The Devil is in the Retail

Oh do I have a happy tale                          
About the lovely people in my lane                          
So excited about clearance sales                          
On clothes, lamps and picture frames                          
They are as pleasant as can be                          
Until their coupon is declined                          
Then they take it out on me                          
How dare they be denied!                          
But who am I to them                          
But a kid working Minimum wage                         
(Probably an idiot who can't make change,                      
or know how to scan...          
I'll find another lane!)                          
They smile sadly at me --                         
                         
"You seem like a smart girl . . .                  
Have you thought of earning a degree?               
                       
                         
I smile knowingly.                                             
"I'm finishing my Master's currently."                          
                         
Then they sneer, narrow their eyes                          
("How dare a cashier lie?!")                                           
Should I feign defeat?                          
That somehow I am just a fool                          
Who will honor expired coupons?                          
First they demand I put all items in a single bag but wait:         
"I want it all separately!"      
Why are you putting the towels with the glassware?!"          
                                      
And then the next day    
the same person                    Comes into my lane    
and complains:    
You're wasting bags!                    
           
By far, my favorite:                         
when I shut off my lane to go home                        
And ten people rush in--                          
"Sorry, I'm closed."                        
"What terrible customer service!"                                             
"I need to go home."       
They look at me skeptically.                          
 ("Another lie!!"                  
They think secretly.)                          
                         
I suppose what you want me to say is this:                          
                         
I'm too young to be married                          
Or in graduate school                         
too poor to own my townhouse                      
oh, and my wedding ring?                    
It has to be fake, right?                            
"How'd you get that big diamond?!"                                        
Well Ma'am, I guess I stole it!                                        
"It must be fake...              
No way a cashier could have a wedding ring like that."                          
                         
Never assume anything about the person behind the counter.                          
Maybe for them the job is just for fun or an easy dollar.                          
Maybe they are more educated, wealthy, or gifted than you.                          
But of course, that's impossible right?                          
They have an ugly uniform,                          
a bulging tag that bears their name --                          
And their unforgotten shame.