WHO: Casper and Ophelia WHEN: 12/13/2012 around 10:30pm WHERE: Market and Bakery on Main WHAT: 1/2 hour left... killing some time WARNING: None so far
Fuck I hate closing, Casper thought for probably the fifteenth time since her shift had started. It wasn't bad enough that all the soccer moms and closeted dads of Crows Landing were falling over each other to get all the fixings for their Christmas dinner "before the rush," now she'd have to tidy and restock all the areas they ravaged before she went home. That meant at least an extra 45 minutes of unpaid work because how the fuck was she supposed to ring people in and maintain the shelves at the same time? Her boss, Marty, had left early because he promised his girlfriend he'd have dinner with her. Since Casper was pretty sure Marty's girlfriend was some old troll he chatted to online every night, she didn't sympathize with his excuse and was currently coming up with ways to get back at him for it.
Casper prided herself in always being able to get vengeance on people who did her wrong. With the exception of Hunter Sommer, however, she exacted her revenge in such a way that the victim never even suspected it was her doing. Presently, she was in the meat cooler, weighing hunks of pork. The scale would measure the mass and calculate the price for that particular chunk, then spit out a sticker with the information that she would slap onto the plastic. Today, though, she was doing things a bit differently. She picked up the smallest piece she could find out of the bunch and weighed it, then printed off 20 stickers with the exact same price and stuck them to the rest of the pork. That oughta show him.
Once she'd rotated all the pork into the meat section, she relieved Becca of her duties on cash and sent her to the back to sort the recycling because she fucking hated doing that. The dumb blonde would go home at 11 on the dot, leaving Casper with all the closing duties, plus whatever Becca had decided not to do. She also fucking hated Becca.
The remaining shoppers from the dinner rush came and went and Casper treated them all to her signature blank face, bored voice and lack of eye contact. By nine she was exhausted and badly needed a smoke; half an hour to go, she thought to herself, trying not to glance at the clock. She focused instead on glaring at the glass on the front doors, just daring anyone else to enter before she flipped the sign around.