No Ma'am, that is a bath towel.

No Ma’am that is a bath towel.

         I look down at my dull and unpolished shoes as they scuff across the dreary sidewalk which would eventually lead me to my eminent doom that some call Bed Bath and Beyond.  I think to myself that no matter how bad this day gets, I have to look at the bright side.  Reaching the employee entrance, I stop, brush myself off and pin on my snazzy new name tag.  The automatic doors tower before me as I take my last few moments to stare into the sunlight; it is one thing I will truly miss.  Then the dungeon doors open behind me and wait for my entrance as if I were a king and they, my soldiers. 

         As soon as I step beyond these doors I am greeted by a squeaky toy called my boss.  Her voice rattles and thrashes my ear drums, like a group of dogs after they caught a cat.  I raise my hand to my ear and check for blood.

         “Ryan!” She yells, just to make sure that blood will appear.

         “It’s actually Brian,” I reply, “See?” I tap my cliché name tag which is nailed to my chest.

         She stares at me blankly and looks down at her clip board. I study her as she reads.  She is about three feet tall and three feet wide.  Her spray-on tan contrasts with the bright green cloth that clings around her body for dear life.  “I am working for an oompa-loompa,” I think to myself.

         “Brian!” She yells, once again startling me from my daydream. “You’ll be in bath, today.  So… head on over to the towel room.”  Then, the colorful midget leaves me.

           I proceed to turn the corner and bam! There is my hell.  A multi-colored, soft, plush room that towers over anything in sight.  Towels lay everywhere.  They are grabbing the shelves; unraveled, hoping they don’t fall to their doom.  Others are just tossed on the floor, strewn across the aisles.  Mounds and mounds of these helpless victims are clumped together on the middle shelves.  I feel like I am staring at the results of hurricane Katrina. 

         I tiptoe to the center of this room, where I lay eyes upon a very frail man.  His nametag reads, “Hi I’m Dan!”  He is pasty white with a handlebar mustache.  The whiskers still grasp the corpse of a chicken which he probably consumed only moments ago.  He approaches me and reaches out his hand.

         “I’m Dan,” the man states.

         “Brian,” I reply as I grab his hand. It feels as if I grabbed a wet and slimy fish that just oozed itself out of water.  I yank my hand back quickly to the safe space by my side.  He then explains what I’m supposed to do, but I don’t hear it.  I just stare at three lonely teeth in his entire mouth.  They were as black as tar.  He then finishes and walks way.  I look around, worried about what to do.  Then squeaky toy passes and exclaims, “Start folding.”

         “I have to clean the entire room?!” I ask, while my eyes open wide. “How does it even get like this in the first place?”

         She simply responds, “Customers… but remember they are always right.”

         As she walks away, I just shake my head back and forth and begin folding.  Towel after towel my hands begin to ache.  They start to rub raw from the rough texture of cheap cotton.  It feels as if I am folding sand paper.  After hours and hours of my tedious task, I say to myself, “hey, at least this is as bad as it gets.”

         Oh, how I was wrong.  At that time, that precise moment a customer comes strolling into the towel room.  She is enormous.  Her waste spans from shelf to shelf as she blocks the entire aisle. The fat from her body ripples downward and grasps the tops of the towels on the front line.  She walks aisle to aisle tearing down any towel in her way.  It is like watching Godzilla feast upon some tiny village.  They don’t stand a chance.  Finally, she stops and picks up a bath towel.  She attempts to wrap it around her body.  However, it will only reach past a fourth of it.  I watch as the towel is gruesomely submerged into the dark abysmal crevices within her flabby being. 

         “This must be a hand towel. Right?”  She looks at me.

         “No ma’am, that is clearly a bath towel,” I exclaim with a disappointed look.

         Then out of nowhere, the squeaky toy strikes again, “Brian!” She screams from outside of the room.  I jog over to her as she impatiently taps her foot.

         “What are you doing?” She asks. “The customer is always right.”  Her brow sinks between her eyes.

         “But in no way, shape or form is that a hand towel,” I reply, not able to comprehend the ridiculous situation before me.  She just shoots me a look and then slowly walks away.  I return inside to see that the monstrous woman had left. The room, once again, lies in waste.  I shed a tear.  As I resume cleaning up and folding the ridiculous amount of towels, I think to myself, “why not soap dispensers or toilet lids?  Why towels?”

         Then, to add to my displeasure, another employee comes creeping in.  the limp and tall woman comes striding down the aisle to my side.  She just stands there, her eyes gleaming in the recreational light.  Her smile crawls from ear to ear.

         “Are you ready for your towel class?” She yells with enjoyment in a bubbly voice.

         “My wah?” I respond as my shoulders slump and my brows cradle the edge of my eyes. 

         “Well all bath employees need to take a course on how to sell a towel. Hee Hee.” She giggles.  Each sentence, she wipes her long, dirty blonde hair away from her mouth.  I stare blankly at her. The only thing I could think about was my hands clamped around her tiny bird-like neck.

         “So… this is Egyptian cotton,” she picks up a blue towel, “It is shiny and strong.  Go on, touch it.” I stroke the piece of cloth. 

         “Wow…” I state with a dull voice.  She holds the towel close to her body and raises it ever so softly to her face.  She sniffs it.  My jaw drops as I watch this euphoric bond between woman and towel.  She then continues to wipe the towel gently on the bridge of her crooked and elongate nose.  I do nothing but stare. Then all of a sudden her phone beeps and she quickly pops out of the hypnotic state.  She stares at me and begins to blush.  Her face turns as red as Santa’s jumpsuit.  Then, embarrassed she runs out of the room.

         I continue, once again.  However, this time I stay uninterrupted.  I look at my phone; it is 8:59pm. I drop the towel I am currently holding and run towards the exit, freedom at last.  Then, right near the sign-in desk the oompa-loompa stops me and points.  I turn around and feast my eyes upon a customer who strolled in at the very last minute.

         “We have to wait until she is done.” My boss said.  I feel like a cork upon a champagne bottle that had been shaken to its limit.  I am going to explode. I sprint to the customer and attempt to push her along.  It is to no avail, like throwing darts blind.  She just saunters and saunters down each and every aisle.  My eye starts to twitch and my head begins to ache.  Finally, she stops in the towel room.  The lady grabs a few towels, unfolds them, and throws them on the floor, as if she has no intention to by them.  She then proceeds to leave the room and the store.  I quickly grab the mess and throw it in the back corner of the room, leaving it for the night.  I can just think about getting home.

         When I leave Bed Bath and Beyond and scuff back to my car, I am not relieved.  I lost.  Bed Bath and Beyond had gotten the best of me as I failed to look at the bright side.  This miserable job has taken hours of my life and joy, and in no way did I learn anything.  The worst part is that I’m going to have to get up and do it all over again the next day.