The first day at my new job, I felt like a substitute teacher. My immediate reaction upon being left alone to tend the shop was to wonder which of the kids in the back was going to try to pull the wool over my eyes first. Was it the one who ran behind my counter to show me where the game he wanted to borrow was kept? Was it the one who informed me that the toilet was clogged? Was one of the kids in the front going to try and make off with a candy bar they hadn’t paid for? Were they all scheming together? Who was the mastermind?
For those of you who don’t know, I’m spending this summer working at a small town shop that is part convenience store, part school supply shop and mostly a hang out space for the local kids. I’d guess that most of the regular gang is between eight and eighteen, coming in to play air hockey, racing games and magic the gathering. They’re only one of the demographics we serve, but they make up a big part of my job.
One of my favorite regulars is not one of the kids, but an eighty year old retiree who comes in to play scratch tickets. She shares stories about the jobs she worked and the people she met doing them, the times things went right and the times things went wrong and people failed to be their kindest selves. She was very patient with me on my second day when I couldn’t figure out how to work the lottery ticket machine. She told me there was a learning curve, and that everything’d get easier.
In the month I’ve been working there now, I’ve relaxed a great deal. I know most of my customers’s faces, if not their names. I’m learning their habits. The boy who comes in for two snowballs, one for him and one for his dad. The high school couples who come in to buy sodas. The woman who wishes summer would end because this heat is oppressive, the families who come in with little kids. I know that when the regular kids grab their snack and leave coins on the counter without waiting for change, they know exactly what it costs, with tax, and if there’s anything left over it goes in the change jar for the new snowball machine. I’m getting a feel for when I need to step in to keep roughhousing from getting too rough, and when I can humor them. I’m maybe a little lax, but it’s ’cause I like them.
I took the job to save up money for living expenses related to grad school. I thought it wouldn’t be a bad place to be, and I was right. It’s not. It can be tiring, but it’s worth it for far more than the paycheck.