Nine to Five by Brendan Lempe ’18
Eight hours left
I walk through the doors and I’m greeted by the familiar smell of dust
As per usual it is far too loud, far too cold, and far too many people
Looking at my surroundings I can feel my eyes droop and my patience become nonexistent
Seven hours left
Twenty-four people have asked me how to use a gift card
Nineteen people told me they’ve forgotten their pin
And at least four people have told me that it’s my job to know where a product we don’t sell is located
Six hours left
A mother has left her crying child sitting in a cart, so that she can go to the bathroom
My manager is nowhere to be found
I am now the child’s temporary guardian
Five hours left
The same fourteen-year-olds keep calling the store
They ask “is this Walmart?” and I say no
They always laugh before they hang up
Four hours left
I go to buy a pizza to eat during my break
As I reach out to grab the last one a customer pushes me out of the way and takes the pizza
The next one will be ready half an hour after my break ends
Three hours left
A woman hands me a coupon
I scan it and inform her that the coupon expired last year
She now wants to talk to the manager.
Two hours left
My co-workers have been picked off one by one
Tears fill our eyes as we watch the carts filled with goods approach
Danny didn’t make it
One hour left
The once vibrant store is now silent
I play with the Bop-it that is always abandoned at checkout
And watch that weird guy who showed up three hours ago pick out clothes and put them back in the wrong spot
Zero hours left
Walking through the dark parking lot I look back at my prison
The neon Target symbol looks like an eye always watching me
I pick up the pace even though I know it’s no use
I have another shift tomorrow