The Other America: Talking to The Grocery Store Clerk

I’m ashamed to admit I have tried to avoid her line. It takes a few minutes longer because she likes to talk. And I am eager to get my groceries bagged and depart. I’m already dreading how long it will take to bring everything into the house and put it away.

She recognizes me and waves, so I join her line. She is not young, her hair is a bit disheveled, and deep wrinkles cut across her overly made up face. Her cough and raspy voice are those of a heavy smoker. She often comments on what I am buying, asking if something is tasty or sharing that she bought the same product for herself and liked it.

Then she breaks my heart. Someone stole her bike, so she had to ride the L train to work at 5:00 a.m. or home late at night. She is afraid but she needs the job. She was originally told her shift would be eight hours long, but now she has to stay for ten hours. Her back is killing her, but there is no one bagging groceries for her line that day.

This last complaint really gets to me. As a fellow back pain sufferer, I can’t imagine standing for ten hours, repetitively scanning thousands of items, and then lifting them into bags and putting the heavy bags into carts. I help her bag my groceries and ask why she can’t sit on a stool to scan the groceries. Not allowed. Either do the job the same as everyone else or…