Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
The eye twitching is still in full force, so I walk away. I learned early in life that nothing but time will calm down an irritated woman. To think I could mutter a few words to make her feel better would be egotistical of me, so I don't even try.
I dip my head in her direction before walking off to finish my shopping.
Chapter 4
Kaylee
I'm not normally an easily irritated person. Even if I'm unhappy, I can fake it with the best of them, but this whole day has been absolute torture.
Instead of Mr. Gillis getting Derrick to start on the cereal display when he arrived two hours ahead of my shift, he had him working on something in the back, leaving it all for me to do, along with my other stocking and cashier duties. This is the bad part of being good at what I do, and it doesn't hurt that Derrick hates building displays and he's Mr. Gillis’s grandson. But nepotism isn't a subject I'm going to bring up until I've officially had enough of this place and have another job lined up.
When I hear the small bell at the front of the store, I know it has to be the man who wasn't paying attention and knocked over the cereal display. Derrick checked out the rambunctious little boy and his mom before leaving for the evening.
I pull in a deep annoyed breath and make my way to the front of the store, cringing when I see the two shopping carts full, one with groceries and the other with enough toilet paper to see a family of ten through a five-year war.
I count the packs in his cart as I approach, knowing it means that I'll have to restock that item before leaving for the day. Mr. Gillis will lose his mind if he comes in tomorrow and there's a void on the shelf.
Instead of speaking, I pull the bell and the small sign directing customers to ring it when ready and place them under the register.
Every item in this store has a price tag on it that has to be entered into the register. Mr. Gillis isn't exactly a very forward-thinking business owner, and he's even less prone to take advice from someone wanting to make their job easier. All that conversation does is trigger his "when I was young..." rant.
Ask me how I know.
When he starts loading his groceries on the conveyor belt in the most OCD way I've ever seen, I take a look at my watch. It's only ten minutes until closing, but I know I'll be running around like a chicken with its head cut off until my time to clock out at nine.
I hate working the closing shift. It puts me getting out of here close to dark, and this isn't the nicest neighborhood. There's always a risk that we'll get robbed, which has happened twice already this year, and bound to happen again before the end of the year as we draw closer to Christmas. Honestly, we're an easy target, and criminals know the rules Mr. Gillis trained us for. Just hand over the money and we'll deal with it the next day. I swear I wouldn't be surprised to find out that former employees were robbing this place. It always happens at night, and that makes me leery every time I close the store down.
Rachel was supposed to be working tonight, but her daughter is sick, leaving me to work a double shift. Heaven forbid Derrick stay an hour later than scheduled. The messed-up part is that I'll probably come in tomorrow and Mr. Gillis will ask me to go home because this shift and the one I worked yesterday on my day off gets me dangerously close to forty hours. The man would rather stand up front and check out customers on his bum foot than let anyone earn some overtime.
I flip the button on the conveyor belt, breathing a sigh of relief when it actually starts to move. The belt is probably as old as the register, and, like Derrick, it doesn't always work.
I pick each item up, look at the price, and key it in because, heaven forbid, the prices stay consistently the same. I've been caught more than once having to re-ring things because Mr. Gillis has raised or lowered the prices to fit his mood for the day.
"Kaylee, I once again want to apologize for the cereal box mess back there," the man says when he's done placing all of his items with the exception of the toilet tissue on the conveyor belt.
I hate that our names are on the aprons we wear as part of our uniform.
I'll give the guy credit. He doesn't open his mouth to blame the child as many would do.
I dip my head in acceptance and continue to ring up his items.