by Kayla Krantz
I’m out of arguments, so I oblige. Setting the clothing down on my jacket, I glance up at the corners of the tiny room again for cameras and give up, quickly stripping down to my underwear. I pull the new clothes into place, the stiff fabric sitting uncomfortably against my skin with the thought that I don’t know how many people have tried these clothes on before me. Again, I try not to think of that as I button the shirt and look at myself in the mirror.
The outfit does look good on me, but it’s not my style. I feel exposed, bare, for the way it hugs my figure. If I have my choice, I always pick clothes that are at least a size or two bigger than I am. The only drawback of having Kara do my shopping for me is that that is no longer an option. I twist my fingers into my hair and toss it over my shoulder to observe the collar against my skin. Then, I take the outfit off and repeat the process two more times, checking to see if the shirt and skirt skim my curves the same way they had the first time.
“Well? I’m waiting!” Kara’s keen voice sounds from the other side of the door.
I look at my reflection again and brace myself to show her. I already know from experience that if I don’t go out there willingly, she’ll come in. I open the door with a pop and Kara is right in my face, hands straightening out the lumps on my shoulders and pulling the blouse down to get rid of any potential creases. Then, she takes a step back and looks me up and down like an artist evaluating a newly finished piece. Frowning, she comes toward me again and plucks the clip out of my hair, letting all the golden-orange locks flow free in a messy cascade.
“With the right shoes, you’ll be perfect!” she squeals and claps excitedly.
“Thanks,” I murmur and take my clip from her fingers.
“Hang on,” she says and dashes off, presumably to find the shoes, and I turn to my reflection, trying to tame my mane back into the hold it had previously been in.
By the time I’ve finished, she returns with a shoe box, and I’m almost afraid to look inside. “There better not be high heels in here,” I tease, raising an eyebrow.
Kara rolls her eyes. “Nope. Trust me. I learned a lesson the last time. They’re flats. They’re fashionable and reasonable, here,” she says and takes the top off the box to show me as if she knows I don’t believe her.
The shoes inside are small and black. She’s right about one thing, they actually are reasonable. Under her encouraging stare, I pluck them free from the crinkly paper and sit down on the floor to pull the shoes on the best way I can with the pencil skirt constricting my thigh movement. Kara, noticing my struggle, drops to her knees to help me. As soon as they’re on, she looks me up and down again and wolf whistles.
“You’re marvelous, darling! Simply gorgeous,” she gushes, using a fake accent like a Hollywood agent.
I chuckle and try to peel off the shoes in a hurry. “Thanks.”
“That’s what friends are for,” she says, voice back to normal. “Now, go get dressed, and I’ll find you a couple more pieces. Meet me where we left our coffee when you’re done.”
Nodding, I head back into the dressing room, gratefully stripping off the new clothes and replacing them with my own. I bundle them into my arms and meet Kara at the counter, dropping them next to my long abandoned cup of coffee.
“How much is this going to be?” I ask, reaching for my wallet after she bags the clothes.
Kara raises an eyebrow. “Nothing.”
I pause. “Huh?”
“It’s my treat, girl. The least I can do to start you off on the right foot.”
“You can’t do that!” I protest, frowning. Using Kara’s discount is one thing, but having her pay for my clothes is another. I’ve never been the type who’s comfortable with letting someone pay for my things…especially when I know those things probably cost a pretty penny.
“Why not? How many times have you bought me things?” she asks, taking a purposeful sip of her coffee, staring at me over the rim the entire time.
I sigh in defeat. She won’t let me win this argument. “Fine, fine,” I say at last.
This time, she smiles wide enough to show every one of her pearl white teeth beneath her coral red lips.
4.
WHEN I GET home, I spend a good portion of my evening just rearranging my clothes. Some of them go into the trash as I work out a section in my closet for my new work outfits. There are four in total and I shake my head, feeling worse for Kara’s kindness than I know I should.
I’ll pay her back, I think in my head. Of course, this isn’t the first time I’ve thought it, but actually seeing everything firsthand strengthens the urge.
After everything is settled, I go through my extensive process to get ready for bed and settle in underneath my low hanging lamp, trying to ignore the fact that tomorrow will once again bring me a myriad of change.
I WAKE UP from a dreamless, finicky sleep, feeling almost as if I hadn’t slept at all, and swipe the lamp away to sit up. Groaning at a pain in the base of my spine, I get up and go directly to the bathroom to splash water on my face—the start of my typical routine. The only exception today is putting on my new work uniform. I sift through the outfits that Kara picked, but eventually settle on the one that I had already tried on with that logic that of all of them, it’s the one I’m the most familiar with. I smooth down the white collar of the pressed shirt, wishing I would’ve remembered to wash it, and smile at my reflection, trying—unsuccessfully—to make my anxiety go away. The reflection smiling back at me does little to help because I can see the unease in the girl’s eyes.
I wonder if other people can see that glint too or if I can only because I already know its there.
This will be good. I won’t get fired this time, I promise myself, thinking of Kara’s words and hoping that I really do look that good. Just for good measure, I repeat my own thoughts two more times, and on the last run through, I add, Support group is helping, I will be normal.
I pull the flats on and off my feet absently, and when my nerves are settled, I snag my purse off the table beside the front door and rush outside. Running through the proper procedure of locks and checks, I move to my car and think through my mantras, trying to keep my dumb cavalier cheer. I don’t know how long I can make it last because the closer I get to my new job, the stronger the wave of anxiety rises. As I pull into the parking lot, the smile falls off my face, and I have a moment where I see myself with far too much clarity. I start to hyperventilate but convince myself it’s ridiculous. Do I really want to give the impression that I’m nothing but a bag of nerves?
No, I don’t.
Stalling for time, I adjust all my mirrors and let out a breath of air. A glance at the time tells me how close I’m cutting it. Nerves semi-ready for the situation ahead of me, I climb out of the safety of my car and move to close the door when I realize my purse is still sitting in the passenger seat.
I bend over to grab it when I feel hands grasp my hips. I scream, heart thudding in my chest, before I try and stand up, hitting my head on the roof of my car and slipping on the ice in my new flats. Wincing, I lift my hand to the back of my head and maneuver out of the car to see who’s behind me. Laughter erupts, and I frown, feeling the heat in my cheeks as I glare at Kara who is doubled over to exaggerate the moment. Her long blonde hair hangs around her angular face as she struggles to regain herself.
“You scare so easy, girl!” she says.
“God!” I gasp and hold a hand over my heart, thankful that today I skipped out on getting a cup of coffee like I used to do before my office job. “My nerves are already on edge—you could’ve given me a heart attack!” I accuse, slamming my car door for emphasis.
“Ah, you lived,” she says, wiping the tears from under her eyes before waving a dismissive hand at me. She tucks her hands into the pockets of her jacket, which I notice is unzipped enough to show the pink shirt underneath. ‘This shirt only looks good because I’m wearing it,” it boasts. Even in the coldest of weather she wants everyone to see her fashion choice
s…even if it means having to suffer to do so.
I laugh—the shirt is so Kara.
Kara smiles back and looks down at it, picking at the fabric of her jacket with her long pink nails to show a bigger slice of the writing. “I know, right? Perfection.”
“There’s one word for it,” I say as we begin to walk up to the doors of the building. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“Just wanted to see you off on your big day!”
By the gleam in her eyes, today seems more like her first day than mine. “This isn’t school, and you aren’t my mom.”
“Hmm. I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I did pick out your outfit, if I do recall,” she says and holds a finger mischievously to her lips.
“Little girls dress dolls too,” I point out, smiling back at her.
Kara smiles and playfully punches me in the shoulder. “Who needs a mom when you have an awesomely wonderful best friend?”
“Can’t argue with that logic.”
“I hoped you wouldn’t!”
Caught up in the laughter of our conversation, I don’t feel the anxiety entering the store that I know would’ve choked me without her. In the moment, I think about reaching out to give her a huge hug but decide against it. How awkward of a notion when we just agreed she wasn’t my mom.
Thankfully, the store is a lot calmer than it had been when I came for my interview. The less people I deal with, the easier it will be to downplay my OCD should I happen to find a new quirk to add to my routine while we’re here. Once we fall silent, the worst of myself begins to rise up again when I remember that I’m going to have to go through today by myself. Kara can’t stay by my side all day—if she did, it certainly wouldn’t look good on my part.
Kara notices my frown and raises a perfect eyebrow in question.
“My anxiety feels like it’s through the roof,” I admit with a sigh.
Kara gives me a lips-too-tight smile, the kind that shows me she’s trying to sympathize with a problem she’s never had. “Tell you what. If you make it through the day, which I have faith you will, we’ll go to a concert or something to celebrate on your first day off.”
I sigh and reach up to tousle my carefully fixed hair only lamenting on what I’ve just done after the fact. No time to fix it now. I’ve never been a fan of crowded events, but it’s always good to have something to look forward to. It makes the tough times the slightest bit easier to dredge through. “Sounds like a plan,” I say to Kara and successfully keep the majority of my emotions out of those four words.
“Okay. Now, get to work,” she orders, false seriousness in her voice. She stops in her steps and watches me expectantly to continue onward. She waves slightly and blows me a kiss before skewing off in a different direction to scope out my new workplace.
She’s more excited to be here than I am, it seems. That thought keeps the smile on my face as I seek out my new boss. When our eyes meet, the shark smile comes to his face, and he greets me with a handshake.
“So, how much have you shopped here in the past?” Greg asks me after we leave his office and a mountain of completed paperwork behind.
“Uh, honestly? Not very often,” I reply, expecting him to be disappointed.
He’s not. We pass by a tiny room with a rickety fan spinning above a table beside a refrigerator. “This is the break room,” he says and turns his attention to the collection of tiny lockers outside of the room.
Two of them are closed with tiny combination locks holding them shut, and another one is closed without anything to keep it that way. Greg opens this one and pulls out a tiny nametag and apron. He smiles at them before handing them to me. “Here is the rest of your uniform,” he says then taps his finger on the door of the tiny locker. “And this will be your space here to put your purse or other personal belongings.”
He eyes the purse I’ve forgotten is clutched beneath my arm, and reluctantly, I hand it to him. He sets it inside and pulls an extra lock off the top of the lockers, so high up that I hadn’t even known it was there.
“The combination is 7-4-18,” he informs me. “Try it.”
I oblige and spin the lock three times to get all the numbers. Then repeat the process again and again. I actually like the device. The fact that it operates only if it is spun three times correctly resonates with the compulsive part of my personality.
Now you’ve really lost your mind if you think inanimate objects are your friends, I think but don’t show any kind of scathing on the outside as I finally latch the lock on the locker.
“Now, for a quick tour of the store,” Greg says.
I don’t argue, following a few steps behind him while trying to tie the apron in place. I don’t want to ask Greg to do it for me because one, he most likely won’t do it to my standards, and two, how awkward of a request that would be to my boss of all people. I get the knot secured before he notices my struggle. For being a stout man, he walks rather quickly and leads the way from the dairy section through the produce to the frozen food to the pet supplies and then to the tiny medicine section that’s so pitiful I wouldn’t call it a pharmacy department, but he does, so I stay quiet.
At last, we approach the front, and my spine straightens instantly, ready for a confrontation of some kind as my boss’ gaze sweeps across the two registers and the cashiers on both of them. It’s my first real look at my new coworkers, but suddenly, I feel too shy to look directly at either of them as if I’m afraid they’ll bite me like a rabid dog if we accidentally make eye contact. My gaze shifts to the floor as my boss leads me to the closest register.
There’s a blonde cashier at this one. Her hair is long and layered, and my first impression of her is that she’ll have a less than stellar attitude about having a shadow. She surprises me with a warm smile, showing white teeth stained with a smudge of lipstick, and my uneasiness dissolves away. She’s just a human girl, I tell myself. Possibly an airhead, but a human one nonetheless.
“Camilla, this is Erica,” my boss introduces us. “She’s going to shadow you today.”
Camilla nods. “A new girl, how exciting!”
“I’ll check in on you later, Erica,” Greg promises. “I’ll be in my office. Don’t hesitate to find me if you have any questions or concerns.”
“Thanks again,” I say, forcing a tiny smile on my face and watch him walk away.
Then it’s just me and Camilla, and I’m aware of how close together we are in the cramped little box provided by the register. I take a step backward, hoping I haven’t already made her too uncomfortable, but Camilla is still smiling that wide lipstick-stained smile and claps her hands together like she’s trying to get a toddler to be excited about eating his vegetables.
“This is awesome! I haven’t had my own apprentice yet,” she gushes, and that’s all it takes to feel uneasy again.
Seems like a bit of an overreaction on her part, and all I can think of is high school. Of the cheerleaders who had a habit of dramatizing their every move. She fits the type, I smile at that but feel uncertain of how to respond. Camilla has only given me an impression of kindness so far, but the personality I gauge from it tells me she is completely different from me in every possible aspect. While a smile might pass for an answer this time, I don’t know how much longer it will work as my get out of jail free card since I’ve already smiled so much today that the corners of my mouth feel as if they’ve gotten a good workout.
Retail life is inhumane, I think and shudder at the fact that I’ve only been out on the floor for a grand total of five minutes.
“Have you ever worked a register before?” she asks me brightly, and I shake my head. “It’s okay. It’s real easy to learn,” she promises and turns to the register, giving me a quick rundown of what each button on the register does, pressing them for added emphasis. “It might seem like a lot with me running my mouth, but once you actually start doing it, it’ll come easily.”
I nod.
“You’re kind of quiet,” she says with a
laugh.
“Yeah,” I say laughing too, though I don’t know why. It almost feels as if I’m laughing at myself, at my own awkwardness, and in a way, I guess I am.
“Hey, look. Here comes somebody,” she says to me, then to the old woman who wandered up to her register, “Good morning!”
“And to you, young’un,” she replies and throws eggs and milk onto the counter along with a variety of other things.
I watch Camilla dragging the things across the scanner and typing in a few things before she hands them to me. As I bag the woman’s items, I smile at her and watch as Camilla cashes out the transaction. She closes the drawer with a ringing sound and passes the woman her receipt.
“Have a great day!” Camilla says to her as she takes her bags from me.
The woman smiles again but doesn’t say another word as she scuttles out of the store.
Then Camilla turns back to me. “That’s about it. Any questions?”
“No,” I say honestly. It really was easy, but there is something to be said for observing compared to doing something myself.
After two more customers, Camilla gives me a try on the register, and I realize it wasn’t as easy as it had seemed from watching her. When this woman hands me her money, I want to stand there and organize it into a neat stack with the bills all facing the same way, but I feel two sets of eyes on me, and cringing, I shove the bills into the messy piles that Camilla has stuffed lazily into the till. I close it quickly, before I see too many details to focus on, and hand the woman her change. When she walks away, I stare down at the scanner, watching as the red line tries to read a barcode on my skin that doesn’t exist.
“You did it!” Camilla says, still cheerful. The only positive that I draw from her optimism is that my pessimism must not be showing that strongly…yet.
I turn to look at her through wide eyes, struggling with my anxiety to even move when another customer approaches the register, to which Camilla replies with a simple pat to the shoulder as if I’m a dog and we’re playing a game of fetch.