Dollar General.
D.G.
What a wonderful little place to work. My particular Dollar General was operated by two middle aged women and one middle aged man. I was the only youngster in the joint. (Yes, I called it a joint, because it was like prison---the temperature was hot, everyone smoked, I got paid very little, I was always working, and the only people who patroned the store were the underrepresented, oppressed minorities of society.)
Plus, in The Joint the workers made up an elite squad of gangsters. Kinda like a Chain Gang. It was cool. I felt at home; apart of something bigger than myself. That was when I knew I had to quit: If I felt at home in a DOLLAR GENERAL, it was time to go. But really, it was great. All I did was open boxes and scan people's small purchases. I hated being a cashier at the fake floral store, but I think it was the atmosphere and the quantity of goods purchased by the average customer. At D.G., the average shopping cart was stacked with batteries, t.p., tampons, $1 pregnancy tests (yes, one dollar) and candy. If I had more than 10 items for one patron, it was a 'busy day.' I got a funny story about a Latino man:
One time, when my manager was taking her bi-hourly smoke break, a couple of Mexican men came into the store. *This isn't me being racist; many people of Latin American descent shop at D.G.----it's close, cheap, accessible and small. They finished shopping: they bought beans, rice and batteries. One of the men left, the other man paid for his stuff and then......lingered. Yeah, he just hung out. In my mind, I thought, "What, did I mess up his order, do I need to translate something with my broken Spanglish?"
Then, he leaned in, hand still on his wallet and said, "You work here all the time?"
And I said, "Surprisingly, yes, all the time."
It got really quiet, and I hate awkward pauses, so I filled in with: "Do YOU work all the time, tambien?"
He ignored that (or took it as rhetorical) and then said with an eyebrow raised (like in a cheesy film), "You live around here?"
HOKAY, let's be frank here. I am a Midwesterner. I don't understand flirting. My idea of flirting is BLATANT. In fact, I had to be ostracized by one nameless roommate before I understood that my form of flirting is generally unacceptable by this country and the society I live in today. I, personally, have been hit on 0 to 1 times in my whole life. I do not comprehend how someone is/could be attracted to me. Weird.
So, I answered, "Si, yo vivo en the next town."
He then scanned my face, and his eyes traveled down my body, down my black shirt, down to my corduroy pants. He then said, "You live alone?"
"NOPE, sure don't. Definitely not. Not alone. Nope."
"Who you live with?"--My future lover, clearly.
"My dad. And my mom, and my sister." Then, at that moment, he started the undressing-my-clothes-with-the-eyes routine, but as he got to my trousers, he turned his head to the right to find my boss with a hand on her hip, a 6 foot 2 inch frame, crazy dyed red hair and a cigarette in her hand giving my stalker the "look". He then left pretty quickly.
I will always remember him fondly.
I only worked D.G. for a little while, but during the next summer, I started work for this college Big Wig. I like to refer to her as Mrs. Big, like Sex and The City, or The Notorious B.I.G.wig.
Anyway, technically I worked for the NBW's secretary, (which made me feel like the bottom of the food chain), but still, close contact to the NBW. Actually there wasn't really a big issue with this job, just that the NBW was on a diet. I don't know why, but she had a shitton of small, prepackaged green bean containers. I had to help move offices (from one side of campus to the other) and I kept finding dusty green bean packages. I thought about stealing and eating one just to see what the fuss was about but I decided against it.
Also, the secretary was ridiculous. She liked HER college and talked trash about other colleges. Plus, I never knew what was expected of me and after the sixth day of asking, "Is there anything I can be doing?" I decided to stop asking. Then, (and here's the kicker) she complained that I never fulfilled my job duties. Ummmm, what job duties---asking questions about packaged greens and what I could be doing? I should have stolen a green bean package.
Lastly, I started working at the library. I quit the NBW and I got a lovely job working for the school library. It's great except for the late nights. The worst part is closing the library. I don't mind the late hours, but it's checking the men's bathrooms. We have to check each stall, so I hold my breath, kick open the bathroom door, like I'm Chuck Norris or Steven Seagal and rush into the bathroom and proceed to do the same to each stall. By the time I'm done checking, my face is blue because I have run out of breath and end up breathing deeply, inhaling what I was trying to avoid in the first place. By the way, why is it that the men's bathrooms are more heinous than most prosecutable crimes? It is an awful place to be.
What should I write on next? If you have any ideas, give me a shout out.
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