was like she was a fifty-year-old bartender in a thirteen-year-old’s body. It really threw me. It was like when the little kid in that movie
The Shining
opens his mouth and that fucked-up croak comes out. She was possessed by some haggard lady, maybe Sheena Easton, whoever that is. She said,
Where’s Bernice
, like she’s so in with Ohmigod! she’s on a firstname basis with the manager. Even though she didn’t really look the type to be shopping here. And I mean that as a compliment. I immediately wanted to tell her that I’m not the type to be working here, for real, but I just went with the weird moment and I stammered that Bernice was in the bathroom.
Cool
, she said, her voice still low and gravelly. You could almost expect a stream of smoke to sort of wisp out of her mouth. She held up her hand and in it was a wiry bracelet with some beads clattering on it. Most ofthe beads had fallen off of it — it was a pretty bare and unremarkable item from the sale basket. She said,
You’re going to ring me up for this
, and laid it on the counter. Then she flashed the second item at me, a black flower, a sculpted rose with a giant red rhinestone in its center. It was a pin with a green stem shooting out a couple thorns and a single green leaf, a pale green rhinestone twinkling on it like a dewdrop.
This I’m taking
, she told me, and dropped it into her army bag. She had a wad of bills scrunched in her hand and pulled one crunched-up dollar free.
It’s a dollar, right? Ninety-nine cents? Is there tax?
I nodded dumbly. Is it stealing if someone tells you they’re taking something? That’s not really stealing. That’s something else. That’s my problem, I guess. Bernice came out of the bathroom and slapped on her work face when she saw the thief at the counter.
Hello Rose!
she singsonged. Did Bernice O’Leary truly love everyone or was she just on automatic pilot, greeting everyone with a song and a smile of good cheer? Did Bernice O’Leary ever get in a fucking bad mood or what? I looked at her. I looked back at the girl, whose name, I guess, was Rose.
Oh, don’t be confused, we’ll do this together!
Bernice chirped, and arranged herself behind me at the register. I had a sudden, stark fear that she was going to lift my arms for me and place them gently on the appropriate keys. What would I have done? Surely I would have just allowed her to. I was weak with hunger and now a sort of fear, because if the girl told me she was taking something and I, the guardian of the goods, did not stop her, then really I was stealing it, right? Did it matter that I didn’t get to keepthe rose pin? I wouldn’t have wanted it. But the technicality of this exchange really baffled me. Charles Manson didn’t kill all those people in the sixties but he like allowed them to or something and now he’s in jail for the rest of his life, going crazy with a swastika tattooed on his face, so clearly there are instances where you can get in wicked bad trouble for a crime even when someone else, not you, committed it.
Hit Sale
, said Bernice who was, thank god, not touching me. She pointed a finger at the orange Sale key. The register registered .99. She talked me through the rest of the sale.
Trishy’s new here at Ohmigod!
, Bernice explained.
It’s her first day. She’s helping me out ’til Kim returns…they were good friends. Are good friends! God…
Bernice stuttered off. Rose raised her eyebrows, which were skinny and inky on her forehead, as if they’d been sketched on with a calligraphy pen and then smeared. Whatever was sitting so oily on her face had a smell and it reached my nose and triggered a chain of growls in my stomach. Rose smelled like food. The way you smell when you’ve been sitting in a diner for a while, the steam from the deep fryer sinking into the weave of your clothes, your hair, your pores.
Bummer
, Rose said to me and it took me a minute to understand she was talking about Kim Porciatti, my supposed dear
The Shining
opens his mouth and that fucked-up croak comes out. She was possessed by some haggard lady, maybe Sheena Easton, whoever that is. She said,
Where’s Bernice
, like she’s so in with Ohmigod! she’s on a firstname basis with the manager. Even though she didn’t really look the type to be shopping here. And I mean that as a compliment. I immediately wanted to tell her that I’m not the type to be working here, for real, but I just went with the weird moment and I stammered that Bernice was in the bathroom.
Cool
, she said, her voice still low and gravelly. You could almost expect a stream of smoke to sort of wisp out of her mouth. She held up her hand and in it was a wiry bracelet with some beads clattering on it. Most ofthe beads had fallen off of it — it was a pretty bare and unremarkable item from the sale basket. She said,
You’re going to ring me up for this
, and laid it on the counter. Then she flashed the second item at me, a black flower, a sculpted rose with a giant red rhinestone in its center. It was a pin with a green stem shooting out a couple thorns and a single green leaf, a pale green rhinestone twinkling on it like a dewdrop.
This I’m taking
, she told me, and dropped it into her army bag. She had a wad of bills scrunched in her hand and pulled one crunched-up dollar free.
It’s a dollar, right? Ninety-nine cents? Is there tax?
I nodded dumbly. Is it stealing if someone tells you they’re taking something? That’s not really stealing. That’s something else. That’s my problem, I guess. Bernice came out of the bathroom and slapped on her work face when she saw the thief at the counter.
Hello Rose!
she singsonged. Did Bernice O’Leary truly love everyone or was she just on automatic pilot, greeting everyone with a song and a smile of good cheer? Did Bernice O’Leary ever get in a fucking bad mood or what? I looked at her. I looked back at the girl, whose name, I guess, was Rose.
Oh, don’t be confused, we’ll do this together!
Bernice chirped, and arranged herself behind me at the register. I had a sudden, stark fear that she was going to lift my arms for me and place them gently on the appropriate keys. What would I have done? Surely I would have just allowed her to. I was weak with hunger and now a sort of fear, because if the girl told me she was taking something and I, the guardian of the goods, did not stop her, then really I was stealing it, right? Did it matter that I didn’t get to keepthe rose pin? I wouldn’t have wanted it. But the technicality of this exchange really baffled me. Charles Manson didn’t kill all those people in the sixties but he like allowed them to or something and now he’s in jail for the rest of his life, going crazy with a swastika tattooed on his face, so clearly there are instances where you can get in wicked bad trouble for a crime even when someone else, not you, committed it.
Hit Sale
, said Bernice who was, thank god, not touching me. She pointed a finger at the orange Sale key. The register registered .99. She talked me through the rest of the sale.
Trishy’s new here at Ohmigod!
, Bernice explained.
It’s her first day. She’s helping me out ’til Kim returns…they were good friends. Are good friends! God…
Bernice stuttered off. Rose raised her eyebrows, which were skinny and inky on her forehead, as if they’d been sketched on with a calligraphy pen and then smeared. Whatever was sitting so oily on her face had a smell and it reached my nose and triggered a chain of growls in my stomach. Rose smelled like food. The way you smell when you’ve been sitting in a diner for a while, the steam from the deep fryer sinking into the weave of your clothes, your hair, your pores.
Bummer
, Rose said to me and it took me a minute to understand she was talking about Kim Porciatti, my supposed dear
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