Air was thick with the stench of Sunday. Today was the day. The day where boys became men and girls became men. The two workers faced their challenge head on,with courage in their hearts and dreaded expectations in their heads.

The first ten minutes went swimmingly. “Hello, would you like a bag?” or “Your total is $11.42.” Just in and out.  Maybe today would be a decent day. Maybe, just maybe, nothing will go wrong on such a day.That’s what they thought. The retail Gods heard the wishful thinking of the two peasants and decided to send a plague towards them.

There she was. Just an old woman, right? The outside demeanor may have seemed like an frail, innocent creature, but deep inside laid a creature unable to be described, only experienced. With a trained eye, we saw her. We feared her. Yet, we couldn’t escape her.

She was unable to purchase her three items with her credit card. Alas, there was a minimum set for a credit card to be used at said location. She made her away around, looking for any other item to purchase. The seconds turned into minutes, and her prolonged journey around the store were making the two workers uneasy. The one serving her had to wait for her, while I took on the blunt force of everyone else. After about one thousand and twenty seconds, she came back with something else. The worker, glad, rang her up and was able to accept her card. His ordeal was not over, unfortunately. She let our a roar and was outraged at the new price, demanding to know how much the new item was. The new item was $1.63. Like every other item she had. She revealed her final form, thus demanding something else. The percent of tax we charge. Our hero, my comrade, with dwindling moral, took out his phone and searched for it online, to find that the tax rate was 7.5%. Again, she went into a frenzy, spreading her wings and exhaling fire, before giving in. But the damage was already done. Our hero had to retreat back into the barracks in order to recover.