Chapter 2

My workday started every day at six o'clock in the morning, when I got up and stuck myself in a long bath to be able to wake up and perform all the prayer I would need to hold the day firmly. So I drank a coffee in a hurry "I've never been very adept at eating before eleven in the morning" and ran away so as not to miss the bus.

I usually arrived about five minutes before everyone in the office, and stayed on the first floor, keeping the cleaning girls company, because they were the only ones who looked at me with dignity in there. So I spent four hours running from one side to the other, serving coffees and reading handouts, until eleven o'clock arrived and I could come home and have a worthy coffee.

Soon, when three o'clock arrived, I would get ready again and leave for the supermarket, where I stayed until ten o'clock at night. I didn't have a social life, I didn't have friends who lasted a long time, and who didn't work in the same place as me, since I didn't even have time to read a book. When I got home, I had dinner while taking the last bath, and after eating I still needed to see forty minutes of video class of the terrible administration course. In the end, I slept without even realizing it, and woke up the next day to repeat the whole process of the previous day. That was my life.

"Reminder that in that Sunday rush the inspectors made the withdrawal of the money from the cashiers, I mean, the bleeding, with five minutes to go before the closing of the supermarket? "Luciana asked, and coming out of my daydream I nodded, and she continued. "So, it seems that more than three hundred reais in fake bills were rejected in the deposit at the ATM, and apparently they will deduct from our salaries since they do not know who may have taken it. I even thought it would be fair, you know. If you take a little out of everyone, no one is unfairly accused. Not least because I'm sure she may have been one of the new girls who are in the trial period, but no one will accuse them. They are terrified of running out of employees when Christmas arrives. Look how crowded it is already!"

"For they try to discount a penny from me and I already take the opportunity to sue," growled Jordana, sitting down. The wheelchair rotated under her weight. "Where have you seen it, my people? They don't offer us any work materials, even the mugs and the block I had to buy! It even seems that now I'm going to have to buy a fake ballot detector pen. And they still want to take it out because we can't check the notes, if they are the ones who allow customers to crowd and we have to answer fast. That's too ridiculous. It's almost bullying."

I felt a slight tightness in my stomach with this. I knew very well that justice was not part of the protocols of that supermarket, and I knew even more that many employees had already been forced to ask for their accounts on the whim of the hierarchy in my work. If any loss had been given to the company, it would certainly not be a burden that management would bear. And it was because of this that I cast a curious look over my shoulder, seeing that the small group of managers and managers still stood in front of the reception, observing the movement and throwing from time to time some discreet looks in our directions. I wasn't stupid to think they were there just to watch. They were certainly looking for the ideal victim to get rid of a problem like that.

"It makes me mad at life," I said in a sigh. And I looked back at the small group around me. "The fact that they see how much we work, how much we endure daily humiliation, and yet, do nothing to help us. That makes me very upset. And I don't think having a psychologist would help at all. He would certainly not respect that confidentiality between doctor and patient and would tell all our complaints to the management. We can't count on any help coming from here. That makes me too angry."

I looked at my own reflection on the computer reader. I didn't wear makeup, but my dark circles played a good role of being flashy enough. My eyes were brown, and I didn't like to apply mascara or eyeliner, because I thought they were too big in shape, and I didn't want to be embarrassed by the confusing and not at all discreet features of my face. But I liked the tone of my skin. Because she wasn't Oliva, nor black. I was a middle ground of everything, and I liked not to have problems with the sun burning my skin, or finding any tone that illuminated my body. However, I felt that from time to time "both on the part of clients and co-workers" I was a little discriminated against by my color, because it was not deeply dark, but it was good shades beyond the standard yellow of Brazilians, in what was popularly known as jambo-colored brunette. And I didn't care. I loved my color. It was the only thing in my life that I truly loved. And that was enough.

"I just wanted this to end soon," I said, already getting up from the chair to call two customers who were approaching the boxes. "Friend, me too," said Jordana. "This "world" of mask ends my beauty."

Laughing at Jordana's characteristic northeastern accent, I greeted the two men who approached my cashier. One of them was dark and very tall, and although I didn't wear a wedding ring as thick as most beautiful clients, I felt alarmed enough with its beauty not to dare to look twice. The other was blonde, a little smaller than the first, wore a white shirt dress, and even through the mask, he seemed to smile widely as he said good night to me. I loved serving clients who treated me as the same, and not as a maid.

"Did you find everything you were looking for, sir? "I asked the blonde customer, while he was finalizing the payment with his card. I noticed that he smiled again when the wrinkles around his eyes were exposed, and the green eyes of a tone almost like the moss shone momentarily. He was truly beautiful and polite, but I knew he wasn't a man to someone like me. Working with public service had made me create certain social phobias, and getting involved with handsome men was one of them. In fact, I didn't get involved with any man, since I barely had time to take long showers. I didn't use to leave the house much, so I didn't know many people.

"I'm old, but not so old, girl," he said gently, in a voice with a southern accent. "I just didn't find Pepsi. In my humble opinion, it's a better soda than Coca-Cola, and yet you don't have it for sale."

"If you want, you can write down on that list of suggestions that you are always asking customers," said his friend, watching the conversation. "I go to this place every day, and I've never really found a Pepsi."

"Pepsi is overrated... It's just a gas-free coca cola, and a little disgusting," I said, making a disgusting face. And, in the face of the expression of astonishment of both men, I added: "This, of course, in my humble opinion."

At that moment the blonde man looked at me. He looked for real, from head to waist" since it was as far as the counter covered me. And I don't know very well why I felt so stunned momentarily. Maybe it was the beautiful green eyes that focused on me with an attention that made me too nervous or the simple sound of his genuine laugh, followed by a debauched sound, as if he were talking to a friend of years. I just know that I also ended up laughing and for the first time that day I felt less than just a person who should accept humiliation.

His friend also laughed softly, and said he was joking about writing down the lack of Pepsi at the supermarket, since they would be content with Coca-Cola.

"Thank you, and good night, girl," replied the blonde man when I delivered his tax coupon, in which he held my fingers longer than was necessary. And then he left, leaving me standing at the cashier, watching him say something to his friend and laugh, carrying his bags. I kept watching as they passed through the double doors of the entrance, and disappeared through the crowd of people who still came in and out. Unfortunately I couldn't see the way they went to the supermarket, whether they were driving or walking, yet I kept looking through the open doors, hoping to be able to see the parking lot. From where I was I couldn't see them anymore, I would need to get at least to the cashier twenty-four that was located next to the door, if I wanted to have an answer. However, before I made the decision, they had already disappeared.