The Sunflower and The Cashier

            The same lady comes in nearly daily; I know her order by heart. I try to remind myself I need a pay cheque to survive, but there is a part of me that is concerned about how I am the middle person between her and her gambling addiction. She tells me what lottery she would like to purchase today, and I move to the machine to get the paper to print, and then move to the display case to get the scratch tickets she also wants.

            As I am serving her, I think about the fact that the gaming commision will call us if we turn off the machine too early, as well as the ad that plays every time my partner and I watch our show, about playing a gambling game on the phone while they’re at a wedding. The ad is basically implying that people would be so bored with real life and at an event as special as a celebration of love, that they would rather tap into their dopamine device (aka phone) for more dopamine (aka gambling). It makes me sick to my stomach, as I hand her her lottery tickets.

            I think about the plaza my work is in; where you can feed any of the major addictions people have these days substance wise (nicotine, cannabis, and alcohol). All conveniently located in the same area. I wonder who gets to decide what stores are in the same area, and who is benefiting from other people’s addictions.

            Next, I get a call for an alcohol sale. I go over to the self-checkouts, and am yelled at by a customer when I ask to see his ID and his girlfriends’ ID. They throw a fit, even though they both have their IDs. I wonder what the whole fuss was about, in my head, and ask myself what has happened to people. The alcohol sales bother me the most. Such as the other customer who presents invalid identification (expired ID and not the proper paperwork) and proceeds to tell me I am “not doing my job” when I tell him I can’t accept it. Or the lady from several weeks ago, who when she was in with her son who failed to provide ID, used her work position working for some high-level government “stuff” to try and intimidate me.

            The feelings all of this brings up in me is frustration. I see people’s entitlement scream the loudest when they can’t get their addiction fed. Or, I feel frustration, that this is even part of my job.