The day started slow with an overcast sky and a sweet, ice-cold macchiato. I sipped the coffee gingerly as I waited for the customers to roll in, but Tuesdays were always slow going, and it was almost useless to wait.

Carly Rae Jepson sang quietly in the background as the cars on the street rushed by. It was about noon when the first customer finally showed -- a skinny man, perhaps in his late twenties, with thin-rimmed oval glasses and a white collared shirt tucked into beige slacks. His thick blonde hair was parted in the middle which complimented his asymmetrical, chiseled jawline. Not bad for a first patron.

The bell jingled as he entered, and he was quick to shoot to the women’s t-shirt section. Doing my cashier-ly duties, I walked up to him with a smile. “Hello, I’m Robin, and welcome to Robin Steele’s Fashion Deals! Can I help you with anything today?” I asked, making sure to slip my name in there.

The guy shook his head without looking at me, his eyes still browsing the selection. “I’ve got to get my girlfriend a gift for our two-month anniversary, and I don’t have the time to make conversation.” His voice, although brisk and somewhat rude, intrigued me. His tone was hurried, almost worried, but something in his eyes told me his anxiety wasn’t towards finding the perfect present.

“We have a lovely selection of cardigans if you’d like to get her something more elegant,” I suggested sweetly, trying to be as helpful as possible.

He nodded his head. “Yes,” he said shakily, “yes, that’ll do, I suppose.”

I led him to our cardigan section, and together we picked one out -- a pure white, long sleeve, cotton cardigan with pockets that was perfect for a woman on the move, for when you have dinner at 5 and work at 6.

“This’ll do,” said the man, and he ushered me to the cash register. “Now check me out.”

“Mind your attitude,” I mumbled under my breath, but reluctantly scanned the price tag. “That’ll be $24.50.”

He got out his credit card and inserted the card to the reader. “Have a good-” but he was already gone, the door jingling and his receipt still in my hand.I casually threw out the piece of paper. No use in keeping it if he didn’t take it. 

The rest of the day was okay. Two more customers, one plump man and one thin, fit woman, showed up before my lunch shift, and each purchased clothes over $50.00. Gonna meet my quota today, I thought to myself. When the clock struck 12:30, I clocked out for lunch, grabbing my coat and heading towards the bakery across the street.

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The smell of fresh bread and savory sandwiches wafted through the parlor. In the corner was a group of teenagers working tirelessly on schoolwork, and on the other side of the room sat two elderly women, gossiping about whatever old people gossiped about.

I walked up to the counter and took a gander at all the baked treats that I could afford. “Hello,” said a kind barista, “welcome to The Tasty Trance. What can I get for you today?”

“I’d like a medium iced caramel latte and a chocolate muffin, please!” I smiled brightly at the barista, who took my order quite fast. 

“Alright,” she started, typing the last of the information into the computer, “just sign here and your order will be out in a jiffy!”

I signed where she told me to, then took a seat near the door of the cafe, watching the cars pass by and periodically checking my texts and social media. Kim Kardashian and Kanye split. Monica got a new car. Happy birthday, Raine… After reading through half my feed, another barista, a man this time, called my name. “Robin Steele, your order is ready!” I grabbed the bag he held out to me, then made my way back across the street to my store, sipping my third cup of coffee for today. 

In the back of the store, I ate my muffin and looked at the television, but my mind was preoccupied with other thoughts, like when would I get off work, and when would I be able to retire from this recurring hellish nightmare that is capitalism. Probably not for about forty years, seeing as I'm only twenty-four. The thought made me queasy, and I almost lost my appetite.

After half-finishing my lunch (and losing the rest of my appetite after pondering retirement that felt almost too far away), I sat back at the register. The sun had quickly set, and the sky had turned to a collage of bright reds, oranges, pinks, and purples. At 7:00 pm sharp, I flipped the sign from “open” to “close,” clocked out, and locked the door behind me. I made my way to my black Honda Civic and drove fifteen minutes to my apartment on the other side of Providence, Rhode Island. 

My roommate, Gracie, greeted me with a plate of steaming macaroni and cheese and a lukewarm hotdog, a usual late-evening meal. “Thanks,” I said as I took my plate and sat on the floor in front of the television. Gracie had turned on Jeopardy!, which was always playing around this time.

She and I took turns guessing the answer, and I, more often than not, got them wrong. Gracie, on the other hand, was a total whizz. She got almost every single one right, like a grandma who had nothing to do with her days. “Gosh, you sure are smart,” I said casually.

“Oh, I just study a lot for my morning classes,” she smiled. Gracie was almost a college graduate, and she was also my sister’s best friend. I offered to take her in a few years ago when my sister had to move to Idaho for university, and we’ve grown quite close ever since.

“What are you majoring in, general knowledge?” She and I had a small laugh at that, even though it wasn’t even remotely funny.

I finished my meal and, after a few episodes of Two Broke Girls, saw Gracie off to bed. “I have a test coming up tomorrow, so I got to get to sleep,”  she said through a loud yawn.

Waving her goodnight, I put my plate on the counter. I could hear the news from the living room, which was so boring. “And in other news, a murder of a girl in her early twenties. Police spotted a white Corolla-” and I shut it off. I don’t want to hear about any murderers tonight.

I walked back to the kitchen and loaded the small stack of dishes that were piling up near the sink in the dishwasher, then washed my hands, and sat on the couch, propping my feet up onto the ebony table. I stared out into the city, all the lights still brightly lit, and the sky starlessly illuminated. It was a beautiful night. Too bad it had to go to waste…

Until one text made my phone buzz. Robin! I read in my friend’s, Monica’s, voice. There’s a mixer tonight at Barry’s Bar! It’ll be good for you to meet new people after your last boyfriend, Duke. Come over NOW!!!

I typed back a reply, then grabbed my purse and made my way to her apartment downtown, a good twenty minutes away. When I got there, I didn’t even have to knock on the door, as Monica was already ushering me inside. “Okay, I have the most absolute perfect dress for you to wear tonight. It’s in the bedroom on the chest. Don’t be long!”

As she went to her bathroom to perfect her makeup, I walked down the corridor to her bedroom. On the chest lay a beautiful black dress, the collar covered in shiny rhinestones. It had long sleeves and was see-through and laced with a silhouette of flowers. The bottom part of the dress hung down to my ankles, and I saw that Monica had put a pair of black pumps beside it. 

When I put it on, I was surprised at how much it fit me just right. It perfectly shaped my body to look the best it has ever looked, and suddenly I was Jennifer Lopez. I admired myself in the mirror, then did my brown hair in a half-up-half-down style and put on some mascara.

Monica gasped as I walked out of the room, her hands cupped over her mouth. “Robin, girl, you look AMAZING!!! You’re not going home alone tonight.” She winked, then turned to go back to her kitchen-living room blend. I followed close behind.

She grabbed her purse and off we went to wherever this mixer was. I wasn’t quite looking forward to it, and my social anxiety was screaming at me to go home and get some sleep, but we were already in the car, and I wasn’t going back now.

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The bar was lively with bachelors and bachelorettes of every age, all over 21, of course. Monica and I claimed a corner booth at the other end of the establishment, cozy and out of the way of other singles mingling in the middle. I waved down a waiter and ordered my drink, a diet coke. Monica ordered a margarita, but she left the booth before it was even delivered. 

Monica wandered into the crowd, the loud pop music mixing with the conversations of others. I watched silently, slightly uninterested and immensely bored. Checking my phone every now and then, I was almost finished with my coke when someone tapped me on the shoulder from behind. I turned my head around to see the man I had helped earlier at work.

“Oh, hey!” I exclaimed in gleeful surprise. “I didn’t think I’d see you here, seeing as your two month anniversary was today.” I gave the guy a playful smile.

He just grinned awkwardly and scratched his head. “Yeah, that didn’t go too well. She wanted too much from me, I guess.”

We both stood there awkwardly in silence for a moment. “So…” I started, “I’m sorry, I just remembered that I never caught your name.”

His eyebrows perked up in realisation. “Oh, of course. How rude of me. I’m Neil Timothy.”

“Oh! From Timothy Motors?”

“The one and only.”

“Dude, you’re probably like, super filthy rich!” I suddenly adjusted myself and cleared my throat. “Sorry, I forgot that it’s rude to talk about money unless you’re with your grandpa talking about corn prices.”

Neil gave a slightly uncomfortable chuckle. “No worries, and you’d think I’d be rich by now, but I’m only making six figures.” He said it so casually, like just anyone could make six figures.

“Oh, that must be exhausting,” I said with half-hearted, slight sarcasm, but he tugged on his collar like it worried him nonetheless.

“Sorry, I must sound so arrogant right now. The truth is, I don’t really want to be here. I was dragged along by a buddy of mine.”

“No way, me too!” We laughed together at the coincidence. “Who’s your friend?”

Neil pointed to a man in a black tux who was drunkenly arguing with the bartender. “That would be Gabe,” he smiled apologetically.

I suddenly switched to a country accent to make myself seem more funny. “Don’t worry, my friend ain’t doing herself any favours either.” I gestured to Monica, who was dancing crazily in the middle of the room, obviously taking one too many shots that other men had ordered for her.

Neil had a hardy laugh at that. “So we both have crazy friends too, huh,” he snorted, and I giggled a little laugh too.

“I guess so!”

We then suffered in silence for what seemed endless but was really probably three seconds. “Say,” started Neil, “wanna go back to my place and watch a movie? Beats being here.”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Anything to get me out of here.”