So, she's just back from vacation, and she's literally crying. I hate this place. Her boyfriend spent too much of their vacation with his buddy, she said, it drives a wedge between us. I just hate this place, I hate coming here. I don't need the stress. I just wanna wait on customers, makes me feel like I wanna go back to being a cashier. I've been doing this kind of stuff since I was 14, and I just want something better.
No one else cleans up. Look at the mess! It's always a mess, as soon as I leave.
Half an hour later, she's all smiles, and concedes that the place isn't all that bad.
By lunch, she's crying again.
She's completed an internship, a tough one. She studied and juggled two jobs, school, and her toddler daughter. When the office in which she interned did not hire her, she decided to simply take the head teller position and stay. It's not really a good time for me to switch jobs, anyway.
There were a couple of sentences I could have added to this so-called conversation, but I didn't have the chance. Her boyfriend. Her kids, born just 13 months apart, both C-section. Seeing a physical therapist for all the pain in her abdomen. Her boyfriend. Her ex. She can't make the staff meeting tonight because of childcare issues. The head teller asks for a private word with her, and it would have been private, I would not have heard anything, except for her loud responses. Head teller forges ahead, trying to complete her sentences. She comes back to her station, but only for a little while. Her medication. It's the medication's fault, and the supervisor's just being a bitch, and if only she felt better, and her boyfriend needs the car....she says it feels good to be full-time again, and I wonder what she means. She's been busy with her 35 years.
I can't complain, but sometimes I still do.
I otter remember to realize it when I'm happy.