A Rich Customer Mocked Me, Calling Me a ‘Poor Cashier’ – But Karma Came for Her Moments Later

I loved that job more than I can say.

But the funding dried up, and one spring morning, the city decided that Google could do it better.

I packed up the last of the bookmarks, turned off the lamp at my desk, and walked out with a box full of desk plants and old bookmarks. That afternoon, I put on a name tag that said “Margie” instead of “Mrs. Harris,” and I never saw that library again.

“You miss it, huh?” Melanie asked me once, when we were folding laundry at the kitchen table.

I looked down at the towel in my hands, smoothing the edge between my fingers.

“Every day, honey,” I said.

“But that job doesn’t exist anymore. And we’ve got mouths to feed.”

“You shouldn’t have to carry so much,” she whispered.

“Well,” I said, managing a smile. “Neither should you, Mel.”

I don’t mind most days at the store, and the regulars make it easier.

Mr. Collins wears a bowtie and buys the same loaf of rye every Tuesday. Ana, a college student who always smells like eucalyptus, tells me about her classes and thanks me like she means it.

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