WOOLWORTHS

Working at Woolworths was a kick. I got to pal around with old ladies with names like "Roberta" and "Doris" and "Bev." They were great. They all had bad attitudes and chain smoked in the breakroom. I confided in one of them about my plan to get married for financial aid. She thought it was a fine idea, and even offered to loan me the money for the license ($80). I'm glad I didn't marry Griff, though, even for financial aid.

There was also some exciting but unconfirmed gossip about Rosa, the Cuban cashier with coils of black hair like piles of snakes. It was rumored that she was a "princess" before Castro came to power and that she and her family were waiting for him to die so they could regain their former glory. This was supposed to explain why Rosa would never get her own bags from the storeroom, but would demand that someone else get them for her.

There was also some great cracker trash action at Woolworths! Once one of the customer service managers caught some ladies stealing underwear, and she chased them out into the Gulf Coast Mall parking lot. She grabbed one of them by the shirt, but the thief wiggled out of it and continued running, tits-to-the-wind, heading for the south trail.

Unfortunately, I did not witness this chase (nor the subsequent apprehension), but I heard all about it and agreed wholeheartedly with the upper eschelon's decision to promote Amy to head CS Manager.

 

 

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