I used to like my manager, Bud, when I first started. He’s around my age. We wear the same kind of shirts. He has a big mole on his cheek. His skin is a little darker than mine. He might be of a Latin complexion. I’m pretty sure he’s the most recent managerial promotion. He is married and I really thought that we were going to be able to connect over this, our mutual situation. But let me just tell you, he is really starting to get on my nerves.

One day, when I was working info, I had all of these Paris Review articles and Wikipedia pages open. I was in the middle of an authorial investigation that a customer had got me hot on, and he came over and shut down all of my windows when I wasn’t looking.

Later, when I was working next to Jillian at the registers, getting to the core of the retrograde, he kept sending me, of all people, to the floor.

And then, that night, as I was counting my drawer out, there was an error regarding the amount of cash that was supposed to be there.

I called him over, and he said, “Do you still not understand how to do this, Simon?”

And to be honest with you, I don’t quite fully understand how to do it yet. I’ve worked the register maybe ten times, and the closing process still confuses me, but it is a confusing process, everybody says so, and it’s even more confusing when there’s a glaring error throwing everything off.

It turns out the error was his, but he didn’t apologize, because apparently I’m the only one of us who can be an idiot.


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