I work with one other girl from my school, Erin, and she is honestly a real pain in the butt. She’s useless, and I’m almost positive her parents are friends with our manager because there is no way anyone would purposely hire her.
I’m still assessing her actual skillset.
Or lack thereof…
“Honestly, you are no help whatsoever,” I mutter to Erin as I heave a cardboard box into the middle stock room with my foot. Yeah, it would be easier to bend down and push it, but today I’m feeling a little lazy myself. The store is pretty dead. Tourist traffic from the area’s big lake hasn’t turned into vacationers on a ski holiday just yet, so it’s mostly just the occasional customer trickling in.
I glanced sideways at Erin, who is standing there watching me struggle with the box, offering me no assistance. I roll my eyes. “I can’t believe they pay you.”
“Ugh, I’m so boreddd,” she groans loudly, dragging out her sentence and leaning backward. She lets her arms fall limply to her side. “Ugh, I’m dyinggg. What time is it?”
“We still have almost two hours left,” I say, irritated. I take the sharp cutter out of my apron and slice the heavy box open, careful not to cut into the merchandise inside—unlike that one time I cut into the box without thinking and ended up slicing a brand new ski coat right down the front.
That sucked.
I didn’t have to pay for it or anything, but still.
“Who are you going to Fall Formal with this year?” Erin asks.
“I’m not.”
“Not going? Or not having a date?” Really Erin? Not having a date? Way to pay attention in English class.
“I don’t have a date, so technically I have no plans to go.”
“So you don’t have a dress?”
“Nope.”
“Aww, that’s so sad…” After she says this, I turn to face her and put my hand on my hip.
“Do I look sad to you?” I ask as Erin stares at me blankly. Okay, it’s not blankly, exactly. She’s actually looking at me like I’m a pitiful little critter. I let out a long sigh and ask, “Okay, well, who are you going to Fall Formal with?”
“Technically, he hasn’t asked me yet, but I totally know he will…”
“Are you going to tell me or not, because we have stuff to do here.”
“Derek Hanson. He winked at me yesterday.”
“You think Derek Hanson is going to ask you to Fall Formal because he winked at you yesterday?”
“It was a suggestive wink with a lot of meaning. I could tell.”
Really, what am I supposed to say to that? Suddenly, Erin claps her hands. “I know! Let’s play a game!”
“Please, let’s not.”
Technically, she’s supposed to be unloading a box of children’s socks—you know, the kind that look all crazy and mismatched—but instead she’s leaning up against a cleaning-supply shelf and peeling open a new pack of gum. Noisily, she dislodges a square from its foil and pops it into her mouth. “Wow, this is minty.”
“You do know we have to get this done before tomorrow, don’t you?” I ask, my question lingering in the air as it falls on deaf ears. Erin goes over to stand next to the stockroom door that separates the back storage area from the sales floor. She turns and grins. I can hear the chewing of her gum from the other side of the room. She sounds like my brother when he’s gnawing away at a steak dinner.
Erin senses my sigh before I can even audibly get one out. “Calm down, would you?” (Wow, am I that predictable?) “It’s not like you actually need this job if they fire you for not being productive.” (Actually, Erin does have a point—that is technically true.) “So, like, here’s what we’re going to do, because if I don’t do something fun I’m going to like, die of boredom.”
“You could do some work.” Ignoring me as usual, Erin pushes on.
“Okay, so like, the next guy that walks in that door, you have to—.”
“No freaking way, Erin. No!”
“Okay, I’ll do it then.”
“Do what!” I damn near shout, exasperated.
“I’ll flirt with the next guy who walks in that door, even if he’s, like, super old.”
“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve said all day. Plus, what if the next guy that walks in the door is a kid?”
“Well, if he’s like, twelve, then that would like, totally make his whole year.”
“Oh my god, you’re so ridiculous…”
At that moment, the bell from the door jingles and I groan.
Lord help me.
I can hear the faint sound of Erin greeting the customers, and I resume unpacking the box of insulated Under Armour shirts that sits half empty on the floor. I look around for an available surface and remove a stack of resort maps. The shirts still have to be taken out of their clear plastic bags, put on hangers, and tagged.