Before you read this just know that I love all of you older people and I have met many great older folks who are very interesting throughout my job. This is just a little poem for all of us cashiers out there. If you must ask these stories inside are true, and have happened time and time again. enjoy :p
and I walk with hesitation inside of my heart,
for I know that once I flick my light,
I will be tormented throughout this long night.
They spawn and splatter across the floors
as if there were no other grocery stores.
Their teeth are missing and their eyes are wide;
if I had a choice I’d run and hide.
But I hear them mutter in demonic voices,
demanding not asking for a display of the choices;
“Paper and Plastic, oh paper and plastic please?”
So I crouch behind the drawer on both of my knees.
But I do not see a paper bag anywhere in view,
“I’m sorry, how bout plastic, I can give you two?”
That answer is not good enough so her voice breaks free
of the confines and turns into a crow-like scream!
She tells me of the old days how grocery stores were better,
back in the 50s, where she must’ve purchased her sweater.
They cackle and laugh of how they voted for Kennedy,
“That’s great ma’am, I just need to ring up your celery”
My mind it stirs as they count out their change,
and the totals resemble estimates of their age.
To make matters worse the day draws to a close,
yet I find myself swarmed with a horde of my foes;
their bustling now with pain bearing gasps
as one lazy fool must’ve shitted his pants.
I know that he did for he walked through the store,
and left remnants of the underwear that he wore.
This is my life as a suburban cashier,
I have suffered this fate for more than a year;
and old people know that you have my respect.
You see how many people can you look to expect,
to ring up your bananas (one by one) and your bread (cautiously!)
for you make us cashiers wish we were dead.