My Gift, My Curse: Ballad of the Retail Worker

It is a unseasonably warm day in late Febuary.  Around 2 in the afternoon, if I recall.  I am walking around, searching for those in need.  I see a woman, obviously distressed.  Her mouth hangs open, but quiet; failing to voice the terror she is in.  Her eyes are as wide as saucers, moving around violently, as if she is unable to comprehend the horrors she is witnessing.  

I approach her.

"Ma'am, do you need help with anything?"

Her eyes lock with mine, and a glimmer of hope twinkles on her pupil.  I made myself her only chance of salvation.

She utters,

"Could you tell me where the paper towels are?"

"Aisle 8, ma'am. And if there is anything else you need, just ask."

As we embark on our seperate paths, I look at the aisle 8 marker, just to make sure that it clearly says "PAPER GOODS" in big bold letters.  

It does.

This is the life I have chosen.  Years ago, when I first but on that badge that let everybody know that I am a 'CERTIFIED PHOTO SPECIALIST", I understood what I was getting myself into.  I understood that I would spend my days telling countless people where the bathrooms are.  I knew I would have clean up the aftermath of when people just couldn't make it to said bathrooms in time.  I knew I would have to spend hours looking for that one can of pork and beans for someone because "it's on sale and 99 cents is just to good of a deal to pass up on you know?" 

These people need a savior.

These people need me.