Aisle 19 Lady

It's 6 a.m. on Saturday morning. 6 a.m., people. Why? Why, even though I crave a long, luxurious 12 hour siesta must I arise at the crack of dawn even on non-chain gang days? Thing is, it's actually worse than it seems, because I've been awake since 5:15. Most Saturdays I'd be at Wal-mart right now in my New Orleans baseball cap selecting groceries for the week and ducking down alternate aisles to avoid the colossol floor buffer. If you've ever had weekend insomnia and taken to the city's only open venue at an ungodly hour, you might agree that it's actually a somewhat pleasant experience compared to visiting somewhere around 2 p.m. The third shift employees seem much more relaxed than their day shift counterparts. They are smiling and helpful even whilst artfully arranging boxes of Ritz crackers. The butchers gather in front of the ground beef freezer talking about sports or late deliveries. Ladies stand with carts of emptied boxes chatting in front of the vitamins. The only stressed workers appear to be those in the produce department and the sad lady on aisle 19. Poor Aisle 19 Lady. While the other night workers spend the last moments of their shift gathered around the service desk telling jokes, Aisle 19 Lady methodically drags items across the bar scanner, red-eyed and scowling. Third-shifters picking up their wares before heading home attempt small talk with Aisle 19 Lady while we all wait in the only open lane. She gives one-syllable answers to their questions and steals sidelong glances at the slackers at the service desk. I can imagine that Aisle 19 must have the highest burnout rate of any other post, and I feel for Aisle 19 Lady. I think about my own job and breathe a sigh of relief. Even on my worst days when employees are fuming or I've totally screwed something up, it must be better than the resentment inherent behind Aisle 19. As I push my cart away and step out of the automatic doors toward my car, I hope and pray that Aisle 19 Lady will one day be promoted to Aisle 20, or better yet to the podium at the end of the self-check stations. Although she is doing us insomniacs a great service standing at the ready into the wee hours of the morning, I believe that there must be a better life. Maybe one day she will be on the other side making small talk herself and wondering why 6 a.m. is her inevitable waking hour.
Namaste