The Target Employee

Pass the salt

The Target store is a strange place. It does its very best to pretend it isn’t a corporation. There are no clerks perched at desk saying “please hold” every few minutes as if they are auditioning to be an extra in a movie or sour-faced showgirls stacking shelves with garish products, hurrying along pretending they’re too busy to help you, no groaning rails or stacks of boxes that clutter the isles like an unkempt warehouse. Instead, it’s a store for the confused. Shoppers, usually pushing a stroller pass by wondering idly if they should get this kind of shampoo because their love interest saw the checkbook last month.

It is a Monday when I arrive at the Target store. I have a goal in mind, as every shopper has before they get sidetracked by the deals Target displays like a new kind of cure for cancer. I am here to…

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