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employee that comes through those doors is a hard worker. Pretty much everyone hauls ass when they’re first hired on. Yet Grocery is full of slackers. You, the new guy, you’ll put out a 100 cases of stock on order night, and they’ll put out 45. You’ll answer pages for carryouts and price checks, and they’ll relax in the warehouse. They’ll even make fun of you for working so hard. Eventually, you’ll start asking yourself why you should work any harder, when you’re only getting paid minimum wage, just like everyone else. Are you asking yourself that?”
    “I think so.”
    “Well, I’ll tell you why. A decent person isn’t comfortable sitting on his ass and collecting a paycheck for it. A decent person knows that if someone’s paying you to do a job, you do it. Otherwise, it’s stealing.” Ralph turns and takes a clipboard from the desk. “We hired you to replace John. He was supposed to work today, 5-10. Can you work that shift?”
    “Sure.”
    “Great. I’m in till five, so I’ll see you as I’m leaving.”
    The store got busier while I was in the warehouse, and leaving involves navigating around pushy customers wielding carts. I leave through Aisle Two, grabbing a few cans of cat food on my way—Turkey Giblets in Gravy, the only thing Marcus Brutus will eat. I take them to the Customer Service counter (Eight Items or Less), where Betty awaits. She scans the cans without speaking.
    “That’s ungrammatical, you know,” I say.
    “What?”
    “It should say Eight Items or Fewer. Not Less.”
    “You owe me $5.37.”
    Frank rushes past to my right, then backs up and scrutinizes the metal flaps that conceal the cigarettes behind Betty. Does he ever make eye contact?
    “Mason,” he says. “Got a minute?”
    “Sure,” I say.
    “Do you want to change the outside garbage for me? Thanks.” He turns on his heel and marches down Aisle One.
    “I haven’t started my shift yet,” I call after him.
    “You’ll need rubber gloves,” he shouts back. He’s already past the dryer sheets. “You can get them from the Meat department.”
    I’m not sure Ralph’s pep talk prepared me for this.
    But this is the only job I have, and I’m not likely to get another. So I head for the Meat department.
    There are two entrances into Meat—one from the sales floor, and one from the warehouse. It has three rooms. The first room features a window through which customers can speak to employees working inside. I peer through. Eric’s not there. I go in and start searching for the gloves.
    The double doors that lead to the next room swing open, and Eric emerges, holding a long, blood-spattered butcher knife. Tiny rivulets of red trickle down his plastic apron. I begin inching backward.
    “Hi,” I say.
    “Morning, vegan. What brings you to my den of sin?”
    “Rubber gloves. Frank said they were in here.”
    Eric takes a step closer, without lowering the knife. I take a step back. “This is my department,” he says. “Frank has no idea what I keep in here. For instance—” He turns abruptly, and I jump. He grabs a box from a shelf. “We have latex gloves. Not rubber.”
    He takes two from the box and throws them at me. I catch one, the other bouncing off my chest and onto the concrete floor.
    I pick it up, keeping my eyes on him. “Thanks.” I back through the door.
    “They’re disposable!” he says. “You throw them out when you’re done.”
    Betty supplies me with a big black bag, and I bring it outside. When I find the garbage disposal, I realize I’ll need more bags. The disposal consists of a concrete cylinder cemented to the sidewalk, and at this point, throwing trash here is a purely symbolic act. There isn’t room for any more.
    I put on the gloves and pick up a coffee cup. It’s half full, and some coffee spills out, narrowly missing my sneakers. I drop it into the bag and grab a burger wrapper. I can feel the grease through the latex—it’s like I’m not even wearing gloves.
    A guy