Part 19 (1/2)
”I'm sorry.”
”Tell that to your coworkers. Everyone's break will be twenty minutes late now for the rest of the day because you weren't here to relieve Sarah. I can't run a business if my people don't show up on time.”
”It really couldn't be helped.”
”Uh-huh. I've heard that before from you, haven't I? Wiley, I like you. I really do. But I need you to be here when your name's on the schedule. If you can't do that-if you won't do that-then I'm going to have to let you go. I don't want to do that, but you don't seem to want to give me any choice in the matter.”
”I said I was sorry.”
”That don't help me though, does it?” he asked.
”No, sir.”
”Don't let it happen again, Wiley,” he said as he waddled off.
29) Mrs. Warren makes a purchase
MY s.h.i.+FT s.h.i.+FT was only five hours but it seemed an eternity. Foot traffic was heavy. Mr. Owen waddled around like he owned the place and was not some poorly paid corporate lackey, barking orders to hapless baggers. was only five hours but it seemed an eternity. Foot traffic was heavy. Mr. Owen waddled around like he owned the place and was not some poorly paid corporate lackey, barking orders to hapless baggers.
”Take this back to the meat department!”
”Take that basket to the front!”
”I need a lot check! We don't have enough carts!”
”Call produce and tell them to pick up these carrots!”
I was on check-stand five and the line never stopped.
Tyrone was my bagger that day. He was a tall black guy, early twenties, who scowled perpetually. He had a lovely smile, if you could get him to flash it once in a while. Most of the time he looked like he wanted to rip a customer's arm off and beat him to death with it.
I turned to him and drew a smile on my lips, my signal for: Smile, d.a.m.n you.
He smiled hesitantly, half-heartedly.
He was struggling with this job, but he needed it. He had a girlfriend and a baby to support, and not many prospects for a future because he had decided not to go to college. He was angry at life. You could almost see him thinking it would be so much easier to go out there and sell crystal meth like so many other young people, black and white and Hispanic and whatever else. I admired his determination. I understood his anger. I wanted to see him succeed, which is why I had told him to put a smile on his face and suck it up like the rest of us so he didn't get fired.
It's all good, we say.
I looked up and down the check stands; saw what I saw all too often. Most of the black cas.h.i.+ers had black baggers; most of the whites had white baggers. It was an internal, unconscious bit of segregation. Tyrone and I were the only exception to that rule at the moment.
A mother with three kids in tow was my next customer. She had a whole buggy full of food. The kids were crawling everywhere, talking incessantly, harrying her as she tried to put her stuff on the conveyor belt.
”How y'all doing?” I asked, looking at all of them.
”Good,” the woman said, not looking at me.
One of her boys was pawing through the candy bars, trying to make a decision.
”Jason, get out of there,” she ordered.
”But, Mama!”
”Don't you but Mama me!”
”But, Mama!”
”I want gum,” another child announced.
The third was hanging on the front of the cart, getting in her way as she tried to put items on the belt.
”I wish you children would behave!” she exclaimed, harried, impatient.
”Ma'am, would you like me to call the security guard and have these children arrested?” I asked very loudly.
”Would you?” she said with a trace of a smile on her lips.
”Mom!” the oldest boy said, gasping.
They quieted down in a hurry.
”We've already had to arrest several children today,” I said, ignoring their horrified looks.
I rang up the order, waiting for the harried woman to produce a credit card.
When I glanced at the next customer, I was rather surprised; it was Mrs. Warren.
”Wiley,” she said by way of greeting.
She seemed nervous, furtive. She smiled as I began to run her handful of items through the scanner.
”How are you?” I asked.
”I was wondering if I might talk to you,” she said softly. The constant beeps and clacking going on around me made it difficult to hear.
”Of course,” I said.
”My husband mustn't know.”
”Okay.”
”He would kill me....”
”I doubt that,” I said, ”but my lips are sealed.”