The Price of Minimum Wage

The lights buzz louder

than the people.

*

It’s 8:59.

Someone’s sprinting in

for cough syrup,

a birthday balloon,

and the last fraying string of your sanity.

*

The floor is sticky.

No one knows why.

Probably soda.

Possibly blood.

Definitely tears.

*

“Do you work here?”

You’re in a uniform.

Name tag. Maybe an apron.

Yes. You work here.

Clearly.

*

“No, Karen,”

you think, because you don’t

want trouble.

“I haunt the snack aisle for fun.”

*

A child screams

in aisle seven.

You round the corner

like a cop on TV.

They’ve opened three bags

of marshmallows and are sitting

in them like snow.

*

Clean-up in your soul.

Cleanup in your will to live.

*

Someone is fighting over

expired coupons.

They call you a liar,

then ask if you have a manager,

and if the manager has a manager,

and if God has a direct phone line

because “this is unacceptable.”

*

You smile.

Because smiling

is cheaper than therapy.

Also because

you're being watched.

Also because

the security footage

has already captured your dead eyes

and your soul slowly leaving

through the stockroom door.

*

Break room smells

like burnt popcorn and betrayal.

Someone took your snack

from the fridge.

You contemplate calling HR.

You contemplate quitting.

You contemplate arson.

*

Return desk is

a confessional booth:

“I wore it once.”

“It broke after my six-year-old

threw it down the stairs.”

“I swear it was like this

when I bought it.”

*

Ma’am, it’s wet.

“It’s lemon-scented.”

It’s a garden hose.

"How dare you question me."

"I'll get you fired."

*

It’s tiring.

It’s stressful.

But it’s the only job you can get.

*

You scan.

You fold.

You apologize for things

you didn’t do

to people

you wouldn’t save from a fire.

*

Closing time.

Someone still walks in.

“You’re open, right?”

You say yes.

You mean no.

You mean run.

You mean fuck off.

You mean leave.

*

The doors lock.

The lights dim.

You emerge,

battle-worn,

minimum-waged,

smelling like sanitizer and despair.

*

Tomorrow,

it happens again.