Cashiers run your life.

As some of you may know, I am a cashier, in a super huge store…and I hate my job. Scanning and sometimes bagging people’s groceries is more boring then you think. Old people are set out to make me miserable, and young mothers trying to pack their groceries while on the phone, WHILE THEIR CHILD IS RUNNING TOWARDS THE DOOR! I am not a babysitter.

My imagination is really the only thing that can wander, for I get yelled at if I step out of my registers radius. I have to wear a uniform that makes me look like a ice-cream scooper, or a valet, but that is another negative.

Heres a positive. It is impossible for me know everyone’s story. Other then the people who I already know, which has grown over the 3 years I have worked there ( my regulars are the greatest) I don’t know where people come from, where they are going or anything. So I think it is super neat that I can just assume from what they are buying that they have a family, they live alone,  they are on the road or they are on a diet.

I could be scanning the groceries of  an ex-convict, or some famous poet, or an illegal immigrant. That fascinated me until I realized that one of these grumpy old men could be my missing grandfather. Sad thing is, I have no idea what he looks like, or if he is still alive.

I wonder if people would be offended if they realized that I write their life stories for fun.

Love and Rockets,



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