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Okay.   I can do this work thing.   How hard can it be, right?   Fine – so next time I won’t turn up late, remark on the shit window display aloud, and insult someone’s taste in garish plastic earrings at the counter.   Particularly when said someone turns out to be Sonja the manager, who calls me “Jonah-than” and looks at me with the raw hate only the fashion-insulted can muster.   Her sidekick is Sean who sports Justin Bieber hair and jackets that are too large for him, and says, “I’m so over this” more times in a conversation than I would have thought was humanly possible.

And the whole retail job itself?   It was – a learning experience.   Don’t tell customers the fitting room lighting makes them look undead, don’t snarl when to asked rehang an Icelandic volcano of discarded clothes, don’t roll your eyes when Sonja fucks up the sample transaction when training you and then blames you, and don’t trip up the little kid running around the store like a miniature banshee – in front of its mother.

If she’s not looking – then fuck, yes.

“Think of the money”, says Harm when she rings to see how it went.   But what I was actually thinking about, while Sonja lectured and customers complained and bad elevator music and oppressive smells of humanity at its basest wafted about – was Brix.  

Because why yearn for consuming stale consumers when there’s a refreshed nemesis to gnaw?

 

NEXT ENTRY…

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One Comment

  1. Hehehe I can just see the little kid now


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