As I sit on a park bench writing this post, the birds are cheeping about love, sex, and nest building. It barely registers. Gray light is all around me. The clouds gather on the Sierras, leaving a light dusting of snow.
Register, register is the word for this week. I want to play with this word. I want to feel its clayness, but my mind has other ideas. It remembers the day I was attacked by a cash register.
It was probably 1977--end of the disco era and the Farah Faucett hairdo. My hair was too fine and too straight for the hairstyles. I remember that my hair was usually in my eyes or in my mouth. More mortifying than my unruly hair was my unruly mother. Everyone who did not know us thought she was my older sister. It was a great ego burst for her.
I worked at the Cow Palace. My first job at this fine establishment was as a counter girl. I took the orders and dispersed the drinks from the soda fountain next to my station. My boss liked my style so much and he lost an employee that I was offered the job of cashier. As I was only 16, he was allowed by law to offer me half what he had to pay an employee. Yes, I think that I was paid around two dollars an hour.
Anyway, I did not mind. I was going up... I had already become bored with the relish trays, the drinks, the orders, and the vacuous waitresses. One of the waitresses, who happened to be the owner's daughter, would show her belly button with her recent C-section scar to the busboys.
As a cashier, I was in charge of the money, the sacred dollar. My duty was to guard, protect, and to count-back the money--a lost art today.
One day, I reached under the cash tray to put a check. I pulled back my hand and rrrriiippp. Blood spewed everywhere. I went into instant shock. I slid onto the floor gasping, while my boss tried to put pressure on the hand. I think I fainted.
I still have the scar today. Ever since this terrible attack, I have not been able to successfully tame a cash register.
I have a powerful respect for cashiers--yea.
Weekly Anamnesis
15 comments:
I have a cash story. I once worked at Marshalls in the finance office. It was my job to reconcile all of the cash registers at the end of the day and make sure the safe had exactly four thousand dollars at the end of the day. One day my boss put an extra two dollars in the safe. I counted and recounted and couldn't figure out where the two dollars came from. I finally had to go to my boss and tell him I had an extra two dollars.......continued.
.....My boss smiled and said I know. I wanted to see if you would pocket the cash. I was pissed...If there was a mistake in the cash receipts I had to find the mistake. There was no mistake. I wasted a couple of hours looking for a mistake when there wasn't one. I quit.
I like that! I don't know that I would have immediately thought of a cash register when given the word 'register' to write about ... That's clever.
A cash register that bites - must've been a bit of a shock.
Cash registers these days must be so tame compared.
Have you ever stood waitig for change while a shop-asssitant beep-beep-beeps? Stops and sighs and beep-beep-beeps again? I get so frustrated and quite nostalgic for the old days when people just dived in for the change - so much faster! (The register biting back I guess was always the risk they took. I didn't realise how brave they were!)
My sister was once attacked by a swingset. You should be friends. :)
Marsha.. sounds like you have your own cash register story ;-)
Cheifbiscuit... yea I have more stories about my retail career, but they are even scarier. LOL
Rebecca.. ummm a swingset??? my or my ... Now I have never been attacked by a swingset, but one of my sisters had an unfortunate swingset accident.. .(evil laugh)
I laughed out loud when I first read about the cash register attacking you. I had to come back and read the rest of the story later because I knew I couldn't devote my attention to the project as it deserved.
I don't mean to mock your pain, but I laughed. It's just that you wrote it so well. It's very uncharacteristic of me to laugh at a hand story, being a pianist, so please know that I really liked the way you wrote this.
Proud mum... oh laugh, please laugh. It was not funny at the time, but in the context of this story it is hilarious.
I am happy to hear that you enjoyed this piece. :-)
i have a mom who was and is always confused as my sis...great for her i tell you...i'm hoping and counting i age that well too...
thank you for sharing your memories, it's kinda like opening up your photo albums and sharing your life with us...
Sorry about the accident though.
Thank you chana...
Well, don't feel sorry about the accident... it was meant to be funny. And really, I am over it... I just shudder whenever I see a cash register. LOL
Ouch! I shut my finger in a cash register once, and that was enough for me.
hi Terry.. Yea, it hurt pretty bad. However, not as bad as when I fell off a horse. I ached for days.
The Cow Palace in SF???
Great story here, Cynthia.
BTW, I didn't mean to make anyone cry with my post. I was trying to get myself out of a horrid little self-induced tiff. Your comments were immediate and effective.
Thank you!
No... this was the Cow Palace in Roosevelt, Utah. It was a pretty nice steak joint with a burger house on the side.
Sideon... it just hit me in the emotional baggage area. Hope you are feeling better.
Now you'll have me afraid of cash registers for the rest of my life.
Well done story.
JLO.. thank you.. yes, I shudder when I see them. Means that I shop less than most females. LOL
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