Without a doubt in my mind, I will say that the lowest possible form of human interaction is that which goes on between customer and cashier. After years of working the same retail gig day in and day out, I believe that I am qualified to speak for the entire species when I make that claim. As a cashier, I meet dozens of different people in a day, maybe hundreds when the supermarket is slammed, yet I can only recall maybe four or five individuals who had really left an impression on me during our brief obligatory time together. 40 hours a week, 52 weeks a year, several years (but who’s really counting) of seeing unique faces for my work, yet only a handful stick out in my memory. If there exists a less meaningful form of interaction, I hope to never experience it.
Out of those few select experiences with customers that I do remember, most of them are negative. Those people who insisted that they were in a rush, yet had plenty of time to hold up a line and ream me out if the slightest thing went wrong. What I have found is that nearly everyone is only one second away from having an absolute meltdown, even over the most insignificant thing. There was a middle-aged lady who handed me a coupon for soup, and when I first looked at my monitor, I couldn’t find the button I needed to give her the discount. I apologized and explained my predicament to her, and I could actually see the rage building up in her face like a fire rippling beneath her skin. She kept her composure for that moment, but the flames were beginning to burst through her eyeballs and I could smell a faint hint of smoke as it began to seep out of her ears. I quickly took another glance at the monitor in desperation and this time found the button; I apologized to her again and gave her the discount. The fire died down as suddenly as it had been kindled and her demeanor immediately changed: now she gave me a sweet understanding smile, one that said, “I definitely wasn’t thinking about leaping over this counter and wringing your neck two seconds ago.”
While these memories of the ignorant and annoying will most likely fade with time, there was one customer who I believe very well may remain in my mind forever. It was the last hour of my shift at the end of an eight-day stretch, and I was finally about to get a day off. I was burned out and was just trying to grin and bear it so that I could go home and collapse on the floor. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, an angel graced me with her presence. The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen emerged from somewhere out of the vast void of the supermarket and walked right into my lane. She had long, flowing blonde hair, blue eyes, nearly imperceptible freckles. Her pale skin was glowing and almost transparent; I could see the veins pumping her precious blood beneath the surface. She was tall and slender, perfectly proportioned, and wearing a short red dress that made her stick out like a sore thumb in the drab backdrop of the store. I could feel that my heart was beating faster and blood was rushing to my face. She hadn’t yet spoken a word to me and I was already blushing.
I reluctantly forced myself to return to reality: I still had a job to do, I couldn’t just stand there staring. I averted my gaze and refused to make eye contact; I was certain that it would only entrance me once again. I kept my head down and rang up all of her items just as I was supposed to: bread, tuna, cheese, breakfast sausage, paper towels…I’d never been this focused on a task at work in my life. Finally, I gave her the total, still not daring to look in her direction: “That’ll be $29 and 97 cents.”
“Is it okay if I give you the change?”
Her voice was exactly how a woman should sound: a beautiful song to my ears that had been dulled by the endless drudgery of customer noise.
I was so surprised by her question that I foolishly broke my self-imposed rule and met her eyes for the first time. They were like diamonds, a sea of shimmering crystals in each one. After a moment of drinking them in, I observed that she was still anticipating an answer, so I nodded my head in the affirmative. It was all that I could do; I would not have been able to choke out even a single word. She reached into her purse and retrieved her wallet, then began counting out the bills and coins.
I couldn’t believe that this was happening. Exact change? There’s nothing more intimate that you could do with a cashier. And this change was nothing to sneeze at, either: do you know how much effort it takes to make 97 cents instead of just handing me a dollar? That’s three quarters, two dimes, and two pennies, and I watched her count all of it out in the soft and smooth palm of her delicate hand. This meant something, I was sure of it; there was simply no reason to go through the hassle unless she deliberately wanted to spend all of that unnecessary time with me. I felt honored to be given the privilege to be in her audience for such an extended period. I felt close to her, as if with each and every coin she was sharing with me a deep and personal secret.
She reached out her hand to give me the change, and in turn, I reached out my hand to receive it. She dropped the coins one by one, sensually. As she drew her hand away, the tip of her ring finger grazed my skin, and for a moment, I was absolutely overcome with that one miniscule sensation.
I managed to put the change in the drawer and I handed her the receipt. I mustered all of the courage I had within me to impart some final words as the transaction came to a close and she was due to depart: “Thank you, have a great day!”
She took her bags and left without saying a word.
I stood there motionless, in dumb silence. My hands stopped vibrating. The excess blood drained from my face. My heart returned to its standard tempo.
I thought about ripping the computer monitor from the register and throwing it through the glass of the supermarket window. Instead, I burned with shame and hidden embarrassment until, at long last, the final hour of my shift was complete.
On the way home, I thought about screaming to myself in the car just to let some steam off. I decided that it wouldn’t be worth straining my throat.
