It was as if she was made for it. The job, I mean. Or, so it seems.
She stands behind the counter, inwardly groaning as she says to herself, If
I have to smile one more time--ONE MORE TIME--I will honestly go into a
mental and physical breakdown! She smiles as if on cue, giggles at some old
woman's so-called "joke," and helps customers when she sees their eyebrows
frumple up in confusion. "May I help you?" She asks politely, and all of a
sudden their frumple disappears and a smile lights up their face. "Yes! I
was wondering..."
Well, sadly, that girl just so happens to be...me. I work at Sephora, yes, one of the largest make-up providers in the U.S., maybe even the world, but it's not at all that fun. You see prissy little girls around thirteen or fourteen with they parents Visa or raw cash gripped firmly in their hand, as they poke and prod through the make-up, gasping and snickering at makeovers that customers get. "Wow, look at her!" or "Ugh, look. They made her look like an utter clown. Hee hee hee!" They all look the same, act the same, and even talk the same in some cases. Why do I put up with this job?, you say. For one, I'm in need of an average paying job, and for two, I get discount. So there.
So everyday, I walk in, sit on the plush, velvet-covered stool behind the cash register, smile brightly, and ring up everyone's items. Then, I close down the store, grab my bags, and head off for home, where I flop down lazily on my bed, totally exhausted. Well, wouldn't you be, too? My cheeks feel permanently numb from all that cheesy-grinning.
Who am I? Well, finally you ask. I, Annie Margaret Smith-Jones, am a proud New York citizen. I'm currently twenty years old, single, and...different. That's how I'm described, and I personally don't mind. Why be the same when you can be yourself and be different, is what I say. I hate clichés, and I am a Gemini, born on June 22, right here in New York City. I have two parents, both still together, who live in Louisiana. No, I have no siblings.
But what is this, twenty-one questions?
Today was just the regular, boring day, as usual. There's was this one particular customer that came in and harassed Jessica, my manager, who then called the police, who then came and arrested the weird psycho. A harpy old lady strolled into the store, her narrow eagle-eyes peircing every inch of it, as if she was some big, important overseer. Which, as it seems, she was.
"Excuse me, young woman. Do you have any idea where and who the manager of this...this..." She glanced at her clipboard (which was clutched tightly to her thin chest),"store, Sephora?"
I coughed, and replied, "Erm. Yes, I do, but Ms. Smith isn't here right now...she's in a very important business meeting. May I help you?"
Well, sadly, that girl just so happens to be...me. I work at Sephora, yes, one of the largest make-up providers in the U.S., maybe even the world, but it's not at all that fun. You see prissy little girls around thirteen or fourteen with they parents Visa or raw cash gripped firmly in their hand, as they poke and prod through the make-up, gasping and snickering at makeovers that customers get. "Wow, look at her!" or "Ugh, look. They made her look like an utter clown. Hee hee hee!" They all look the same, act the same, and even talk the same in some cases. Why do I put up with this job?, you say. For one, I'm in need of an average paying job, and for two, I get discount. So there.
So everyday, I walk in, sit on the plush, velvet-covered stool behind the cash register, smile brightly, and ring up everyone's items. Then, I close down the store, grab my bags, and head off for home, where I flop down lazily on my bed, totally exhausted. Well, wouldn't you be, too? My cheeks feel permanently numb from all that cheesy-grinning.
Who am I? Well, finally you ask. I, Annie Margaret Smith-Jones, am a proud New York citizen. I'm currently twenty years old, single, and...different. That's how I'm described, and I personally don't mind. Why be the same when you can be yourself and be different, is what I say. I hate clichés, and I am a Gemini, born on June 22, right here in New York City. I have two parents, both still together, who live in Louisiana. No, I have no siblings.
But what is this, twenty-one questions?
Today was just the regular, boring day, as usual. There's was this one particular customer that came in and harassed Jessica, my manager, who then called the police, who then came and arrested the weird psycho. A harpy old lady strolled into the store, her narrow eagle-eyes peircing every inch of it, as if she was some big, important overseer. Which, as it seems, she was.
"Excuse me, young woman. Do you have any idea where and who the manager of this...this..." She glanced at her clipboard (which was clutched tightly to her thin chest),"store, Sephora?"
I coughed, and replied, "Erm. Yes, I do, but Ms. Smith isn't here right now...she's in a very important business meeting. May I help you?"