Wendy Brumback F138620
Eight Dollars An Hour
It was odd that day when I walked in and saw the manager working. Saturdays are his day off, the only day he doesn’t need to do an order or paperwork. Chris was no where to be seen so I just assumed she had called in sick.
Saturdays are an easy day for me. I come in late, do light cleaning in my little fast food area and get the next days order ready. It is the rest of the store that gets busy. They have to sell gas, candy and of course the tobacco and alcohol. A job I must admit they don’t get paid enough for. Between the minors with fake ID’s, the legals without their ID’s, and the older ones who don’t believe in ID’s your day can get rough.
I’ve seen regulars (that the new girl didn’t know was a regular) slam their money down and walk out with their cigarettes. I’ve seen people yell and walk out saying they will never come back. Young boys flirt badly with the older women and young girls bat their lashes. Then there are those who just get mad. They yell and scream making everyone uncomfortable. I’ve even seen one or two threaten the cashier. To top it off the little piggys come around looking to bust you selling to a minor.
Some days I wonder if they go a bit to far?
Chris was everybody’s favorite. Always friendly with a smile. She had been around before it was illegal for eighteen year olds to drink. I once saw her smile and wave as a kid walked out the door and told her to F-Off. Over his inappropriate language I heard “Thank you, have a nice day!” She mostly did it for laughs, but it also kept the stress away. A better person you’ve never meet.
I was told the kid was nineteen. He looked about thirty-five. The manager was pissed when we had to let Chris go. I was too. It’s hard to find a good worker around these parts if you pay under ten-dollars an hour. Plus it was at the height of our busy season. Still, we all had to watch her walk away.