As I walk inside, the smell of sandalwood incense and kitchari cling to my clothes.  My Sunday welcoming to a 9 hour shift.  Down the first aisle, a blur of colorful packaged supplements and beauty products register in my peripheral vision.  I reach out, grab my time sheet, punch in.  I sigh.  I think of how I would rather be spending my time doing something enjoyable, but then I remind myself how fortunate I am to have a job that allows me to pay my way through college.  I head over to the registers.

Overcast morning

Birds soaring in the distance

Flap their wings with hope

I sit down and proceed to inspect my surroundings.  Noticing the depleting bag levels, I grab some brown bags and start placing them inside plastic ones.  I alternate between making them with different hands and keep count.  I’ve been doing this since I started working here because it helps me be present.  At the end of a “round”, I count them over to see if there’s ten.  I’m still off sometimes.

A quiet stillness

Fills the room, except for the

Sound of rustling bags

Cool winter air creeps into the store as the early birds come to shop for their groceries.  All familiar faces – exchanging pleasantries to break the stillness.  Some stand out more than others by way of appearance or how they conduct themselves.  There’s an older man with a grey beard and rounded glasses who comes in and talks about the most random things.  Like did you know that humans with blood type rh negative are descendants from extraterrestrials?  Then there’s this lady who shops here at least once a week and still asks where stuff is, as she mindlessly drips her green juice on the floor or knocks something over.

Lastly, there’s Marissa.  She’s the hippie that strides in with her flowy patterned dresses, asks people for their opinions, and interjects her beliefs.  She’ll pile items on the counter, pay for one yogurt, and then find someone to converse with.  An hour later, she’ll come back to the counter with five items in her shopping cart.

One by one, they start making their way to the counter.  Funny how once a few people get on line, everyone else is also apparently finished shopping.  I try to remain calm even as I see carts and baskets filled to the brim.  When ringing groceries, I apply the bag technique I use to help me be present.  I punch in the cost with one hand, and move the items rung up with the other while simultaneously keeping count in my head.  As I bag the items, I count them again to make sure I don’t over/under charge.

At the end of it all, I hit subtotal.  There are those rare moments when a special string of numbers will pop up like 777, 420, 666, back to backs.  But the one I like most of all and always makes me chuckle:

One seven three eight

Displays on the registers

Fetty Wap’s Trap Queen