My Life in Retail in a Nut Shell

It is astounding how negativity can spread like a virus. What is more astounding is how the small things can make or break a good day. So when I was ringing up a woman at work today, I really wasn't expecting my day to go sour when I asked for a photo ID to verify her signature. When she showed me her Costco card (that has a photo but no signature), I asked again for something with a signature. For some reason, other than the fact that her hands were full of Tiki torches (by the way, I offered to take those from her so she could root through her wallet for the ID), she flew up in a rage. She demanded her receipt, looked at my name tag for my identity, and told me with all a manner of vitriol and spite what "fabulous customer service" I had provided. On a side note, this was all in front of her seemingly eleven-year-old daughter. After hearing a profuse apology from the woman behind her, my co-worker rushed to my register, asking if I was okay. Apparently, the harpy had gone to returns to vent to my cohorts, saying "Just so you know, the cashier, Ellie, is a bitch." Obviously, being the big weenie that I am, I started crying and banished myself to the bathroom for ten minutes. The big question is: what kind of person take their anger out on someone they don't even know?

First World, First Pain

A song in my head, bluebells and twittering sparrows, and
my day is, so assuredly, sunshine, golden and warm.
Free from the nettles and spew of bitter times is my feather-heart.

But you seek to usurp my pedestal.
Acetone and tar, you blacken and corrode.
All this for your petty first-world needs.

I had done nothing to you; your words, sharp as obsidian arrows,
they spear me with confusion.
There are children in the world starving, killing for one sip of water.
There are men slaughtering their brothers
all for the chance to be someone to another who will
only seek to grant them the same oblivion.

And you think your problems are so significant.
Your minor inconvenience has done you no permanent harm,
while others are left orphaned and widowed and malnourished.
Yet you seek to darken my sky with clouds.
I have not earned the right to look into the sun because your world is
imperfect, marred, tainted with inconsequential nothings.

My fault, my punishment.
The bluebells are gone.
All that was gold is now steel and rain.
Job well done:
You've pushed my last button.
Does that make you better than me?
Or is all that spittle and venom wasted on a good day?