Dear two older men who came through my line today,
Please do not respond to news that the cashier's boyfriend is joining the Army with a step-by-step run down of how the military will identify his body if he is dismembered, complete with kicking his jaw shut on his dog tags.
I get it. You're cool, and you're old veterans, and you like showing off that you're okay with gruesome stuff. But here's the thing:
You get to leave. I am stuck here. I am stuck talking to tons and tons of people when I need to be alone with the pain you have poured on my heart, and I must be cheerful for another four hours until I reach my car. I am not allowed to cry.
Please, for the love of cashiers, for the love of one little cashier, shut up.
Sincerely,
Me
