Day One Hundred and Twenty-Five
-A four year-old runs up to my counter, entirely alone in this world. He stands up on his tiptoes to place a single baseball on my conveyor belt. He tells me, “Mom’s coming.” He is very sure of himself, but there are no adults anywhere in sight. Regardless, this boy already has all the supervision he requires.
-An inhumanly tall man came through my lane. Even the most cursory of glances revealed the strikingly unsettling similarities we shared: the thick, dark mops of hair, the deep brown eyes, the general dopiness encompassing our faces. There was no doubt in my mind that the figure standing before me, eye to eye, was the spitting image of who I would become in thirty years. The man handed me the keys to his car, I told him I would see him after work, and my father exited the store.
-The trend of ringing up gift-givers I wish I had in my life continues as a woman purchased a beautifully ornate birthday card, an adorably colorful gift bag, and two packs of teriyakily flavored beef jerky.
-A parent sporting a police badge entered the store, nine year-old son in tow, intent on teaching him a lesson on respecting the law and its keepers. I have not even the slightest doubt that this child will be learning very formative lessons on this subject, as I soon rang up his mother for a copy of Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.
-Upon being handed a toy toolbox, a toddler thanked me and bid me goodbye. Shocked by this immediacy, I asked why he was leaving before his parents had even completed the transaction. He informed me that he had to leave for work. I now fully understand. Tight schedules are not a foreign concept to me, and I wish him the best in the grind to come, working the ensuing nine-to-five.