It occured to me that very few of these pretty girls would last very long in the food industry and that they would give up and try something less labour-intensive, more chair-centered and forgiving on the hands: they looked like they valued fingernails and impractical footwear.
I wondered where these girls would be in a few years’ time, when all their dust had settled. A few I clearly saw would remain checkout chicks, and very few of those would be good at it. Others I saw as travel agents or sandwich hands, but regardless, I knew that most of them would be content with the job they ended up with. Some of them might be as my high school English teacher described, people who think flipping burgers is a career because they’ve never known any better.
What I remember most about today is a short girl with glasses and a subtle smile, and her blonde hair tied in a loose bun. She wasn’t immediately pretty, but as I watched her I became endeared to her. It reminded me of Citizen Kane:
“One day, back in 1896, I was crossing over to Jersey on the ferry, and as we pulled out, there was another ferry pulling in, and on it there was a girl waiting to get off. A white dress she had on. She was carrying a white parasol. I only saw her for one second. She didn’t see me at all, but I’ll bet a month hasn’t gone by since that I haven’t thought of that girl.”
Mr․ Bernstein, Citizen Kane
I could have approached her.