Shop Life.

After a few busy and successful shifts at my latest job, I was suddenly and brutally flung into the plastic desert that is retail without customers.
        I assumed it would come as a relief. Finally, some time to re-apply lip balm and suture the wounds caused by back turning, hello ignoring, non-paying customers. Which it is - but only for sixty seconds or so. Then comes the 3600 seconds after that. That's an hour if your maths are lacking (which mine are, I Googled that baby). 
          I work in an open counter. This means you have no-where to hide. Not only are you on display, you're on show. I never realised how many faces I make at my own thoughts. It must look like my co-worker is Drop Dead Fred.
           My manager and I wound up wiping over every glassed surface. Hint - they're the only surfaces where I work. Yet work was so slim, and the desert without it so vast that we wound up cleaning over each others work. I actually got excited for greasy-fingered children. Wow that sentence doesn't read well , but then after working for an hour in pressurized silence, searching for a smudged cabinet to give my life meaning and worth, sense turns into something else entirely. It turns into the next customer, and results in my need to desperately, eagerly and sleazily cling to them for dear mental health.