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The first person I see when I
walk into the store is Paul, the manager. Paul is forty-six years old and has worked at the
toy store for the last seventeen years. When he's not at the store, he's working
out or playing guitar. He sounds like a goat when he talks. Paul has never been married.
"Hey, what's up?" he calls to me as I walk past. I shrug.
As I continue down the aisle, I hear him baaah, to no one in particular,
"Come on guys, we've got to straighten like the wind!"
I continue on to the back room. The store looks fine to me.
After clocking in, I return to the front of the store.
Paul has put on his leather jacket and sunglasses and is preparing
to leave for the day. On his way out, he ogles a fifteen-year-old with big
breasts and tight pants from behind the safety of his glasses.
"See ya!" he calls. I wave goodbye to his black-leather back.
For the first twenty minutes after Paul leaves, we work diligently.
I ring up three customers on my register and remember not to slouch over the counter.
The fourth customer is an eight-year-old boy who wants Pokemon cards.
"$1.67," I tell him.
He pulls a crumpled wad of money from his mouth and sits it on the
counter.
The bills are soggy and wrinkled. "We're out of change," I say,
depositing the still-crumpled wad into my register. "Have a nice day."
I do not want to run the register anymore.
The aisles have been ransacked. I wade through piles of Hot Wheels
and Barbie dolls. I am not in the mood to straighten.
"Excuse me," a woman whispers, tapping me on the shoulder.
"Do you have this doll in white?" She holds up a pink box containing
a smiling, brown-skinned baby in a purple jumper.
Because I am white, she assumes I am sympathetic to her plight.
I am not. I do not let on.
"Let me check," I say. "I'll be right back."
The back room is piled high with boxes. I sit on one of them.
I scrape gum off the bottom of my shoe.
I count to fifty-three in German.
I discuss acceleration with Brian.
Brian has worked at the toy store for six years, the same amount
of time he's been attending the local junior college. He is still working on his
associates' degree. He wants to be an engineer.
"If you run in a circle," he tells me, "you're constantly accelerating."
I am amazed. I try it out.
I run as fast as I can. I do not appear to be accelerating.
"You're wrong," I tell him.
"Every time you change direction, you accelerate," he informs me.
"No I don't," I say. "I am still going the same speed."
We cannot agree.
I return to the front of the store.
I am sweaty and red-faced.
"I'm sorry, " I inform the woman who asked about the doll.
"We're all out."
She thanks me for my trouble and leaves.
In the front of the store, I notice a puddle.
"Mark!" I call. "Somebody peed on the floor."
Mark is an assistant manager. He is obsessed with Pearl Jam.
His girlfriend broke up with him three times in the last four months.
He swears they are not getting back together. I saw her peeking at him through the
window yesterday. I know he is wrong. Part of his job is cleaning up pee the customers
leave behind.
I am tired from working so hard. I need to rest. I sit on the floor
behind the register. I do not want the customers to see me.
Lisa is running the register. She is the other assistant manager.
Her boyfriend is a wrestler. He wrestles in leather pants and sparkly shirts.
It's part of his gimmick, he says. When he comes to see her at the toy store
he wears shorts that seem to reveal too much. I do not think he wears underwear.
We discuss amputation.
"If I am drafted," she tells me, "I will cut off my leg."
"Me too," I say.
"We can have a bin of spare parts in the back room," she says. "We
can use the same prosthetic leg when we are at work."
"What if we work the same shift?" I ask. "Who will get the leg?"
We cannot decide.
I stand up.
"Hi," a man says. "Do you work here?"
I am standing behind the counter. I am wearing my uniform.
I have a name badge with the store logo on it.
"Yes," I say. "How can I help you?"
"I'd like to apply for a job," he says.
He is wearing a suit. He has a resume. We do not feel he is
right for the position.
"We'll get back to you," I tell him. "Have a nice day."
It is nearly time to close the store. We lower the gate part-way.
A family of five walks under it. They head for the Barbie aisle.
"Can I help you?" I ask. There are two minutes left till close.
"We're looking for Barbie clothes," the mother says.
She holds up two dresses; one purple, one red.
"Honey," she calls to her daughter. "Which one do you like best?"
"Red," the girl answers.
"Wouldn't you rather have purple?" the mom asks.
The girl runs away. Her brother chases her with a plastic sword.
The baby sits on the floor and screams.
"Which one should we get?" the woman asks her husband.
He shrugs.
"Samantha," she calls to her daughter. "Do you want the red or
the purple?" Samantha does not answer.
"Samantha!" the woman screams. "I am doing this for you!"
"Purple's nice," I say.
The mother buys the dress in blue. They leave the store.
We close the gate. The baby is still on the floor.
"Hey," I yell after them. "You forgot your baby!"
"What?" the father says. Then, "Oh."
He retrieves the baby. We close the store. Again.
I straighten the aisles while Brian sweeps. I do not straighten
aisle four. Something died on aisle four. It smells like monkey urine. I do not go
down aisle four.
"The store is perfect," I say. "Let's go home."
We leave. We are all tired. We had a hard day.
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