Helen at the next cash register was wiping down the conveyor belt while waiting for the next customer. Louella looked her over with a critical eye. I sure hope somebody makes me quit before I go out in public looking like such an old hag! she thought. But that's mean to even think that! I can't believe that thought even crossed my mind! I mean, I might have to work until I'm seventy years old too—no way I'll be able to retire earlier unless I win the Lottery again. As if to apologize for her thoughts, Louella finished up with her customer (organic juice, pepperoni pizza, barbecue potato chips, bologna). Bet customers think we don't notice what they buy, thought Louella. But we'd go nuts if we didn't have that distraction!).
"How's your arthritis?" she asked Helen, who was stiffly bending her back upright.
"Comes and goes," said Helen cheerfully. "Not much use complaining about it." She adjusted the device on her right wrist, designed to prevent carpal tunnel problems.
"Don't you ever think it'd be nice not to have to come to work any more?" asked Louella, as she eyed another customer approaching her station. Good, he wants to do the self-checkout, she thought. Amazing that so many people haven't realized they're doing our work for free. Slavery isn't dead!
Helen gave Louella a look. "What? You think I'm too old to be here, is that what you're saying?"
Louella was taken aback. She wasn't accustomed to older people giving backtalk. "No, no. I don't mean anything about age. I just mean, don't you just wish—"
"Wishing don't make it so!" snapped Helen. "That's what my granddaddy always used to say, and he was right. You have to deal with what is, and stop any foolish wishful thinking."
Louella didn't know what to say next. Luckily a woman was unloading groceries onto Louella's conveyer belt. I notice Miss High and Mighty usually gets passed over for me when customers have to choose between us, she thought with annoyance and a little satisfaction, too. "How are you today?" she asked the customer.
"Could be better," said the woman. "I'm just so upset."
"Upset? Is something the matter here at the store? Because if you want, I could call the manager—"
"No, no," said the woman, making direct eye contact with Louella, something Louella avoided. She felt exposed. Uh oh, now I've gone and done it! I've invited something personal to be said! Louella steeled herself for what was to come.
"I'm just so upset about this torture issue! I want to see somebody get punished for what was done in those Iraq prisons. I'm just sick about it, is all. I just heard another news report about it on the radio on my way over here. Public radio—not that they're telling us that much news these days, but at least it's better than TV."
"Yes, ma'am," said Louella, trying to stifle the woman. She might need antidepressants, she thought. She really does look kind of miserable.
The woman asked, "Have you complained to your congressperson about it? Because we all have to do that, you know."
Louella gulped. "Well, I haven't thought all that much about it, to tell you the truth," she evaded, scanning a package of fig newtons and reaching for the low-sodium soup cans, bagging as she went.
"Well, get to know about it!" snapped the woman. "It's tiresome to live in a country where so many people just don't seem to care about what's happening. You're paying taxes. Do you like it that your money's going for things like torturing people who haven't even been charged with a crime?"
"No ma'am—now that you put it that way, I see your point. Will this be cash or charge?"
"Charge," said the woman, slashing her credit card through the slot. Louella glanced at the woman's receipt. "You saved eight dollars and thirty-one cents on your order today," she said, smiling her best smile.
The woman snatched the receipt. "That was my plan," she said, as she stuffed it into one of the shopping bags she'd brought from home. She looked at Louella again. "You look like someone who can think," she said. "I suggest you do that." She pushed her cart away.
"Well, that was nice," said Helen. "Glad she didn't talk to me. I'd've told her what I think about that torture business. I'm all for it if it keeps those terrorists out of this country!"
Louella felt her stomach pitch. For the thousandth time, she thought, What in the world am I doing working in this place with people like her?
TO BE CONTINUED.
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