Damn It Capitalism, You'll Pay For Forcing Me To Profit When I Should Be Pursuing Happiness Redux.V.02

originally published August 2024, redux completed on June 2026

I had intended to catch up on some saved posts on Substack. Instead, I was enticed by something new- a goodbye letter to a community the author would soon leave. Farewell! To her baristas, her neighbors, her favorite stalls!

The fondness for close knit homes and familiar routines, for whatever reason, reminded me of my favorite novel of the year, Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata. More likely, I just loved the book so much I saw its reflections everywhere. So then I got to thinking about my own, lost, fond connections. I thought a lot about my old job at a convenience store for team members, the best job I ever had.

I used to work at Universal Studios, and one of the perks of the company was the relative ease with which you could transition roles (well, laterally, at least). I roved from food service to events- some great, some the absolute worst decisions I ever made, the wounds from which took years to heal. But the very last job I took there . . . was a Godsend. I loved it. So this little store, right, back of house for team members only. We sold essentials like deodorant, Monster energy drinks, Uncrustables, and Nestle Dibs. It was open from 6 am until 8 pm. There were quite a lot of things to do in the tiny store, and sometimes there was so little to do seconds passed like bricks. Perhaps because of the dichotomy, my favorite shifts were openers.

It starts off horribly, at 4:30 am. Eyes burning from sleep my body knew it didn’t need, body pleasantly numb and therefore perfectly malleable for a short yoga session. I have just enough time left for a shower, maybe a thermos of tea if its wintertime, and then a weary march to the car. The clock started, according to Peoplesoft, at 5:30. I’d greet the other opener either with warmth or excitement, and we’d toss our bags into the manager’s office to begin ticking off the morning checklist. There were Tornadoes to slow cook on the grill, registers to log in, digital announcements turned on- all to the tune of either Dad Rock or the Top 40 with Ryan Seacrest. Outside, past the metal barrier keeping us cut off, we could hear footsteps, rushed, dragging, purposeful. We stare with wolfish eyes at the clock until it hits 6.

Opening time!

With the press of a button the metal partition rises, and we’re ready, with non-hostile body language, for our first customers. The first one is usually somebody just getting off of 3rd shift, briefly energized by the ping sound the machine made as they clocked out. They step in and beeline for the Tornadoes- French Toast was the wildly popular flavor of choice- and then the drink cooler, usually grabbing one or two cans of Monster Java, bringing the whole feast to us for the usual exchange:

Changing up the response to “how are you?” became a game. My go-to response was “living the dream!”, a classic zany line in the early 20’s. I could alternate with “just another day in paradise” if I was feeling spicy. After a year or so at the job, I started hitting folks with the “I’m here and ready to comply”, which got a sizeable amount of choked laughter. The soldiers who brave the trenches of hospitality are some of the funniest and strongest souls you’ll ever meet. Sparing a minute to joke can potentially make someone’s day, inspire the high of comradery, no sickle (maybe sickle).

My favorite third shift customer was a chipper dude with an unchangeable order- one black coffee and one Uncrustable. He’s one of those whose post-clock-out buzz makes him social and charming, speaking fast and light in an attempt to maintain the buzz he’d need to journey back home to Altamonte Springs. He heralds a change- after him, more customers get chatty. I tease some about their triple Monster purchases, offering well wishes for their open to close shifts. Some take the healthier route of Body Armor, typically Tropical Fruit or Strawberry Mango. The Lyte Peach Mango is left to languish, but that’s because it sucks. 80% of customers grab a few Tornadoes with their purchases, and we need to carefully balance a presence at the registers with Tornado replenishment duty.

I’ll see familiar faces by the rollers, in the line, or by the coolers grabbing a Coke (three or four feral souls would terrify us with this display of free will, but softened the horror by tastefully grabbing the Cherry Vanilla flavor). We’d share a bright reunion, happy to see the other healthy, and still employed, and still willing to make corny inside jokes. It was a time to share gossip, previous shift abnormalities, or speculate on upcoming events. If somebody asked about a mutual friend, we’d snap out a gleeful “they’re living the dream!”

Of course, despite the reassurance of daily visits, the best talks happened after prolonged absences. Then, their triumphant return added jolt of relief, mixing in with the eagerness for catching up; department changes happened on the fly, a vacation they had worked themselves to the bone to achieve, an illness, or personally, the best reason- I left for a holiday seasonal role. By the time these updates began to peter out in favor of preparing for the shift, I was becoming mindful of our stock of socks (uniform compliant and a relatively frequent purchase), miniature bottles of aloe lotion (a hit for carts, water park workers, or games workers), and the miniature deodorants (biggest seller during the summer).

Our busiest time of morning was from half past seven until about ten. Lunch breaks began at 9, and you had either an hour to pick at eggs, or if you got the highly favored lunch at 10:15, you could look forward to proper lunch. I was a sucker for the chicken quesadilla if the daily special wasn’t up to par. I started buying Monsters for my lunch a few months after starting to combat frequent bouts of insomnia. Thanks to my coworker, a cool old Deadhead from New York, I learned about the best flavors of the nuclear beverage- Pacific Punch, Mango Loco, or the Pipeline Punch in a pinch. My favorite was the Mango. I’d spend lunch sipping mango-flavored chemicals, scrolling down A03 or Twitter, and watching costumed actors or costumed ride operators walking their own paths. The breezeway I took my lunches at was beautiful most of the year, grate tables and seats under a blue canopy firm enough to keep you awake but gentle enough to let your feet melt.

If it took me a few months to try Monster, it took me a few shifts to understand why it was so aptly named. After a quarter of the can- my breathing hitched. My heartbeat resembled a German club baseline, I was either on the edge of a stroke or shitting myself. I still felt fatigue but also if I didn’t move I would die. I still drank them, but not with anywhere near the regularity of others flush with overtime and bodies numbed to the chemical burn.

Mid-mornings were still fun thanks to small streams of openers who worked at late-opening shifts, the people who worked mid-shift, and others coming in to pick up available shifts. I adored mid-shift when I worked at attractions, there was a kind of time-bending magic to it. We could talk slower and longer with the mid-morning crowd, if they were up for a chat. This was also the time to begin the daily chores- drink restock, dust the shelves, wipe the counters and windowsills, check expiration dates, keep up the Tornado stoc! Our most often thrown away item were those Kind bars, because nobody wanted to spend a quarter of an hour’s pay on a very expensive granola bar. You could get three Tornadoes for nearly the same price!

Drink restock was one of my favorite chores because it took up a big chunk of time, and I could go read like half a chapter of a fanfic in the storage room while grabbing drinks if I timed it right. I loved the flashy colors of the Monster cans, seeing how wildly popular some drinks were in comparison to others and speculating what it all signified.
Our most popular drinks were:

I wished people would have tried the Strawberry Fanta more, it was delicious . . . I promise Strawberry flavored soda is criminally underrated!

Getting, finally, to the afternoon, we prepared for our closers. Now we’re repeating the pattern of the morning, seeing openers finally leaving, and closers arriving, coming hastily in sweats or striding through coiffed and loose from taking the morning hours for their own pursuits. There was this one woman I loved to see in the afternoons- she’d come floating in, chunky headphones on and singing. A vibrating falsetto would fill the store as she plucked up snacks. Our first encounter with this aloof muse, we stared in a sort of aghast amusement. We’d earnestly deny eye contact with each other to avoid laughing and upsetting confused customers. Not that we were making fun of her! No, we just loved the energy! Release the pain of this job from your soul with the power of music, comrade! Fill the halls with your songs of defiance!!

Others came and went, some familiar and some not. All were willing to share tales from the front. I remember the Summer of 2021 had some outrageous stories- guests fighting each other, assaulting team members. We all needed these jobs, but . . . I dearly wished to hear a story of a TM giving it to God and giving an asshole to the ER.

. . . Anyway.

Some rare days, you’d get the privilege of helping someone, but it required two conditions being met. The first: The person you wanted to help didn’t have the money to purchase the snack or food item they wanted, just that simple thing. Second: You had enough money for it. It’s a simple rule. If you’re at work, you shouldn’t be hungry. I also liked to encourage them to grab a drink too when the opportunity arose. A lot of us did this at the store, and thanks to those early lessons in mutual care, even to this day I’m on the lookout for a chance to help. I just hope that it gets paid forward.

Sometimes you were sent on field trips- a sister location in the parks needed help and you were there and ready to assist. It gave me a chance to see someplace new, get a new perspective of what I could all get too comfortable with sometimes. But our store was the best, that little convenience store with its Monsters and t-shirts and everybody who ever came in. Pins for $2, toys and souvenirs that weren’t selling anymore.

Time was running down on my shift, and that knowledge pushed adrenaline through me, dulled my pulsing soles and the ache in my back from a slowly slumping posture. Just when I think to check the clock again, the replacements came in, a third act miracle, and I either exclaim or immediately start gossiping by the chips stand. The store is beginning to get crowded, drinks are once again leaving the coolers in alarming numbers, and I’m grinning because none of that Is my concern anymore.

My time has come. At a quarter past, no sooner, perhaps a couple minutes later, I’m saying goodbye and shuffling out. Betty waits for me, my sweet escape, nestled in the princess parking spot that comes so freely just before 6 am. Suddenly I realize how much time I have. I could . . . grab lunch, a bowl of ramen maybe. I could go to Disney Springs! Or . . . I could go home, cuddle up with blankets and snooze in afternoon sun with Youtube on in the background. And that's how my day ends.

I think back to this time fondly, my wonderful coworkers and the genuinely great managers, The dancing to 2000s pop, my regulars . . . and I’m glad that was my last job with Universal Studios, a high note in the last song. Honestly, had it paid a liveable wage, I’d have been there for a few years more. But, things work out in ways that aren’t immediately clear and are necessary. That’s what I believe. This doesn’t change the cruel truth, of course, of a system that demands the utmost from those in it, while failing to provide even basic needs to them, preferring to make everything an extraction. Eventually, everything needs to change.

But nothing can change my rose sweet memories of watching my work bestie twitch when Jon Bon Jovi would come on twice in an hour, of realizing that cleaning the roller grill was actually a meditation ritual, the slow after-rush mornings, the . . . all the . . . all the daily little joys. The things I keep even as I move on.