Perspective

trigger warning: physical violence

Beep. Beep. Beep. Such a miniscule sound, and yet it's everywhere. Everything beeps. Beep. The thing that is currently beeping is me and the checkout counter on aisle two. 5 oz can of Kidney Beans, beep. Diapers for babies, beep. 3 Bananas, type type type, beep. It’s enough to drive a man crazy.

You know what else beeps? My alarm clock every morning that says I gotta come into this job. Don’t get me wrong, its a good job. I don’t gotta worry about a board room, or presentations, or dealing with other people who think they know better for more than ten minutes at a time. Got a problem? Send it to the manager. It’s better than my old job at least, even if I want to stab myself with the keys to the register at the end of every shift just to have something interesting happen.

People always tell me, oh you could do so much more. Do you just wanna work the register for the rest of your life? But what’s so wrong with that, just enjoying a simple life. Being able to put some food on the table, being able to go home and sleep and not worry that some gorilla is going to come and beat you to death. ‘Course some days are harder than others. And today is an especially hard day.

“Paul, you’re going to be helping set up our winter display when your register is dead. But make sure you keep an eye on those lines. It should be a big one today.” My manager, Jeremy said. I nodded and tried not to roll my eyes. A big one in this store meant fifteen customers having to wait five minutes in line. People thought it was stressful, but life is all about perspective. I did my dangerous life, and now I got perspective on how nice an easy life is.

The first half of the day started out just fine. I helped out Judy to break down some boxes. Sweet kid, just outta highschool, but arms like twigs, couldn’t crush a milk carton. Then some customer came up asking about organic avocados, like we’re some kind of fancy city bullshit. “Sorry ma’am, whatever you see on the shelf is what we got. I’ll show you where our normal avocados are.” None of them mean anything bad when they ask these questions, but some people treat it like it's the end of the friggin’ world if they can’t get exactly the right brand of tomatoes for their pasta sauce. No perspective.

Then the lunch rush hits, all the local business park people get their sandwiches and stuff from the deli counter. I talked a little bit with Josh, nice dude, always wants to show off photos of his kids. The other cashiers always complain about him, especially Jim. Little prick. I like talking with Josh, our kids played a little bit of Tee-ball together, so it feels nice to see someone you know doing good in life.

After the lunch rush, I tell Jim to take over my register and I go for my break. He rolls his eyes at me and I just laugh and remind him that the schedule exists for a reason. Jerry behind the deli counter gives me my usual turkey sub with mustard, I grab some chips, a drink from the fridge, and go to checkout. I stop dead in my tracks, almost dropping my food. A man is in line at the counter, black suit, leather shoes, gold jewelry flashing. I can see the tattoos on his neck peeping out from his collar and from under his sleeves.

I get a little itch on my arms and on my neck, just from seeing this guy. Tattoo removal sucks. It’s worth it, but still doesn’t feel great.

“So what are you telling me? You don’t carry rubbers?” This guy said to Jim.

“I’m sorry sir, I’m not quite sure what you’re asking for.” I can see a glint in Jim’s eye, he’s just trying to mess with him. If only he knew the trouble he would find himself in if he kept it up. I don’t intervene, I think it's good for a kid to learn a lesson or two.

“Condoms, genius. What you’ve never gotten laid? Aren’t you a little old to be a virgin?” He laughs and looks around at other people, thinking they’ll find it funny. I let out a short snort but then tried to look impatient. Jim turned bright red.

“Aisle 10.” he pointed.

The guy nods and walks off.

“Hey, just be careful with that guy, ok. He looks like trouble.” I said, putting my stuff on the belt.

Jim laughed it off, “what’s he gonna do, ‘whack me?’ Get real.”

“Look kid, I’m serious. We don’t want any people like that coming around here.”

“Sounds like you’re scared.”

“You damn right I’m scared, and you should be too.”

Jim just snorted and shook his head. I debated if I should tell him the story of when me and my crew put some kid in the hospital because he gave us lip about not having Ids to buy some booze. I think better about it. The Feds would be pissed if they knew I broke any of the cover. Witness protection is not a guaranteed thing, they can revoke it if you break any of their rules.

I take my food off the belt and shake my head at Jim. The tables near the front window are great during the winter. Let’s you cool off from working with the cold coming off the glass. I sat down and started to eat, wiping some of the sweat off my brow.

Outside, in the empty lot among the snow piles, two huge suburbans. Girls are laughing and spraying champagne out of the sunroof. I never got hey they don’t just freeze like the rest of us. Maybe it's the coke. I try to enjoy my lunch in peace, watching the birds all plumped up in their winter feathers, but I hear some commotion happening near the registers.

“I saw you take it! You gotta pay for it!” Jim’s voice was especially annoying and shrill when he shouted like that. “I’m calling a manager.”

The suit man grabbed him by the collar roughly, “I told you I left my cash out in the car. Just relax, and I’ll go get it.” Just then the manager came out and asked what the problem was. Now our manager tries his best, and he cares about the people who work here, but he’s always sniffing for a promotion. In other words, the customer is always right.

“I’m sorry for this misunderstanding sir, of course. We’ll hold your items for you while you go out to your car.” After a sideways look from Jim he added, “You can take your drink with you, that’s alright.”

The suited man went out to the car and after some short exchanges with a couple other people smoking outside the Suburban came back inside with a wad of cash. He walked up to the counter, and the manager nodded. “See Jim, nothing to worry about. Have a great day sir.” He rushed back to the stand trying to arrange the hams according to the corporate layout picture.

“This enough, you little shit?” I watched the man throw the hundred dollar bill at Jim. Jim must have said something smart to him again. I ate my last few bites and walked back over to the registers. Jim was really taking his time counting out the change, making mistakes and all that. The suited man’s face was getting redder by the second.

“Just keep it, jesus. A virgin and can’t fuckin count.” The man started to walk away but Jim protested.

“You can’t just leave sir, I can’t take your money. And you can’t speak to me like that!”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” The man had it, he pushed Jim and tried to pull him over the counter. The manager came racing over once he heard Jim cry out after getting a couple of punches in the nose.

“Sir! You have to leave immediately! I’m calling the police!” Our manager shouted, reaching for the phone. Oops, wrong phrase, Mr. Manager.

“You fucking what?” The suited man said as he pulled a revolver out of his jacket. He pointed right at the manager, who shrieked and hung the phone up. “Good move.” He gave Jim one last hit on the head with the butt of the gun and sent blood spilling all over the floor. “Next time you see my face, you better be nicer to me, or I might not be so nice to you!” He let Jim lay on the floor, silently crying in pain.

The suited man looked over at me, as I held my arms and crunched on a chip. “No problems, no problems boss.” He said something under his breath and left, fixing his suit and trying to wipe the blood off the butt of his gun. I went back to eating my chips and looked at the manager and Jim.

“I told you to keep your mouth shut.” I said to Jim.

“What a psycho! Well, call the cops!” Jim shouted to the manager. The manager checked his watch.

“Jim, get cleaned up, and let’s just finish out the shift. The big dinner rush will be here in an hour or two.” Jim looked around, wide eyed.

“ Really!? An employee is assaulted and you just want me to finish the shift?! You know what. I quit!” Jim threw down his apron and stormed off to the backroom.

“Thanks for the help, asshole.” He said to me as he walked out of the store with his bag in hand.

“You should probably go out the back,” I said to him. Ungrateful prick didn’t even realize how much help I was giving him.

“Eat shit.”

I shrugged my shoulders and sat back down behind the register. I pulled out a pair of gloves and a spray bottle to clean Jim’s blood off the till. I looked outside just as Jim got pulled into the black Suburban before it peeled off down the road. I whistled softly as I started to scrub and thought about what I should bring back home for the kids for supper. Maybe today turned out to not be a boring day afterall.