New Vignette - Welcome to the Machine

I started work at the Family Dollar store a couple days ago in Ellsworth. It’s obviously not a job I wanted for the wages; in fact, it was to get some social experience, something suggested by my psychiatrist, which in reality, is my own suggestion.
I pay a psychiatrist twenty bucks per hour to hear her repeat back to me the things I’ve said. Oy.
So, I have this job now as a cashier, or in other words, a robot, an ATM. I had to be trained by a developmentally troubled girl named Jennifer. She acts like she sixteen, hyper and boy crazy, even though she’s twenty three in May and dating the fifty-one year old manager. I’m not supposed to know this because they could both lose their jobs, but apparently, I can be trusted in their opinions.
The job is a synch even for an agoraphobic like me. A usual transaction goes something like this:
“How are you today/ tonight?”
The customer mumbles something inaudibly, or when I can make it out, it’s always, “Exhausted” or “tired” or “long day”, emphasis on the ’long’.
Next, I slide Easter candy, discounted comforters, plastic fence decorations, or junk of that sort under the scanner, the laser light rarely recognizing the “SKU” number the first time. Several times already, I’ve held an item under the laser too long, it scans in two or three times. That’s when I push the intercom button and an assistant manager drags their feet out of the back room reluctantly and voids my mistakes.
The store smells like its made out of plastic as is everything it contains. Cheesy garden signs, tacky knick-knacks, and knock-offs of every brand of food fill the shelves in the store. Nobody would normally buy the stuff they do in this store, but its so damn inexpensive, they can’t resist having another deck of cards even though they already have four back home.
Once everything’s bagged and totaled, I count at the change and simply ask, “Do you want your receipt in the bag or in your hand?” Responded with another mumble, and I say, “Have a good day/ evening/ night.” Sometimes, I’m feeling cheery and replace the ’good’ with ’great’ or ’wonderful’.
They thank me for being their check-out machine and wander out the double doors, moving on with their lives, as I stand in that cage waiting for the next customer to mumble whether they’re ’fine’ or ’good’.