over my shoulder for my co-worker, Catherine, to ask where the “love” cards were that weren’t for a specific anniversary.
I couldn’t help but add a little “Awh this is a sweet card.” I meant it genuinely, to imply that his significant other would appreciate the sentiment, but when it was out, it felt more like I was attacking his masculinity or something.
The large-frame guy looked betrayed and talked to Catherine in an even lower voice than he used with me. He tried to follow closely behind her, and seemed a little annoyed that I was right at his heels, but I, too, needed to know where these cards were, for future men that were scared to admit they wanted to show love towards someone else.
When he came to the register, I couldn’t help but add a little “Awh this is a sweet card.” I meant it genuinely, to imply that his significant other would appreciate the sentiment, but when it was out, it felt more like I was attacking his masculinity or something. At least, that’s how I thought he took it when he replied in a low, gruff, “Huh, yeah sure.” I didn’t even ask him if he wanted the gold seal for his card.
*********
An older man came in and asked where the anniversary cards were. I actually knew that one, so I walked him over to the card selection and asked if he needed a specific year.
“We have been married 72 years now,” he smiled at himself and giggled. “Seventy-two years she’s been telling me what to do.”
“That’s so sweet!” I replied.
“I had to run in here while she was getting her nails done,” he said, his eyes squinting as he grinned.
*********
I thought of the little, hunched older woman that had walked in just moments before, asking about bracelets for her granddaughter who had just left for college. I sprayed the counter with disinfectant and wiped it down.
“Do I have to wear a mask in here?”, a woman huffed at me, rolling her eyes. I thought about the large-fonted sign on the front of the door that said something along the lines of, “Masks are Mandatory,” with a picture of a mask beside it. I responded with a small negative shake of the head. I had been told that I cannot “force” anyone to wear a mask.
“Thank God,” she said, quickly darting to the cards, puffing as she went. I thought of the little, hunched older woman that had walked in just moments before, asking about bracelets for her granddaughter who had just left for college. I sprayed the counter with disinfectant and wiped it down.
*********
“It’s no problem, especially when you have a sweet, pretty girl doing it,” he replied as I gave him his card. I did not ask if he wanted a gold seal, either.
“Do you have a rewards card with us?,” I asked. When he replied that he did not, I asked if he wanted to sign up for one, to which he said, “yes.” The whole time he made too much eye-contact. I asked for his driver’s license to fill out the form more quickly.
After I filled it out, I rang him up for the card that I presumed was to go to his wife, and I thanked him from the script for taking the time to sign up for the rewards card.
“It’s no problem, especially when you have a sweet, pretty girl doing it,” he replied as I gave him his card. I did not ask if he wanted a gold seal, either.
**********
I made the mistake of telling a guy that I liked his shirt. I believe he took it as me flirting with him. I just liked the shirt, but then I had to tell him that he didn’t get an envelope for his card, and I had to ask him if he had a rewards card.
**********
There are lines straight down my two front teeth if you look closely enough, and my cousin Sydney tells me when she spends the night with me that she can hear me scraping my jaw from side to side sometimes. Not wearing my night guard makes it a lot worse. Also, situations like this one.
My co-worker Cheryl was telling me this: how her son died, she got divorced, and her daughter moved in with her boyfriend against Cheryl’s wishes all in the span of a couple of years. Her ex-husband lived next-door for years but never came down to see his children. Eventually her other son started telling his dad he was busy whenever the dad called to get food together.
She immediately turned to the woman who just walked in and said, “Hi, how are you?,” in a happy tone. The lady just waved her hand at her. I followed this customer and asked in a my own chirpy tone if I could help her with anything. The lady said “no” dismissively. I then recited the list of things on sale and the new merchandise that had come in, just because I knew she didn’t want me to talk to her anymore. She didn’t take off her sunglasses either. I went back to Cheryl after I gave my recitation.
Cheryl told me her son came out as gay, too, that year, and she made him go to therapy, and how she “doesn’t believe in all that” and some things about “choice” that I mentally checked out of. I have a bad habit of clenching my teeth. There are lines straight down my two front teeth if you look closely enough, and my cousin Sydney tells me when she spends the night with me that she can hear me scraping my jaw from side to side sometimes. Not wearing my night guard makes it a lot worse. Also, situations like this one.
I gave the customer gold seals on her cards. I had a headache for the rest of the day.
***********
I did not remember until she had left. I did not give her change for the twenty. I will carry this guilt for the rest of my days.
“Hold on a second, I have the fifty-three cents, I think,” a customer said after giving me a twenty for an eight dollar and fifty-three cent purchase. Overwhelmed by the focus on this exact change, pulled together by shiny dimes, moldy pennies, and sturdy nickels, I put the money in the register, ripped the receipt off the machine, and put everything in the bag.
The woman gave me an odd eye for a second, as if she was trying to remember something and was asking me telepathically to remember it too. I did not remember until she had left. I did not give her change for the twenty. I will carry this guilt for the rest of my days. I did give her gold seals though.
**********
I finally gave in. I’m only allowed to wear the store merchandise or business apparel, and I already ran out of dresses. I am not allowed to wear jeans, and my khaki pants look hideous. I surrendered to comfort, and put on my Simply Southern shirt with a pair of black leggings.
They are the only t-shirts I am allowed to wear unless I buy an ugly Gretchen Scott tank top for a hundred dollars. This is the epitome of reaping what I’ve sown. Years of making fun of girls in high school who wore shirts that said things like “Give Me Pearls as a Southern Girl” (or something like that) pile on my conscience as I then put on the shirt that says “Best Friends Come In All Shapes and Sizes” with dogs wearing clothes and jewelry on the back. Or a huge sunflower that just says, “Simply Southern.” I’m really glad my apron covers the front of my shirt, but the back is where the action happens.
