Disclaimer: I have a very dry, sarcastic sense of humor and mean no harm. I love my job and all the tomfoolery that comes with it. I censored myself in this post cuz that's the mood I was in.
So since this is my lifestyle blog and I am a very unfiltered individual, I thought I'd talk about something that I do almost everyday. CASHIER. I'm also a barista and that will be included. My life is HI-larious and I wanted to share it with y'all.
So, my day usually starts with me waking up to my cell phone alarm after only getting like 4 hours of sleep since I literally just left my job. Now, I always estimate how long it should take me to get ready and it rarely goes as planned. Females cannot gauge when to get ready. I have a tardiness problem but its genetic. I'm a woman AND African so, you dey see my problem? Have you ever had to fight against to forces of biology? Well, that's what I do every Bless-Ed day. I have to decide if I will wear makeup so we marker for 1 hour. Liquid eyeliner alone takes 20 mins. So finally leave the house. I commute via public transportation and try desperately to sit by myself. My bag is my bus buddy butttt sometimes the bus is filled over capacity and I have no choice but to sit next to a nasty creeper or a woman with a big bakasi*. C'est la vie. So I sit next to BIG BOOTY JUDY, and then there's a rotation in seating, finally. I sit by myself. Then the bus gets full again and I have to sit next to someone with repulsive breath. I try to be polite and not make it obvious but JESU, I need air. I need ventilation. This bus is hot. The breath dey boom and the person thinks that talking on the phone is appropriate. Heh, which kind ting be this? I begin thinking this is a punishment as the bus ride seems longer than usual, even though my job is literally right there. Anywho, enough about people with goat breath. I get off the bus and now begin my 3 minute walk to work. Depending on if I'm late or not, it might be a stride. I just don't see the point in running if you're already late. That's just based on my job--once you're one minute late, might as well be 15 minutes late.
It's all about the muthaf#^&ing money!
Finally clock in, now I have to get my money. Chaching! is literally what I will hear for the rest of the day. So I now take the elevator while carrying a huge drawer with my money bags. I never get tired of the stares. Not sure if people are contemplating stealing my drawer or just checking out my epic bitch face. I have to walk down this long a$% hallway and struggle with whether to say hi or awkwardly look at the ground. This is a delicate art. I now put my money in. Now I have to pretend to give a s&^# even though I'm still half asleep. I love when regulars come in and I already have their stuff ready. I get confused when they change it up. you messing up the funk, right now. I thought we had an understanding. We decide to try something new when there's a long a$% line behind? Anyway, some Foreigners and FOBS come in and I am irritated to the 10th degree. "Can I get a lad-ee?" NAWL. you mean latte? Another seperate example: "Caramel FRAPPUCHINO" (repeated another 5 times). N&*$a if you repeat this one more time... Ok so I get them the frappuchino right. To now have them tell me it's the wrong thing. LIKE, whatchu mean??!! I feel like screaming. "I want hot!" So you wanted a CAPPUCHINO? N$%^a, do not play with me today. I don't have time for your tomfoolery. Sometimes, I think they thoroughly enjoy seeing you struggle to serve 30+ people AND remake their drink. They subtly nod in approval of the remake. They linger and ask me where the bag and drink carrier are, eventhough it's right next to them. GET DA F*&^ OUTTA HERE. Now my colleagues and I rotate on drinks and food. I make a smoothie. I always know whose smoothie I'm making because the person is always looking at me. That makes me so uncomfortable. Like, am I really going to poison you? You don't even know what half the things I'm putting in your drink are. Then they try to be a smart-a$$ and ask If I put the extra in a cup for them. SHEBI*, you want extra, you get extra money? But like what did you pay for though? Sometimes I do it if I'm in a good mood. Just depends. Now, I serve food and dessert. Clean and etc. This is the repetitive cycle of my day. I worry if my money will come out right because this very essential in my job description. I count my money 3 times before giving the customer change.
I fill up my bele* with as much sustinence as possible without feeling sleepy. Come back with a "F*$% the world" attitude. We got fo' mo' hours. YOU GOT THIS. I handle my s#$% and bounce out dat bish. I have a huge smile on my face as I see my manager come get me for countdown. LIKE, yasssss. Nothing even matters. As I walk down to the elevator, creepy janitors smile at me and attempt to start a conversation. MAKA-why? it's hi and bye n#$%a. see you never. Funny thing is that those are the janitors I end up seeing the most.
I'm walking and I'm walking and I realize how sore my legs are. BRUH, This job is a workout. Countdown is the best and worst part of my day. I'm leaving but now I have to use my non-existent math skills. Math is the bane of my existence. Which is funny because I do love cashiering/my job. I really do take a long time to count. Le sigh, I finish and I pray to God my money is correct. It is, most of the time.
The day is not over until I clock out this peace. The momentous sliding of my card as my time is logged into the system is very ceremonious to me. I have sealed my fate--or my paycheck--sometimes I confuse the two. I actually start shekinit as I leave but remember there are onlookers and stop myself. Gorsh, I'm uber weird.
This concludes a day in the life, y'all! Hope it was a good read.
-Bakasi-booty as coined by Flavour Nabania
-Shebi-pidgin english/yoruba comparable to so
-Bele-pidgin english for belly