Thanksgiving Cashiers

Double pay. Thanksgiving in the store. That’s the first thing that comes to mind for Joshua. He clocks in and drags his cumbersome, two-hundred-something pounds of dead weight and enters the office. It’s not 6 a.m. yet; he is nowhere near being awake. Brain threatening to shut down, eyes drooping, tears from too many yawns. Choppy thoughts and a shitty day. He shouldn’t have signed up for this. No, he didn’t sign up for this. Heck, he even had to fight to work today, with all these other coworkers who got nothing and no one to celebrate with. Don’t you go taking this amiss. He isn’t some pathetic dude having nothing to do. He’s got a girlfriend - well, ex-girlfriend. That’s not the point. He just needs the cash. He already spent this month’s salary on a new PC last week. Stupid mistake. Went to some weird websites and now it’s hacked. He couldn’t fix it. Now, he has to pay his rent and other stuff with his Thanksgiving labor.

Fried chicken. That’s what Joshua would get on his way home. Damn it, the woman that joins the line has a load of groceries. Now he’s got hundreds of items to scan instead of the time he could capitalize on by scrolling through his phone (his manager is off today), checking out pretty girls and all that fun stuff. Why would someone buy groceries on Thanksgiving? You don’t do it on the holiday, for goodness’ sake. And there is the turkey. Sacrilegious, disgusting, appalling, all those words he could think of.

“How are you doing,” she said.

“Thanksgiving shopping, huh?” He snickered.

“Yes. Thank you.” Heavy accent. Cuba? Mexico? He counts all the countries he knows in Central or South America.

Minutes of awkward silence. He scans every item. Sleep. He wants a nap and it’s not ten yet. Checks his watch and yawns. “Bag?” He asks.

“No,” she smiles hesitantly. “Sorry, you . . . I got one extra item.”

“What’d you mean?” He says, irritated

“I got one chip only,” she says.

“What?” he asks again.

“Chip,” she says apologetically and points at the Doritos.

“Oh, lemme see.” he checks the monitor. Damn, he has to do all the extra work because someone had the audacity to point out that he had counted one extra, when she’s bought almost a hundred items! Joshua couldn’t believe his bad luck. She should’ve thanked him for not even ditching right now, let alone blaming him for accidentally scanning an item twice. 

“Miser pauper or pauper miser?” He says to himself and laughs at his own wittiness. The lady has a not-so-flashy dress. Probably cost thirty bucks. Anyway, she can’t be too rich or poor. Boring, ungrateful customer. He’s had enough.

“Okay,” he says and yawns. Man, he’s really worn out. He can’t wait for Christmas, but definitely not another double-pay day. Not worth it. That’s for losers.

He doesn’t even look up as she mutters her thanks and leaves the store.

***

Maria doesn’t want to wake up. Pero necesito llegar temprano. She needs to wake up everyone in the family and brace herself for the day full of tasks ahead. She is working the afternoon shift today at the local restaurant, which is still open on Thanksgiving only because the owners don’t celebrate it. Nor does she, except that her kids have been clamoring for this since everyone else at school will celebrate it. That was a last-minute call. She told herself she didn’t have to comply with her kids’ wishes, their whims. After all, how much has she already done and sacrificed for them? Overtime, extra shifts, and countless nights of restless sleep because they could barely scrape by. But she thought about all the times that she thought she couldn’t do something, that she was too tired, and she still plodded through. Miracles don’t happen, she’s learned, but resilience and family could get her through. Well, at least so far so good. Todo está bien.

A jar full of pennies, with some dollar bills. She rummages and finds a five-dollar bill. No, it’s not going to be enough. She pulls out her purse and stares inside. An old, crumpled one-hundred-dollar bill. Hesitation. Contemplation. She has been in the same situation before, and she has never taken it out. The first large bill she received as her weekly salary. The only bill she promised herself she would never spend. It’s like a piggy bank, right? You know you might be able to save it but eventually you have to use it. Is it time? She wonders. Her kids are growing up; Jorge left years ago. Promises can be broken, and money might be made again. She is earning more now, despite the tough financial situation they’re in now with the inflation everyone’s talking about. She will get through it, right? Life is like that, and she’s tougher now. No more promises. Her kids are more than anything she could’ve bought.

Moments later, she’s out on the street, walking slowly toward the grocery shop, because she didn’t have time yesterday to buy the turkey and everything else needed. Mashed potatoes. Candy. Sauce. Tortillas. She has made a list.

She’s in the store and gets all the things on her list. Even some produce they can’t usually afford. She goes up to the only cashier register and 

Thirty dollars. Forty dollars. Sixty dollars. Ninety-six dollars and seventy cents in total. She counted the sum beforehand. One hundred dollars flashes on the screen. That can’t be right, she thinks.

“No,” she smiles hesitantly. “Sorry, you . . . I got one extra item.”

“What’d you mean?” He says, irritated.

“I got one chip only,” she says.

“What?” he asks again.

“Chip,” she says apologetically and points at the Doritos.

“Alright, but don’t buy it on Thanksgiving as if five dollars mattered,” she hears him mutter. She can tell he dislikes her. But it matters. It really does.

“Have a good day,” she says quietly. She no longer cries when people are rude to her. She is stronger now, and she knows how to deal with it.

It’s okay. Once in a while everyone has a rough time. The cashier isn’t just targeting her. She used to be a cashier; she knows how mundane and intolerable it can get. She thinks nostalgically. Everything is gonna be okay.