Beep. Beep. Beep.
I feel myself go red from my face to my chest. I can’t believe this is happening. I probably match the red of my fleece sweater. Why does this always happen to me?
I avoid looking at the man’s face and I pray that he leaves. Instead, I hear him chuckle and I am forced to look up at him. He takes his card out of the machine and puts it in his pocket.
“It’s okay, I’m flattered,” he says.
He grabs his groceries and slowly saunters away. His flip-flops making a clacking sound, masked by the beeping of the registers.
I put my head in my hands and lean against the pillar behind me, hiding my face from Mark and the people waiting in my queue.
“You were right. He is cute,” I hear Jessie say from behind me.
One hour and 58 minutes until my shift is over.
Record Three: Shame Page 6
