"What are you doing?" Rosy asked, coming up to my counter.
"Just tagging. Hoping to not screw it up."
She laughed "Don't worry, you're still in training. They can't be that angry with you."
As much as I'd love to agree with Rosy, I can't say that what she says is true. I've already been yelled at for balancing my drawer wrong and having my stocks not put on the shelves correctly. And I've only been there for a few days. I was thinking retail wasn't going to be that hard, but now that it's November and not too far from the holidays it's been crazy busy. An endless stream of customers at my register, a mess on the shelves that I am always fixing, and whiny, needy, WRONG customers. Can I let you in on a little secret? The customer is most definitely not always right. In fact, they tend to be wrong. A lot.
"When your done tagging do you think you could go into the stockroom and get some of those razors that just went on sale?" Rosy asked me.
"No problem. Hey, am I working with Estevez tonight?" Mr. Estevez was one of the four managers that rotated in the schedule. He'd been covering for a manager that had been on vacation for a while.
"Nah. Browning is back today. Oh! That's right! You haven't met him yet. He's nice. He's a little more lenient." she piped up.
I nodded, took the sale tags, and started working.
One thing that I always loved about Rosy is that she was almost always in a good mood. The only time I ever see her upset is with the costumers. And even that's on a rare occasion. So far, she's definitely my favorite person to work with. She's about as tall as I am, about 5'3", and although she is overweight she is beautiful. She's not as pale as I am, but she has gorgeous long brown hair and sparkling green eyes that are usually hidden by the chunky black frame of her glasses. She has a sweet voice and a soft soul, but she definitely has a way of reading people. Which often helps with the customers.
Working on tags is tedious and boring. Placing stickers on top of permanent tags for weekly or monthly sales, most of which were going to be ripped off by little kids or oblivious people walking by, is not how I normally like to spend my Friday nights. But hey, I'm getting paid.
The time moved slowly, but I eventually finished all of my tagging. After getting Rosy's razors an announcement came on over the intercom telling me to get to the front. A pang of fear sprung up my spine and I went stiff. Could they really fire me when I just got onto training? And what did I do wrong? My thoughts all scrambled together into thought vomit in my head as I walked up to the front. There stood Marissa, our photo clerk, and a man that was putting on a tie.
"Bethanny, this is Mr. Browning. He's the manager you hadn't met. He's typically here nights, so I figured you'd probably be seeing him a lot and might as well get to meet him. He's going to start facing with you."
Mr. Browning finished tying his tie and stuck out his hand. My hand met his and my spine loosened. I wasn't fired yet. His warm brown eyes looked down into my own. His black hair was brushed back in a way that made him look like he had just woken up, but had probably taken him ten minutes to get it that way and stubble riddled his tanned, angled jaw.
"Ready to face?" he asked with a goofy smile.
I smiled politely back and nodded. "Of course."
Facing is relatively simple. It's purpose is to make the shelves look fuller than they actually are. What you do is take items from the back and pull them foward to make it look like there are enough behind them. We do it once a night, usually right before or right after the store closes so that the chance of it being screwed up by customers is slim.
"So, where do you go to school?" Mr. Browning asked me as he turned a bottle of pain medication.
"I go to a tech school. Biotechnology academy." I answered, focusing on the cough drops.
"You like it?" he asked
"It's fine as high schools go. I've been to worse. I love science and I get to work with some really crazy things."
"Ah. Yeah, I went back to college a year ago. I know how it is. You see one school, you've seen them all." he smiled like it was some inside joke between us. The funny thing is, it kind of felt like it was.
"College is going to be different though I think." I blurted "Or at least I hope so."
"It is. Trust me."
"What are you taking?" I had moved on to the cold and nasal and he was working on night time medication.
"Medical assisting. Although I don't like it much."
"How can you not like that? It's so interesting."
"Well, at the moment we're on terminology. And my professor is a complete douche bag. Pardon my language."
I busted out laughing. I have never heard of a boss being so vulgar and blunt. He chuckled with me.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to catch you off guard." he said, shaking his head.
"Nah, it's fine. Rosy warned me."
"Oh really now?" he said, suddenly a lot more interested "What did she complain about this time?"
"It wasn't complaining. It was more a warning. Of the bluntness."
He smiled and continued working on facing. By the time we got to the cleaning isle we were both laughing at lame jokes and talking about music. He's one of those people who can strike a conversation with you about anything it make it seem interesting. He also was not afraid to share information. He loves music, mostly rock, but he'll listen to anything if it sounds good. He plays the piano and the guitar, but he claims both horribly. He can't stand small children who think that just because he works in a store he owes them something. Best part? He absolutely hates all of his customers and his job.
"You really hate customers?" I asked, dumbfounded.
"Well, hate is a strong word. But yes, I do. Only around this time of the year, though. There's too many of them and they are so messy. They would never do what they do in here at home so..." she turned to me and waved a giant bag of toilet paper above his head "why do it here?"
I laughed at him and shook my head. He's so dramatic.
"I'm serious." he said with a small smile "They're ridiculous."
"What time is it?" I asked, pulling forward some Clorox.
He pulled his watch up to his face "Ten fifteen."
"Oh my God." my hand smacked my forehead "My shift ended fifteen minutes ago. I have to go."
"That's fine." he said, brushing it off "I'll finish it. You go."
"Okay. Thank Mr. Browning! I'll see you tomorrow."
"Call me, Jon."
"Alright. Goodnight, Jon"
I punched out, got my coat, and walked out the front door. The chill bit at my nose and made my eyes water. I sighed and started walking home. When I had finally made it to my front door I couldn't feel my toes, let alone my face. It was a struggle to get the banged up key in the door because I was shivering the entire time.
The inside of my house was warm and I went into the kitchen as I began to thaw. I took off my jacket and pulled out some chicken from the refrigerator. Cutting open the package, I picked up a piece and almost gagged. I don't do well with raw meat or any meat for that matter. I've been a vegetarian for four years now and I do not plan to break it anytime soon. Or ever.
I seasoned the meat and put it on a pan to roast it. Once the chicken was in the oven I took the bag of green beans from the vegetable drawer and put them into some water that would be boiling in a few minutes time. Taking out a small frying pan, I turned a second burner on and put some slabs of butter on it. Once the butter melted I added rice, let it brown, and then added two cups of water. In the end was a complete meal. Roasted chicken, with rice pilaf, and cooked to perfection green beans.
I portioned a plate out, poured a glass of wine, and started walking up the stairs. I knocked on my parent's bedroom door, but to no avail. No one answered. But his was a usual occurrence and I opened the door anyway. Laying in bed was mother, her skin blue from the television light.
"Oh Bethanny, is that you, darling?" she asked, with a thick, French accent.
I smiled "Yeah, it's me, mah."
I went around the bed and sat on my father's side. I placed the food on my mother's lap and helped her sit up. She drank and ate as I held her hand. In case you haven't already figured out, my mother is sick. A few months ago she found out that she had lung cancer from all of her years of smoking. The doctors had told us that with chemo therapy and some luck she could live up to four years. What they hadn't told us is that the chemo is going to make you much worse before you can even think about getting better. After every session she feels weak and susceptible to puking. She's lost probably over forty pounds, which is saying something considering she has only weighed around a hundred and thirty at the time. Her eyes itch and her mouth is always dry. She's miserable and she cries and there is nothing I can do but sit there and watch her suffer.
Today doesn't seem like such a bad day though. It had been a few days since her last chemo session and she had gotten some color back into her cheeks. Her lips aren't as chapped as the way they were before and she ate a good amount of her meal.
"How was work, mon petite chou?" She used the nickname she had given me since I was a child. It means 'my little cabbage'.
"It was interesting. I met another one of my managers and he seems pretty cool. Rosy is as always Rosy. She sends you her best wishes." I squeezed her hands.
She chuckled a little "Tell Rosy I send her my best wishes. That poor girl. Sweet as sugar, but as hopeless as a small child."
My mother had known Rosy for years because my sister had worked at Walgreens also. Rosy was like the fifth sister I had never had? It's a little hard to explain. I laid down next to her and put my head on her shoulder. Her breathing was labored and wheezy. I closed my eyes and tried not to cry. Watching someone fight cancer is like watching someone be tortured for months on end as they slowly die a miserable death. There's nothing you can do to stop it and there's nothing you can say to make it better.
"I love you, darling." she kissed the top of my head and patted my hair down.
"I love you too, mere."
Once she had fallen asleep I got up and tiptoed out of the room. To be honest, I do everything for my family lately. I got a job to help pay for my mother's medical bills, I score high on test and over achieve so that I can get into a good college, and I go to a tech school so that I can work part time once I get out and better my family off. I raise my sister because my mother is too sick and my father is working for the same reason as I am and I play mommy.
I have a large family. I am a middle child of five girls, from two different marriages. There was enough estrogen in my house growing up to make Hugh Hefner want to move out. My oldest sister, Hannah, has two beautiful children. My mother is the oldest of seven kids and my father has one sister.
I also have a very messed up family. When you complain about your siblings, you have no idea what it truly means to have issues. Hannah has two beautiful children, as I had mentioned before, but she loss them in a battle against D.S.S. due to her heroine abuse. The grand mother and I take care of them on our days off because the father is in prison, the place where he has been in out of since he was sixteen years old. The next oldest is Ali. She ran away at the age of fourteen to be with her abusive boyfriend. She hated her life so much when she was with him that she developed a drinking problem. Luckily one day she dropped the guy and now lives at home. Unfortunately, she may have dropped the guy but the drinking problem stayed. My younger sister, Melinda, had died when I was young from medical issues. I never really got to know her and I don't really remember her, but I still count her in. Then there is the devil herself. Julia is my youngest sister at the age of twelve. She manipulates my parents into getting whatever she wants regardless of the cost. My family is financially bleeding and she's sucking us dry.
And then there's me. Bethanny Marie Harrington. A grand total of 16 years under my belt, even though it feels like forty. Too mature for most kids in my school and too busy to schedule anything more than a dentist appointment. Major image issues and a complete lack of faith in everything I do, but doing it anyway. Too smart for my own good and too shy to express myself. I'm nothing special and I don't try to be. I am who I am and people have the option to come along for the ride or not.
I heard the door open downstairs and I knew that my father had just made it home. That was my cue to get to bed. I rushed into my room and slipped on some pajamas. I set alarm for ten o'clock, even though I know I would never sleep that much, I still needed to get up for work in the morning. As soon as my head hit the pillow I faded away into the one place that I can find peace.
