"Have a great weekend."

"You too!"

So fake. That smile, that over the top flailing, and that enthusiasm. Why? I mean, I understand why one would create such a work persona. I do it too. You have to, to survive in retail. Twenty years I reckon, millions of fake smiles. But Joy just rubs me the wrong way.

"How are you doing today, Cassy?"

"Would you like another bag?

"Card or cash?"

"Thank you. Have a wonderful day..."

I help them too. Over and over. Endlessly. I know all their names, their shoe sizes, which school the kids go to, gossip from work, their intoxicant of choice, out of state trips and abortions and STDs and suicidal thoughts... It all links together. See something enough and you notice the patterns.

I genuinely care. And yet, not one could pick me out from a lineup if their life depended on it. I am a nameless automaton, another shelf. Just another Alexa.

It doesn't bother me. Not at all. Not having friends can be hard, but I often wonder if I would even like them if I had any. I am a private person, you see, been living by myself. I rearrange the apartment when I get bored. The landlord probably wouldn't approve but haven't seen the guy in forever. Good riddance really. You know, he tried to sell off the place right after I got in an accident. The douche tucked his tail and ran when I chewed him out for it.

I do have family. Once a week, I call home while I clean up and mom cooks, repeating the same old conversation. Really. For one month, I have been repeating the exact same phrases. No change. At all. No change. One of these days, I'm gonna record myself and play it for her. That'd be funny. Or not, I think I already did it once.

I also have friends. Everyone does, don't they? Busy with their own lives, I send them holiday greetings, they return it, life goes on. Sometimes, it feels like those lifeless checkout machines we got. Oh what a scandal. Whole crew fired, replaced by the stupid pieces of junk. The uproar was crazy. Enough that they had to eventually hire Joy. She comes in during the day time, always complaining - why is this shelf like this, who rang the bell, this shitty register, did I leave the door open, blah blah... Always complaining. I do everything around here. Some people don't realize how good they've got it until its gone.

That's the problem isn't it. I was a star worker. No issues. But my body now fails me. Like, right now, I've got the change in my hand but I can't ungrip, no matter how I try. It's so early in the morning, and it's cold. So embarassing. Hearing I'm stupid and old junk doesn't help Mr Jackson the wife beater. He rudely pried my hand open and shoved the finger in my face before stomping off. Glad no one else was around to see it.

Next time, I'mma sneak in the divorce lawyer's number in the poor wife's fortune cookie. That'll show him. It really gets boring around here, when no one else is around. Weekday 9 AM is probably the emptiest - everyone's at work, or school, or commuting. Nobody got anything they need from poor old Betty.

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Oh, a new face. How curious. And heading right for me too. That confident gait, that penetrating look. Gosh, those deep eyes are digging into me, how daring. What would it feel like, being held by those buff arms. I should have done some makeup. I really should have. Oh no, he's here already. Doesn't look like a customer at all.

No no, what are you doing young man. So bold of you to wrap your hands around me. I know people are huggers, but we are strangers. No no, his hand is on my ass. This is wrong. I want to push him away, but I cannot. I am stuck. He's pulling at the cord. It hurts!!! No!!!

But he doesn't listen. I feel dizzy, darkness surrounding me. Why is this happening? How? Is this really happening? Nooo. Leave me alone, why won't you leave me alone... not again...

I woke up. How long hass it been? This is the back room, where all the junk is. No, no one ever comes here. All there is a mound of broken machines and furniture and cobwebs. And now this guy.

Oh no, I'm cut open. My insides are hanging, all my fluid is flowing out. Weird, I don't feel pain. I don't feel anything. Not even numb. Is this what happens in shock.

Bzzzt...

Ahhhh. No, that, that was a shock. I felt that. No, no, no, no, no..... Why me... Why again.

Crrrrr... tink... wrrrr.... tink tink... wrrssssshhh sh shhh

The front is open now. Why are there wires inside of me? What's happening... Why me.. Why again... No, please no!!

As if hearing me, the door opens. In walks Joy.

"What's the deal, Jason?"

"This one's a bust Joy."

"Another one? That's third in a month."

"Yeah, weird. I even checked for surge and stuff. Nothing. Like always, everything just looks worn down and rusted."

"But-"

"I know, I know. I checked them all last time. It wasn't like this. Something's happening Joy. I don't know what. Nothing rusts this fast."

"I'm scared, Jason. This mall is cursed. Weird shit happens here, all the time. Ever since that Betty woman died..."

No, no, no. How dare you!? You are dead, deadbeat Joy!! You hear me. Fuck you... No, no!! Why me...

"What was that?!"

"Joy, get a grip. You're scaring me. Let's get out of here."

Oh no, you don't. You cut me open, and then you leave. No way. On my grave...

I jerk awake. Oh, what was I thinking. Something about Joy, that bitch. I'm getting old. If only I find a good man and retire to the countryside. Speak of the devil, here comes Joy. And who's this, a new lover. What a scandal. Sauntering out together from the back room, hand-in-hand. There's nothing there but junk. How bold, being naughty on the company time, even with me here. And here I am, poor old Betty, minding my business and chirping away the days. Ah, to be young.