On the End of the Year

It's December. Holidays are being celebrated. Families are sharing in wealth and happiness. Gifts are being exchanged, food is being consumed, communities are coming together, and A Christmas Story is like Jimmy Buffet's "Happy Hour"; it's always on somewhere.

Many people like to reflect on the year and create expectations of the one to come. Me? I really don't involve myself. I never really created "resolutions", or wrote down some list of goals that wouldn't be revisited, remembered, or seen again until the next December when I think to myself, "Hmmm.. I never did commit time to watching every documentary about marijuana on Netflix, did I? Where's the time gone?". That was always a bunch of hubbub that I never had interest in.

New Year's is to me what Christmas is to atheists; just another day. It's a time to start changing the last two digits in the date on all of my school papers. It's a time to recount how old I'll be turning on March 15th. It's a time to wait and see how many companies will be having a 10/25/50/75/100 year anniversary of being in business. It's a time to, well, do nothing really out of the ordinary.

On December 31st, 2010, I will be watching the Kentucky Wildcats/Louisville Cardinals college basketball game. I will be probably working sometime that day. And I will not be highly anticipating the night or morning to come.

I will be going home and playing video games. I will be eating the same dinner and cereal that my parents make or I buy. I will be laying down next to the same girl I do now. I will be drinking the same drinks, snacking the same snacks, listening to the same damn music. Hell, I may even be wearing the same clothes that I have on now.

It's not a rejuvenation of myself, my personality, my physique, or my outlook on life. It is, however, the end of something.

After the 25th, life for me is in limbo. The excitement of Christmas wears down. I make sure I visited all the relatives that are still relevant. I count the gift cards, try on the clothes, and test the gadgets. The leftovers of "Christmas Joy" are being consumed, and until January 1st of 2011, I feel like I'm walking along a cliff. On the plateau, I am still waking up thinking I have presents waiting or buffets of food to eat, or surprises waiting. I go to work expecting holiday greeting cards to be ordered, questions about picture mugs to be asked, and the general busy-ness of end-of-the-year retail. Over the edge, it all ends and the only Christmas left is snow on the ground or the decorations that my mom fails to put away until Valentine's Day. That six day period, from December 26th to 31st, is spent in an awkward dance, joyful from all of the eventful events that have happened and meek from just slowing down.

Then New Year's Eve, and it sinks in; tomorrow will be Day One of Two Thousand and Eleven, and this will all be put behind me. And on New Years Day, I'll wish customers a Happy New Years, I'll go to Wendy's and get my lunch, I'll go home after clocking out, and I'll start counting down the days before I go back to school. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The day Brandon Hite is really looking forward to is December 22nd, 2012. R.E.M.'s "It's the End of the World As We Know It" will be stuck in his head, all day, until the apocalypse.

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On Thanksgiving: Dear Thanksgiving

Dear Thanksgiving,

You came and went. I ate and ate more. I didn't clock in and work, yet I'll still get paid.

If every Thursday was Thanksgiving, then, well, I'd get paid for every Thursday. So thanks, Thanksgiving, for one free Thursday's worth of paid hours.

Until next year,

The Guy From Behind the Counter

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Things I Learn From Working in Retail: It's a Two-fer

Brandon is a twenty-something working at a nation-wide convenience and drug store that isn't CVS. He works mostly in their photo lab developing and laughing at pictures of the "common people", while people watching to avoid actual work. These letters are his deepest thoughts to those that he interacts with and observes, after being dragged through sarcasm and shi- I mean wit.

Dear Dilated Eyes-Woman,

Why must you always make a trip to our store after you get your eyes dilated? Why are your eyes dilated at least once a month, if not more? Your eyes couldn't possibly be bothering you THAT much, could they?

That's not my biggest qualm though. My biggest problem with you would have to be how much you insist on your inability to see with your sunglasses on, protecting your "dilated" eyes. So bad is this inability, you claim, that you can't see the computer screen to order your own photos. Yet you can walk in a straight line fine. And you can either drive home or walk home fine. That would lead the logical thinker to the conclusion that you're either A.) completely lazy and a walking contradiction or B.) a serious hazard to anyone who comes (or drives) close to you and you must have really practiced how to walk correctly when nearly blind.

To only add to this frustration, every single time I help you, I'm doing the exact same freakin' thing- scanning old pictures of a mustached guy that I'm assuming is your son. And every time I ask you for your phone number to begin your order, you tell me the same story: "My son used to come here all the time for pictures, all the time, not anymore, but all the time. His name is Chad. Yup, Chad [last name redacted], that's him. Yeah, he used to come in all the time."

How often? All the time? Or did you say all the time? I didn't hear you the eighth time you told me. But you know what? YOU come in here ALL THE TIME. WITH DILATED EYES. AND IT'S REALLY STARTING TO PISS ME OFF.

Sincerely,

The Guy from Behind the Counter



Our author contemplates life on a beach (he is not at work in this picture).


Dear Orphan-Looking Kid Who Never Steals,

You. Oh you. Your raggedy looking white t-shirt and over-sized blue jeans. You come in a few times a week. I can't tell where from. You aren't old enough to drive, and you are never accompanied by anyone, yet you look no older than 14 or 15. You buy candy and soda every time you come here (but still find a way to keep that twig-like figure!). Who ARE you?

And why are you so stern looking? Your expression never changes. A blank stare and still lips, walking with a strut that just screams "I'm stealing but I don't want you to know! And even if you did, I wouldn't care! I'm not loved by anyone, not even Santa Claus, so take a hike, mister!".

I'll admit it: I judged you the first day I noticed you as a repeat customer. A familiar face, I tried to think back to what you bought during your previous visit. You rarely wander past aisle 5, the candy aisle. And with the mini-coolers by the check-out counter- one for Coke products, one for Pepsi- well shit.. You have everything you need right by the front door.

Then when I rejoined the present from my flashback, I made the judgment. I thought to myself, "Here's another suburbanite's forgotten marriage-killer, waltzing through a convenience store like he's got nothin' to lose but a few minutes of his time if he's caught with that Coke bottle in his- what? He's actually paying for something? I didn't even see the chocolate in his hand.."

So shoot me. I was wrong, and you probably don't notice my presence. But I'll keep nodding your way when we make eye contact in aisle 5; just as long as you keep stopping by the front counter, paying corporate America for what's rightfully theirs.

Would you like to try some Reese's Pieces?,

The Guy From Behind the Counter

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Things I Learn From Working in Retail

Brandon is a twenty-something working at a nation-wide convenience and drug store that isn't CVS. He works mostly in their photo lab developing and laughing at pictures of the "common people", while people watching to avoid actual work. These letters are his deepest thoughts to those that he interacts with and observes, after being dragged through sarcasm and shi- I mean wit.

Dear Mom Who Doesn't Watch Your Kids,

I'm proposing a new tax. This tax is meant to help me personally recover the costs for the stress and labor that goes behind cleaning up after your kids. For the record, “cleaning up after... kids” refers to their [the kids] decision to treat the toy aisle like their personal playroom after eating Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. The whole factory.

The tax will be applied, without notice, from the moment you walk in the door as long as you have more than zero children accompanying your shopping experience; it will be minimal, accessed at a varying rate, and completely dependent on how I feel when you begin to check out. The tax has no guarantee to stay at a constant rate during checkout, as you and your kids' disrespectful behavior can dictate an always upward fluctuation at any given time.

Pick up a candy bar, admire and smell it, then put it in the wrong place? Tax increase.

Let your kid run behind the counter and play with the cigarettes? Tax increase.

Allow your youngest child to swipe your credit card because it’s “cute”? Tax increase.

Neglect to answer your child after they scream your name for a steady thirty seconds? Tax increase.

Tell your kid to go back to find that pair of sunglasses at the back of the store that you suddenly feel like purchasing? Tax increase, and a prompt slap to the face.

Upon your approach to our check-out counter, we will review the warpath made by you and your army of ankle-biters, and warn you of your applicable tax status. A final tax will be decided upon as you walk out the door, where a man with a large and loaded gun will be waiting to collect with a t-shirt on that reads “CASH ONLY”. Failure to pay will result in loss of your purchased and your kids’ stolen items.. and probably your life.

Thanks for shopping with us, and come back again soon!

Love,
The Guy from Behind the Counter

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Things I Learn From Working in Retail

Brandon is a twenty-something working at a nation-wide convenience and drug store that isn't CVS. He works mostly in their photo lab developing and laughing at pictures of the "common people", while people watching to avoid actual work. These letters are his deepest thoughts to those that he interacts with and observes, after being dragged through sarcasm and shi- I mean wit.

Dear Ham Artist,

You're Casper. A spirit that appears in black and white markers, an aura around our store sign. Can we formally meet? I imagine you are young and fresh from high school; a "punk" by elderly terms, with a flat bill and skateboard. Perhaps this lovely ham was your first drawing ever? The amateurish appearance shows only slightly though, I promise.

I'd love to discuss the detail that goes into creating your near-perfect ha m bone, complete with checkered skin and small circle representing the bone itself. And let's not forget the "handle" part of the bone; all of that which makes a true ham bone complete. Though with great pride do we display it, I have do have one question: Why draw on the side facing AWAY from our store? Our customers would surely love seeing a ham on our sign. For what greater a way to distinguish ourselves not only from the competition, but from other affiliated stores?

"I’m craving Sour Gummy Phallic Bears. What's the cheapest place to get that from around here?"

"That place with the ham on its sign."

"That's an hour away. Is there not one closer?"

"Probably, but I wouldn’t go anywhere else. They have a sign with a ham on it!"

I’ll be honest- you deserve a check from us for your gracious efforts. The amount would be "Priceless" and it would be made out to none other than "The Ham Artist". You entertain us, and give us something to look forward to whenever we remember to go out and check for your mark. Never abandon us, ol’ Hammi. I’m counting down the days 'till my eyes and your ham meet again. And I'm looking forward to restarting at zero.

Love,

The Guy from Behind the Counter

Brandon Hite finds the junk that collects in your cup-holders really, really fascinating.

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