Overnight
by Lance Lemieux—Age 27—Chicago, IL
The year is 2001. When I get off work it will be Christmas morning.
Until then I’m in drug store hell.
Third shift is not something I usually do, but tonight I’m the overnight manager, and I’ve decided to smoke and drink a bit before work.
My crew consists of a squirrelly pharmacist whom I’ve gotten in several arguments with recently, and an extremely tall cashier known for snapping on customers. Both are in bad moods, and both would never be able to work customer service anywhere but the pre-yuppified version of Milwaukee’s East Side.
Around 2:00 or so a few drunks come out from the neighborhood bars. I remember that people get drunk here 365 days a year here. One of the holiday drunk girls makes the mistake of asking my cashier how tall he is (he’s about 7’2). “Ma’am, fuck you,” he says, loud enough for the whole store to hear. I say something about not being a total dick on Christmas a few minutes later. He silently nods.
By the time six a.m. rolls around, it’s still dark and I’ve been straightening the store for hours and hours. My buzz is now just exhaustion. I haven’t slept for almost 24 hours now.
When I decide to retreat to the break room, my cashier comes running in. He looks mad. “Some bitch is out there knocking over all the fucking toys.”
Something snaps inside me. How dare anyone come at six o’clock on Christmas and start trashing the store? Whether I should or not, I realize I’m going to let her have it.
“This is a hazard,” she screams at me the moment I walk up.
“Did you knock all these over?” I yell.
“They fell on me. I could sue, how dare you,” she says.
I end up screaming “shouldn’t you be at home with your family right now?”
“I want your district office’s number,” she says.
“Fine,” I say. I storm into to the office. I don’t care about what this bitch says.
But as I’m writing down the number for her, I realize I will get fired.
I’ve crossed the line, probing into the customer’s life.
I apologize profusely to her. The words ‘under a lot of stress’ are used. She leaves silently.
“Man, you just fucking snapped,” says my super-tall cashier. He’s never seen this side of me. I tell him special things happen on Christmas.
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