Cashies and Me

Six weeks ago six words undid me.

"We all have to stop pretending."

Three hours ago it was three.

"... in her brain".

See I've been saying "Mum has cancer" on and off for the better part of the last four years, and in fact rewind seventeen years and I could say it then too. And sometimes it hits me and it means a lot, and other times it's just how I explain my inability to empathise with some petty drama.
My ...

The tears that have been spilled on my counter are countless.
I wrote that in a story once.

If I sit here and think, for a moment, about all the customers I have seen cry, there's a great big messy montage of me handing tissues out. To Maggie, to Moiretta, to Mrs. Burke. To Lee, to Linda, to the woman with the black eye in her customer photo.
To so many more than that.

To the woman whose son was covered in cigarette burns thanks to the teenagers at the ...

Hate me once, shame on you. Hate me twice, probably just a coincidence.
Hate me three times?.. What the hell am I doing wrong?

There must be something about my conduct, or my face, or my essence - that some people just can't stand.
The other night I was pulling into the supermarket parking lot, it was after 6pm and it was dark.
A man was lurking in between cars, playing the invisible pedestrian game.
As I pulled into the lot, I stopped to let him walk ...

Rosie Cahill is a crazy old bat, with swollen man hands and a flower in her hair.
She says that she's an artist, a dressmaker, and she used to be quite pretty.
She sometimes wears a lot of make up and says she thinks of me when she puts the blue on her lids.
But hers isn't neat like mine, and she sweats a lot.
One time I had to give her my mirror and a tissue, because it was streaking down her face and I knew she'd cry if she got home and realised.
She cries enough ...

In my office my hiccupping co-worker and I just got serenaded by a man in a purple T-Shirt.
His eyes were crossed, his jeans were acid-wash, and his tune was half-baked at best.

He asked first if he could sing to us, which was nice.
Other times I've been serenaded against my will by shirtless boys and air guitars.
Today he asked, and I said, "For how long?" He said, "For sixty seconds."
"Go ahead then."

He sang ...