I ask Assistant Manager Matt Feinard to cover my register for a quick bathroom break. He, of course, refuses, citing his excuse: “I’m sorry, Buddy, but I’m really really busy.” I nod and when he turns, take a dump in the grocery bag of the next customer, charging them $7.99 for the pleasure. I ask down the line if anyone is purchasing toilet paper—offering them cuts as a trade. I wait for the sirens.

Devin Brice again asks to trade shifts (his Saturday night ["concert, dude”] for my Monday morning). Blinding him with an open package of flour, I kidney-punch him twice and hoist his coke-thin body into the air, vaulting him “hulk-style” into the refrigerated section. Clapping the excess flour from my hands, I tell him he’s welcomed to all the goddam shifts of mine he wants, and I grab a cold six-pack on my way out the door.

A customer wearing one of those cell-phone ear pieces asks me a 2-page list of questions concerning the freshness of mangoes. I pay no attention to them whatsoever, pretending to believe, instead, that they’re having a phone conversation about the freshness of mangoes. The customer finally taps my shoulder and I immediately wrestle them into a 4-point restraint, eating whole their Bluetooth.