Smile

Clock Out

It happens at four-thirty. The day has slowed down and I'm getting caught up on cashier observations. I have to do a set amount of them per month. Corporate sends me these stupid sheets and I have to rate cashiers based on the principals of H.E.L.P. That stands for "Hello" "Encourage conversation" "Let them know about the credit card" and "Please come again." Look, it's stupid. We don't need to talk about how stupid it is. My job requires me to stand creepily off to the side and watch a cashier ring up a customer and score them based on all these metrics and then review it with them. The head cashiers do them too. When we have coverage. Who the fuck am I kidding? We never have coverage.

The cashiers who come to work and are pleasant and just do their fucking job? yeah, with them I stand in a really obvious way with my clipboard out, so they know I'm doing an observation. The ones who call out all the time and have an attitude about everything? I stand far back and don't even bring the clipboard. I've done enough of them that I know what's on it. So I watch and mark them down for every little thing they do wrong and I fill it out with negative comments. I don't lie. I just don't let anything slide. Nothing at all. They want to call out constantly and roll their eyes when I ask them to stock some sodas? Cool, well since I have to do these damn observations anyway, I'll use them to build a paper trail that establishes a pattern of behavior and make sure you never get more than a measly cost of living raise. We have a pay band of raises. Top performers get a little more at their yearly review. The low performers get less. I can't do much. I don't have much actual authority here. I can't even fire anybody without getting a green light from the ops asm. None of the cashiers take me seriously. Well, what I can do is make sure they get paid less. It takes a little more paperwork. Doesn't matter. I'm here so fucking much anyway.

I'm finishing up my observation on Dasia-one of the easy-going and reliable cashiers who I'm giving top scores on everything-when the sasm rounds the corner and gives me a broad smile and a wave. I stiffen. Tim is always a prick. I avoid him whenever I can. But here he is.

I drag a smile onto my face.

Tim pauses halfway between the door and the registers where Dasia and I are standing. A strange look crosses his face. His eyes glaze and he stumbles.

"Tim!"

He falls and smacks into a pallet of ice melt. Dasia and I are both moving at once.

"Timmy, what's wrong?" Dasia takes him by the arm and helps him to a seated position.

He swallows and shakes his head. "I don't..I'm not sure...Got dizzy all of a sudden."

"Take a second," Dasia tells him. "I'll get you some water."

Shaking his head, he mutters, "No, no I'm okay. I'll take a break in the office in a minute." He rises to his feet with Dasia still holding onto his arm. He waves her off. "I'm okay, thank you. Think you have a customer."

"Oh no! Hang on, I'm coming!" She hurries over to help the saggy-faced old woman scowling with a cart full of perennials.

"You sure you're okay, Tim? I'll walk you back to the office if you want."

"Might as well," he sighs. "I was coming to tell you to clock out anyway."

"Clock out?" I follow as he makes his way slowly back inside.

A blast of heat hits as the automatic doors whoosh open. And once again, it is so damn loud. It's amazing how much louder it gets just from stepping through a door.

"I'm closing," I explain. "I don't need to clock out."

We're walking through hardware now. Tim takes a left to cut through plumbing.

"You can go home. Carter pointed out the payroll to Theresa today and all the extra hours you've been working. I'm sure you're happy for the money and all-"

I'm not. I don't need the money. I don't correct him though.

"-but we've hit our overtime cap for the quarter."

"You're gonna close then?"

I know what happens when an asm closes. Especially if it's not the ops asm. I'll be doing everything over again in the morning.

We've reached the back hallway now and Tim pauses in front of the time clock. "Not me. Called in a favor with the Sommerville store. They sent one of their veteran head cashiers. She'll close the place up for you. Should be here in an hour."

"Oh." I don't know what to say. A whole evening off. A whole evening off that I wasn't expecting.

"Clock out, Claudia. You've hit forty hours for the week already. That means don't come back until Sunday."

"It's only Wednesday."

"Enjoy the time off. And I don't want to see any overtime until next quarter."

"When does next quarter start again?"

"In a month."

"What about..." I gesture vaguely. I'm not sure what to say. I'm not sure what I'm actually worried about. What if there's no coverage? What about my department? There never is any coverage and I don't actually give any fucks about my department.

"We'll figure it out," Tim says. "Clock out and get some rest for once."

And then he's gone. He slips into the store manager's office and shuts the door. The blinds aren't closed, so I can still see him. He sits down and immediately deflates. He plunks his elbows on the desk and buries his face in his hands. His color is off. It...unsettles me. I don't know why.

I punch the time clock and then shimmer into the narrow hallway where the employee lockers are crammed. I dig out my purse and keys and take off my apron. There's always a feeling of incredible lightness when I take my apron off at the end of a shift. I spend so many hours walking around with that heavy ring of keys hanging from my apron. I can feel them jingling and weighing on my chest with every brisk jog across the store to handle an irate customer, with every mad dash to reset the constantly breaking self-checkouts. I become so used to them that at the end of the day, it feels incredibly light not having them there. I feel almost naked without the seven heavy keys dancing along to my every movement. And I have that sensation now; a wonderful lightness.

As I walk out of the store, now with three entire days off I hadn't been expecting, that lightness extends to all of me. A deeper more existential lightness.

And I smile. I smile and mean it.

The air outside is cool and dry. The dryness of a cold, but not particularly harsh winter.

It's quiet out here. So quiet.

I walk across the dark parking lot and find my SUV parked in the expanse of spaces where the mall parking lot meets the Home Warehouse parking lot. Through the coming night, I hear the distant beeping of a forklift.

I won't hear that noise again for three whole days.

Contentment sings through me, radiating from my core outward. I sigh as I slide into my SUV and turn on the radio. The classical station. I always keep it on low.

I like it not to be too noisy.

The drive home is surprisingly peaceful. There's barely any traffic, despite it being peak rush hour. I merge into both of the circles on my drive home with no issue. Nobody honks. Nobody cuts me off.

Pulling into my driveway, I realize I'm smiling again. A gust of cold-biting but in a pleasant way, rushes into the hollow of my throat.

I touch the glittering butterfly.

Good luck. That man said this butterfly was good luck.

I do have the next three days off.

I sit and blink at the garage door, wondering what to do with myself now that I finally have time to rest.