She tapped her fingers on the counter and watched the clock tick, tick, tick as the hands steadily progressed towards another hour. 11:00. How long had she been there already? Only two and a half hours. How was that possible? She must stop looking at the clock, she realized, but it was so hard. It seemed to be ticking her life away. Tick, tick, tick. She heard the sound in her mind as she stared down at her silver watch upon her frail wrist. Only one more hour until her boss arrived and relieved her for lunch. Where should she eat today? She was tired of the same old choices. It didn't help that she was a vegetarian and live in a town full of fast-food joints and restaurant chains focused on American staples like chicken parmesan, sirloin steak, and cream of potato soup with bacon bits as an added "bonus."

She tapped her fingernails on the counter again and looked around. The store was empty except for her. Perhaps she should get some work done, but what was there to do? She had already re-stocked the shelves with perfume, lotions, and soaps, and taken the wooden paddle to perfectly align each row of cleverly organized items. The corporate floor plan had shown exactly where to put everything and how many items to put in each row, and she was fairly positive that she had followed orders correctly. The air seemed to steam from the humidity of the mall heating system and she felt overheated from a heavy red apron that she wore over a long-sleeved white button-up shirt which felt stiff against her body. Already her nose was becomming immune to the plethora of fragrances omitted from the open candles and tester bottles, and even in small doses from the sealed containers upon the shelves. Every hour she had been instructed to spray a fragrance in front of the store to draw in customers, but by a few hours into each day her nose was so clogged up she was never sure how much scent was already in the air.

Within each two hour time frame she was supposed to sell several thousand dollars work of stuff, but how was she do to that when only two people had entered the store in the past 2 1/2 hours? She had not made her first 2 hour quota, so now she was on to the next one, and better think of a good explanation on why the morning had not "run smoothly." What BS answer should she give this time? Honestly, you can't make people buy things, and you can't do anything when you barely have any customers. She knew these to be facts in her mind, but her boss was never convinced that they were good explanations for lack of sales.

Her eyes were glazed over, and her legs felt weak already from too much standing, and so she leaned against the counter. Morning shoppers strolled by the store, arms full of bags, on their way to someplace else, and she longed to join them. Her life had become that store, for better for worse.