A blonde haired girl sat in a metallic chair near the cash register. She snapped her gum once... twice... three times. Although she enjoyed working at the register, she often had little to do but straighted the many small objects that lined the counter. A magazine title caught her eye. Something to do with Britney Spears. Bridget sighed and rolled her eyes, she had seen lots of celebrity stunts and this was nothing huge.

Today when she had woken up, she had dressed in a long, grey tight fitted shirt under her bright blue vest. She wore black jeans, as to appear more formally dressed. Under her eyes there where bruised-looking circles. She hadn't gotten much sleep and since arriving to Wal*Mart, she had stifled many huge yawns.

"No. Everyone was decisive today," she grinned at him. She took a quick glance into the cart. It was fairly full. "Or maybe not... I cannot believe they just, like, leave things where ever." She flicked back her long hair and gave another grin. Just at that moment, a surly looking aged brunette stepped up, she thrust her purchases on to the moving belt, and glared at Bridget.

"Hello, Ma'm. How are you today?" The woman's repose was a grunt headed in Bridget's direction. In response, the blonde girl smiled sweetly. Bridget didn't let the bad moods of the customers effect her, she got worse people in a days work. The woman nodded, gathered up her bags and headed for the door.

Bridget bit back the instinctive rude response that had occured to her. Instead she just called after, "have a nice day."

His comment drew smile on her face. "If you pretend you can't hear or see their looks and or comments, then you're fine. But there was this one woman, who criticized me so much, from the color of my nails, to my outfit. I got so pissed at her I almost threw her bag of stuff at her."

Bridget wasn't exactly what you'd call a good girl. She did lose her temper occasionally. Bridget picked at the black nail polish that coated her medium length nails. She used to bite them, but stopped once she reached teenage years. Although black is a dreary color, Bridget's friends told her that was on look that she could pull off as a "cute" color.

Another speck of nail polish hit the floor. "Thanks." Since she used to bite her nails, she replaced that habit with picking off the coats of paint. The phone next to her register rang loudly.

"Hold on." Bridget picked up the phone.
"Yes... No, sir. Let me check." She fiddled with the mouse, and spoke into the phone again. "Yes, it works... Yes, sir. Goodbye."

She glanced at Jack. "The manager was doin' a computer check."