June
The cashier at Walgreens runs her store like the Navy. It’s 11 am on a Friday morning and she runs the register while her young coworker pouts next to her. I ring the bell for some face wash and she points in my direction.
“Didn’t you hear the bell go off?”
She makes eye contact with me.
“Honey, do you need something?”
I nod.
“See? Go unlock it for her.”
Walgreens lady checks out a dad flocked by four of his children.
“You have eight kids? Jesus.”
He asks her if she has any of her own and she laughs.
“No! I’d kill ‘em.”
She reminds me of that English teacher you have in high school who in September you think is cunty in the bad way and by June you realize is cunty in the good way. Her coworker seems less amused by register lady than I am. In fact, she looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here, sweating through her polyester polo.
Somebody on 42nd street blesses the Burger King. He stands outside, suitcase in hand, and raises two fingers to the sky, lips moving silently. I stop to stare, the part of me that will never be a true New Yorker peeking out behind the callous I’ve developed over my curiosity. I wonder if he’s a vegan. I wonder if he just really likes their burgers and is blessing the building the way my mom had our Irish catholic family resident cousin priest bless her new car when I was 8. I’m late to work. I should move along, but there’s something so interesting about how intensely he believes in the power of Burger King.
Allison, Milo, and I visit the tenement museum. We take the tour with a live historical interpreter, because it’s a concept that thrills us all. We find out we’re going to meet a girl from a place that doesn’t exist anymore, what she thinks of as Turkey and what we think of as Greece.
“Don’t ask her anything you wouldn’t ask a regular 14-year-old.”
The tour guide says this so many times and with such intensity that it makes me wonder about what the fuck people had been asking this actress.
Our tour of 12 people tucks into the tiny apartment, and the 21-year-old 14-year-old tells us how her brothers sleep on the bed, the chest of drawers, two chairs pulled together. She sleeps on a mat on the floor of the kitchen. The baby in our group starts to babble and she pulls a crate from under the bed filled with wooden blocks and a toy car. His eyes grow wide and he plays with the 100-year-old toy while the rest of us gather into the kitchen to smell fresh coffee and spices and see how she does the washing for her family of 8.
After the tour, Alison, Milo and I visit economy candy and I forget that I’m an adult with limited funds and a much lower sugar tolerance. We sat in the park consuming our goodies, sampling peach Pepsi and gummies and chocolate. I bought sour candies strong enough to burn the tip of my tongue. Everything tastes funny for days.
About a month later, I show up at the same Walgreens. This time, cashier is stocking and her coworker runs the front.
I stand meekly in front of the tooth paste.
“Gimmie a second” She barely looks at me.
“I gotta go to the bathroom!” Her coworker at the front yells across the store.
“Give it a second!” Says the former cashier.
“I don’t know if I have a second!” Says the current cashier.
“Cross ya legs!” She yells back.
Her worker laughs.
“I can’t STAND you!”
The former cashier finishes stocking and turns to face me.
“Alright. Whatta ya want?”
