“My store closes in two weeks. How many ships does an old woman have to jump from before she sinks?”

-Miss Ezz, Friday January 18/2020

I watched a Seattle news story about the city’s Barnes & Noble closing. The company says they are closing their downtown location over the lease arrangement with the landowner. Other people are saying it is “the amazon factor.”

Interestingly, in a city that seems to have 1-3 shootings per week to Baltimore’s 16, the report cited the reasons given for a discount grocer and department store closing recently as “crime.” Associated with the rampant homelessness.

Then, when I got out to the trailer, I received this call from Megan, pretty much as an afterwork vent:

“I hate people. The rich white customers are always talking to you like you’re trash, like you wrote the schedule and decided you were going to be the only cashier on duty while there is a snow scare. We had three new cashiers this week. Two got fired for steeling on their second day and the third one didn’t get caught, cleaned out her fucking register and just walked the second day. They know they aren’t going to get paid for a month, because the Union takes the first paycheck and then you have to wait another two weeks. So, these young coons just show up long enough to steel a couple hundred bucks and move on. I wish I had the balls to do that.

“When I was behind the courtesy, this rich fucker tried to get me to wait on him while I’m doing a Western Union transfer and I have to tell the old bastard off. He says he’s going to have my job and I tell him he can have it, I can get another minimum wage job, maybe one where I don’t have to pay union dues!

“Then this black woman comes up with a label from a pack of steaks. They don’t need a receipt, just a label. She said the steaks were too gristly, so I gave her her $17 back and $17 in credit towards another meat purchase. It must be nice to eat steak.

“Then this junky comes in—dirty, gaunt—goes to the aisle, gets a lightbulb, says he wants to return it, and I give him his $10. Then a junky woman comes in with a bottle of Robutussen, you know she stole from someone, probably us, and says she wants to return it, and I give her her $12. And this other dirty white junky comes in, goes to the aisle gets a bag of almonds off the shelf, brings it to me, says he wants to return it and I call the manager, and ask him, if I have to give this fucker $10 dollars and he says, “Yes. That is policy. It’s a billion dollar company. Don’t worry about it.”

“I give the dirtbag his $10 and he’s off, with the other two to get their heroin, even pull off in the same car.

“Nobody does a fucking thing in that store. The men have prettier hands than me. Half of them are gay. The ones I hate the most are the sissy-boy mangers, who are the biggest crybaby do-nothings you ever want to see. I just want to punch them right in their baby faces.

“This business is done. They’re closing these stores right and left and we are supposed to give money to any junky or coon that wants it—its policy. All you have to do is say you bought something from us, say you didn’t like it, and we’ll double the value, half in cash, half in kind.”