Melanie was all about business. At least that's what I said to reassure myself. She'd never shown much kindness toward me. Whenever I spoke, her replies were always short and curt.
"What's up, Melanie?"
"Nothing."
"Pretty busy day today."
"I guess?"
"Well...later."
Then her nose might wrinkle, or she'd shake her head in annoyance and go back to work.
No, Melanie wasn't very nice. I couldn't say the same about her in the physical sense, which I would have described as 'cute.' Not 'drop dead fuckable,' but 'cute.' At 21, she had a body that might have customers mistaking her for younger. She was about 5'2 with dimples in her cheeks. Her hair was long, chestnut colored and hung to her shoulders; on duty she either wore it in a pony tail or a bun. Melanie's title was Office Operator which kept her off the floor during my shifts, but The Feedbag's dress code required all females to wear their hair out of the way regardless of where they worked. There was an overall brown tint to her skin that suggested she made frequent visits to the tanning bed.
The other regulation for females was a white dress shirt, khakis and a name tag. It was similar to what the males had to wear, minus a tie. I reasoned that whatever Melanie hid under her button-up shirt was just large enough to need a bra.
Since I rarely saw her outside of work, I often wondered if she ever laughed or smiled. Whenever my eyes wandered toward the overseeing window as I sorted groceries into plastic bags, my impression was that Melanie was Miss No Fun.
Not that I could blame her. The Feed was not fun, especially to someone who had graduated college and was under the mistaken impression that he'd leap from four years of higher education into a 30k job with benefits. Instead I ended up working part time, $ 6 an hour, up to a maximum of 32 hours a week.
It was double not fun when, three months into my Feed career, the store owner's grandson became a manager. Benny was his name and he was a real asshole. Maybe it was the fact that I hated him so, but he seemed to pick me as his personal stalking and berating victim. He was around the same age as me, a fresh or rising 22, yet the taste of power and authority had so inflated his ego that any age similarity didn't matter in employer/subordinate relations.
I once stepped away for a pee break. The restrooms were in the huge storage area, a dull gray space that housed the freezers and unopened pallets. After finishing I stopped for a quick chat with some friends in the break room.
"Higgins!" erupted a voice with an unmistakable self-righteousness and drill sergeant sharpness. I turned to Benny, his arms akimbo.
"You on your lunch break?"
"No."
"No, what?"
"No sir."
"You want me to tell Mr. McKelvey what you're doing back here instead of working?"
"No sir," I answered.
"That's what I thought. Now get out of here."
Days with Benny were a constant barrage of pop shots and loud words. On another occasion I slipped into the restroom to send a text. Benny walked in on me and threatened to have my job, despite his cigarette pack indicating why he was there.
An eight hour shift at the Feed felt eternal. The clock was on a strict regimen. The first hour went by quickly, but every hour following crawled at a slug's pace.
I clocked in at 12 one day. My sentence was scheduled to last until 8. The large store windows displayed a cloudless, sunny parking lot. I wasn't much of an outside person, but basking in that comfortable warmness would have definitely been a better option.
It was the first of the month, incredibly busy. The scanners sang like a chorus of birds, and lines of customers with stuffed buggies snaked as far as the Express Checkout counter. I knew I'd be shoving groceries into bags nonstop, and I cringed when I saw Benny in the office, making some remark I couldn't hear. Melanie rolled her eyes and shook her head.
In addition to bagging the groceries, my duties also included carrying orders to cars. It was a service upon which the Feed prided itself, and I occasionally got a dollar or two in tips. If I was lucky I might have twenty bucks in my pocket by day's end.
"Higgins," Benny said disapprovingly.
"Yes sir?" I replied as I placed two cereal boxes in the carryout cart.
"Straighten up your tie," he remarked. "We're professionals here."
I wanted to blurt out "oh are we?" but kept my thoughts to myself, as always.
Three carry outs later, Benny was back. "Higgins."
That was my only name here. The Feed had stripped me of both my identity and dignity.
"Yes sir?"
"There was an old lady who complained that you didn't bag her ice cream the right way. It was gonna be all melted when she got home. Step over to that empty register when you're done here and I'll show you how to do it right."
"I know how to do it right," I responded.
Benny gritted his teeth."Step over, to that empty register, over there, when you are done here, and I will show you, how to do it right. Don't argue with me."
I wanted to grab him by his brown Frodo curls and slam his face through the conveyer belt. But I kept my cool, and I complied with the humiliating order.
Melanie had ignored the debacle, just as she ignored everything else unless it captured her attention. I envied her. She stayed as busy as the rest of us, but her job kept her out of the hellfire.
Later, Benny smelled blood when I bagged another ice cream order. He ran over and brought Mr. McKelvey with him.
"Watch the way he does it," Benny insisted.
My ice cream bagging became a show for the boss, the real boss. McKelvey was the Store Operator, a no-nonsense figure. Unlike Benny and Melanie, he was capable of showing a lighter side.
"Now that's some good bagging," he remarked. "That's the best bagging I've seen in a long time. Good job, son."
I grinned an unassuming smile. "Thank you."
I glanced at Benny's disappointed face. Score one for me.
During my break, I used some of my tip money to buy refrigerated hot dogs and heated them in the break room. The only other person there was Frank, a fellow bagger with whom I'd become friends with over the last three months.
"I heard Benny was giving you a hard time today," he said.
"You heard right," I responded before taking a bite of lukewarm chili dog.
"You shoulda seen him last night at Good Times. Me and some friends were out there. Damn."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." Frank chuckled and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Drunk off his ass."
"No shit, seriously?"
