Chapter Text
I work at Target.
Which is a terrible way to start a story, because it’s a boring way to start a story, because nothing ever happens at Target, because it’s Target.
But because I work at Target, my standards for entertainment have gotten really low, hence this start.
An example of my low standards might include the shoplifter I saw today. She wandered in here with skinny jeans and a pink cropped tee, taking her sweet time perusing, thinking that no one noticed her slipping pens and twenty-dollar jewellery and a pack of gum into her purse.
Well, when she saw me looking at her and her bag a little too long, she got smart about it, putting stuff into her pockets instead, which might have worked.
She came to my till with a chocolate bar, which is weird because normally they go through self-checkout. Maybe she just liked the thrill of getting past someone.
“Hi,” I said. “How can I help you?”
She leaned over the counter, drumming her fingers on the countertop.
“Hey, Rebecca,” she said. I was startled until I realized she’d read my name tag. “Just this for today.”
She placed down the chocolate bar.
I rung it through, then, lowering my voice, said, “Word of advice: if you’re going to steal lipstick, don’t put it in the back pocket of your skinny jeans.”
She blinked. Her eyes widened. I, despite myself, felt bad.
“I don’t care,” I said. “Just don’t put a target on your back.”
She giggled at my questionable pun with a look of relief, then said, “Well then, since you’re so sweet, you ought to have this.”
She handed me the chocolate bar and waltzed out of the room, her long, brown hair swishing behind her.
Yeah. My standards have gotten low.