In Which I Abandon Virginia Woolf in Pursuit of a Career in Retail

I am done with that dratted paper, I am home, and I just finished my first Target shift of the year.

Retail–particularly department store work–has always struck me as rather bleak.  I don’t mean to insult anyone’s work, but I’ve actually had nightmares about spending the rest of my life folding sheets in the same two aisles of Macy’s.

But there are high points, too.

Like the lady who stopped me and said, “I remember you from the speech team!  You had a lovely voice!”

And the child who saw me tiredly shuttling Triskets from one cart to another, and asked if he could help (how I wanted to say yes).

And the couple who, reading from their granddaughter’s Christmas list, asked me to explain to them what Webkinz are, and what Maximum Ride is, and what the purpose of a sock monkey is (I was stumped there).

The best high point of all, however, is that I am now home, tucked into bed, and gleefully getting ready to watch an episode of the John Adams HBO miniseries.

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