Joann sighed. She had been gifted with the thankless task of mopping up the slush of what seemed to be the entire world. Her steely grey hair hung in tendrils down her sweaty neck. Her blue eyes were unusually dull, compared to their usual brightness and intelligence. ‘80s music played from the overhead stereo. The doorbell tinkled, and Joann turned to find a teenage girl storming through in the foulest of tempers Joann had ever seen. She sighed, leaned the mop against the nearest counter, and returned to her place behind the till. The girl seemed to know exactly what she was looking for. She stormed straight to the back of the store, snatched up a cluster of poppies and daffodils and marched straight back to the counter. Joann rang her up and said,
“That’ll be $5.30.” The girl threw the exact change on the counter. As Joann organized it in the till, she heard the girl mutter as she stormed out,
“Cheap freaking boyfriends. I’ll buy my own damn flowers…” Joann couldn’t help but smile. Now that’s a story I’d like to hear, she thought. She was so happy those days were long over.
