the greeter

She owned her own business, once. Nothing special. She was a seamstress. She had thin, talented, almost elegant fingers. Did really OK for herself. Helped supplement her and Hank’s income. Helped put the kids, Eddie and Ellie, through college. State schools. But better than she’d had. She hadn’t hardly finished high school. Things started going downhill about 10 years ago. People stopped fixing things, they just bought new ones. She used to joke to customers, “People just don’t give a darn, anymore.” She always winked when she said “darn,” just to make sure they got it. She lost all reason to laugh when she couldn’t afford the rent, anymore, even though the place was smaller than a pair of closets. She tried to work it at home, and did for a while. Then Hank got sick and it was tough to have people in there with him like he was. She took this job about a year after he passed. She shivered, now. Should have worn something warmer underneath. “I need you closer to the entrance, Mary,” Jordan said. “Don’t hide in that corner.” Jordan was the manager. He was 28. He wasn’t very nice, but she figured he had a tough job. She didn’t expect he’d ever used a seamstress, maybe didn’t even know what one was. She inched closer to the door, trying to find a spot out of the draft. Two young women entered and she said, “Welcome to WalMart.” They didn’t answer. They didn’t even look at her. She didn’t mind, anymore, being invisible. Maybe never did, really. Right now, she just wanted to be a bit warmer. Just a bit.