Broke-Ish [Completed]

Chapter 27

As if one way in, one way out systems didn't confuse the general population enough, this store has two entrances and one exit. To add to this the door in the middle is out of order, they claim to be "sorry for any inconvenience" but the sign looks over a year old, so I have to question how truly sorry they really are. I enter the door to the right and my nose is almost touching the smeared glass pane before the motion sensors kick in and the automatic door slides open. There is a lady in front of me with a hi-vis vest on that has the words "happy to help" printed on her back but since she met me in the car park and pretended not to hear two shoppers call over to her for help, I have found that she is anything but and it's so good to see that nonchalant customer service is consistent across all our stores. She points to what looks like a rot ridden door and mumbles something that judging from her increased pace I guess means I need to follow her through, so I do.

We walk through a storage room so cold that the hairs on my arms stand to attention then we reach the breakroom. It's bigger, that's for sure, and so far I can only see one, two, three stained chairs but there's still a smell. Not the same sour, rotten smell from the od break room but more of an uncomfortable stale smell, not quite overpowering but ever persistent. Perhaps having smelly breakroom is store mandated, a decision made high up to keep us from fully being able to enjoy our breaks in the hopes that over years we will be convinced we no longer need one. Or maybe they make the smell so that it lingers to force us to be grateful when it's not so strong. Rain says that's a thing, forced gratitude, and surprisingly Gee agreed but then she went on a political rant about how governments have been using this tactic on their citizens for years, making conditions so bad that they'd be grateful for the most pitiful living conditions. That's the word she used as well, pitiful, like she was talking about one of those tragic Shakespeare plays (which from what I remember at school, is all of them.)

"The lockers are over there," she points to lockers that are so visible a blind man would see them, "think yours is number..." she takes a crumped piece of paper out of her crumpled trousers and crumples her face trying to read the number on there, "47 I think."

"Thanks," I say.

"I guess you know everything else, how long have you worked for the store again. Couple years or so right?"

"Or so, yeah,"

"Alright then, well if you need anything I'll be on the shop floor,"

She hands me a small black device that looks similar to what the delivery driver asked me to sign on this morning when I accepted the neighbours parcel, then she walks away and I am standing here in the middle of the room on a thinning carpet and mis matched chairs about to ask myself one simple important question. What would Brenda do?

See, the dreaded you-didn't-get-the-job phone call turned out to be a congratulatory you-did-get-the-job and oh yeah, we have done a reshuffle and you'll be working at our newly refurbished branch and although you won't know anyone it's closer to your house. Pros and Cons I guess. My first feeling after being surprised was excitement, a newly refurbed store how fancy. That is until I arrived and now understand that their idea of a refurb is a smaller, neater, almost illegible font on the price labels and a different colour window and door frames. I think the store name sign may have changed as well but bonus points to any customer who can tell. Either way, I decided that this was a good thing and Reena, the graceful loser" agreed. She said it would be a chance to reinvent myself as Olive, proud and capable supervisor of shop floor rather than Olive, dodger of customer queries and team nights out. It was good of Reena to agree, very fitting with the stores values and behaviours that I have recently familiarised myself with. Although it's also very possible that she just wasn't excited about the idea of me being her supervisor and I can't blame her. I barely used to arrive on time and I could never work out the mechanics on the pricing gun, but that was the old Olive. The new Olive is always punctual, attentive, a problem solver. The new Olive rocks this dusty uniform that smells like it came from the bottom of a charity shop pile of clothes, like it's the latest designer. The new Olive also does not know where she is going or what the hell she is meant to be doing.