It's Sunday. It's a six-to-midnight shift. Six is the worst time of the day. All the billions of old ladies and housewives and welfare clients who were too "busy" the rest of the week to do their shopping all come in during the *same* hour on Sunday evening to shop at once. Whee. And I get to stand in one place for two-to-two-and-a-half hours at a time, pretending to be cheerful and pretending to like them and fake-smiling until my face aches.
Gods, I hate this job.
I *am* quitting in January. I *am*. *bangs forehad against desk*