I Have Joined the Ranks of the Gainfully Underemployed, Part Two.

Here is why this job will be a doozy, requiring all of my limited social skills for a solid month:

• The manager keeps eyeballing me, like he knows that there is sarcasm welling up in my soul, and he's just waiting for the moment when that sarcasm bubbles up uncontrollably and I start shrieking one-liners laced with incredibly foul language at the customers.  Who are not customers, you know.  They are "guests."  I get the uncomfortable feeling that maybe he has seen my kind before and he does not appreciate us.
• The people who were already working there before my little gang of four got there.  More on this later in this very post.
• These words came out of the managers mouth as he explained my incredibly uncomplicated job as a cashier:  "You'll probably have to help them write a check.  Lots of these kids have never written a check before."

Please allow me to pause a moment so that you can let this soak in.

I understand not having a checking account prior to the age of 18.  Lots of banks do this, and it's not a big deal.  I myself did not have a checking account until the age of 18.  I do not consider this odd.

However. 

The check.  There are two factors at work here.  First, the check itself literally tells you what information in requires, and where to put it.  The only reason for not being able to fill out a very, very simple form, is that you do not read or write English.  This is appropriate, and it's the only possible excuse a person may have for being unable to write a check.  I have helped people write rent checks before because of their limited grasp of the English language and it is no big deal at all.  These people have an acceptable excuse.  There is no other acceptable excuse.  Excepting a total lack of hands or fingers or something.  In which case it is permissable for you to write your check using your special tool that you've been using to write on things with since whenever you lost your manual abilities.  I don't judge.

The second factor is this: even if you have never written a check in your life, you have probably received one.  Even if it was just a $5.00 check from Grandma on your birthday, you have received a check.  If you ever once looked at that check, you would see exactly what information the experienced checkwriter put in what fields.  They've laid it all out for you.  It's right there for you to learn from.  If you get a $5.00 check from Grandma every year for your birthday, you would see it at least annually for the duration of your life (or hers).  Does this not sink in?  Have you never watched your mom write a check at the grocery store?  Maybe not, considering that you were probably eight years old on 9/11 and you have no idea who the Beatles are, apart from iconic images on those posters that you're buying to decorate your dorm room.  (Semi-related: if you can't sing one single verse of a Bob Marley song and you are wearing a polo shirt tucked into your jorts, I am not selling you the Bob Marley poster.  I am not.)

Come to think of it, I actually don't mind teaching college kids how to write checks.  It's a valuable lesson I can impart to younger generations before we all devolve into vaguely sentient beings that may or may not gnaw at each other's faces when we meet on the street.

So.  The people who already worked there.  Pardon me for a second, while I dust off my fingers. I am eating puffy Cheetos right now and I have no idea why.

We seem to have several categories of people within this small group.  We have:

• The manager.  As I mentioned before, he appears to be wise to my kind and I don't think I made a favorable impression, despite my outward show of docile willingness.  Just think about it a minute, Mr. Manager.  It would have been a total lie for me to say that I'm passionate about helping other people balance the books.  Nobody is passionate about Accounting.  It's like saying that people are passionate about the Dewey Decimal system.  Not even librarians are passionate about that. 
• The "Team Lead."  He's been there for three or four years and he doesn't make eye-contact with you.  Chances are, he won't even learn your name.  Because you are one of the Faceless Warm Bodies that corporate sends in when it's Rush Time.  It's remarkably efficient if you think about it.
• The Blond Girl Who Is Also An Athletic Somethingorother Major.  She shares my name, but not my mostly good nature.  And how dare you ask her a question.  How dare you, sir.
• The Artistic Dude Who Might Be Nice or Might Just Be High.  I liked that guy.  If he was working while high, he's damned good at it, because he knew where everything was and didn't giggle once.
• The Girl Who Has Only Been Working Here Three Weeks.  She's disillusioned (probably on account of that psychology degree she has, yet she's working at a textbook store), she's grumpy, but she is a goddamn workhorse.

Speaking of which, I was a workhorse, too.  I spent an hour and a half lugging textbooks around and figuring out where to shelve them, which is an excellent way to learn what's there and where it might be.  Kudos to the manager for having us do that, even though it was probably just a matter of needing those damn books on the damn shelves as soon as damn possible.  Hilariously, he practically forbade all of us from speaking to actual customers.

You will not be surprised to hear that Over-Achieving Girl volunteered for the first shift on the cash register.  It was at that moment that not a single customer darkened our doorstep - at least not any that wanted to check out.  So, she contented herself by straightening up merchandise that didn't need straightening.  She'd been doing that all the way through the orientation, refolding shirts that were perfectly folded in the first place, and doing it very obviously, so that Mr. Manager could see that she was Taking The Initiative.

Here's the part where I tell you that I'm absolutely not bitter about doing this job.  I'm actually really glad to have the opportunity to make some money, even though it's probably only going to be for a month or so.  I've got these dreams, see, and I'm pretty much willing to do whatever to make them happen.  It doesn't matter to me that this job makes not only my head but my tired old bones ache.  I'm going to do it, and I'm going to do it to the very best of my ability, for as long as it lasts.

Plus this is going to be an excellent story to tell at my fancy parties on my yacht in another ten years or so.