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There are lots of jobs out there for unassuming, poor, and unabashedly sarcastic teenagers. There is the Salma Hayek of them all (meaning the #1 that owns all the rest), the “assistant at relative’s business making an obscene wage while seeing how many pencils he can keep standing up at once” job, and then there’s the “tears come to his eyes when he realizes that it’s time for another day of being demoralized by the Man” job. Mine was neither, but I’m pretty sure the Man cast an occasional irritated glance my way. I hate that guy.

I was a bagboy at a grocery store. Sure, my official title was “service clerk”, but we all know what a load that is. My job description was vague, meaning “whatever the hell management wanted me to do to satisfy their satanic ambitions”. I bagged groceries, sho’ ‘nuff, but let it be known to the non-baggers of the world that that was far from my only duty. I have, for the convenience of you, the customer, organized these tasks into the following categories:

Bathroom Baron
Regal, isn’t it? Fear me, for I was Lord of the Mop and the Little Bucket that Holds the Soapy Water and Also Squeezes Moisture Out of the Mop. At the command of my superiors (aka Evil Incarnate) I would dash off to the Mop/LBTHTSWAASMOOTM (mentioned above) holding area, and proceed to do battle with whatever horrors awaited me. Luckily, latex gloves and scrub pads were available. Sure beat using my own toothbrush to scrape the God-Knows-What off the Devil-May-Care.

Cart Wench
We had anywhere from 70 to five billion carts by my count, though I prefer to say 8, my favorite arbitrary number. Even if we had all “eight” carts inside, or almost all of them, management (aka Fidel Castro on a Grumpy Day) would had the divine vision that we needed to bring in more carts. I swear those things multiplied like rabbits- there was never an end to them. And so, though the temperature outside was soaring into the Pit Stain Level, they still mercilessly sent me out there. But alas! We could only bring in five carts at a time for reasons described only as “company policy”, commonly known as “we’re retarded.” I can’t repeat the things I muttered as I sweated my way out there, but they were not permitted in Sunday school, to say the least.

Company Chew Toy
Are customers not as cheery as they used to be? Do they have less gusto when they reach for the 2-for-1 items? By Jove, it must be those bagb….er, excuse me, Service Clerks. They aren’t smiling enough! Happiness is infectious, right? If the employees are cheerful, the shoppers will leave happy. And if the employees wear obviously forced smiles, then the shoppers will pay faster, which is just as good! But smiling wasn’t the only weapon pointed at the scapegoat that is the bagger. We also had a brick. It had a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson, who reminds most people of glue. I neither remember nor care what that brick said on it, but I DO remember that it symbolized “breaking down the walls of communication”. Management often used it as an overt threat of bodily harm.

Powerless Peon
One particularly slow day at the store one of the bosses (Satan had his inner circle) gave me this edict: “Get the spray and go wipe off all the chrome in the store”. What? Y’know, the little shiny part around the milk area. That stuff. He brandished the brick. And for the next half hour, I, my trusty spray bottle, and a ton of paper towels spit shined that chrome like never before. Another time I had to water the plants. I loathed and feared the produce guy, who oversaw the plants. I don’t even believe they were real plants, which made me feel worthless until I remembered it was better than fetching carts.

But fear not! For I also bring ways to combat the oppressive boredom of bagging! And these methods are also categorized because I love you customers!

The Restroom Disappearing Act
Here’s how you do this: while bagging, occasionally have a pained look on your face, with a slight groan to indicate that something hurts. Do this only when a fellow employee is looking. When asked what is the matter, reply that something isn’t settling right in your stomach. Continue intermittently for five minutes. Get a fairly contorted look on your face, and tell the manager you really are not feeling good and need to go to the restroom. Make sure your face is pained but not like you’ve been stabbed in the liver. Don’t overdo it, Shatner. Go to restroom, sit in stall, and wait. Play cell phone games, compose symphonies in your head, whatever. Count to see how long until they call for you on the speakerphone. I once stayed there for twenty minutes, a record that my coworkers tried and failed to break on a number of occasions. It’s the best way to rip off the Man.

Know thy Soft Touches
If your grocery store’s policy is vague, like mine, then tips are a-ok. But be careful whose groceries you take out. If a male is present, no matter if alone or with someone, no tip will be involved. Ditto for children. The best targets are middle-aged and old women. They will tip more often than not for one of the following reasons: 1) “I know how hard they work you.” 2) “I know what they pay you,” 3) “You’re such a nice, helpful boy.” All of these make you hold in maniacal laughter but are good. Obviously, the best tip time of year is the Christmas season, so butter up those old ladies, and they’ll line your wallets with petty cash. I got a five dollar tip once, which was almost equal to my entire hourly wage. So love thy AARP neighbor.

New Guys and Go-Backs
New guys. ‘Nuff said. You know what to do. Go-backs refer to items that need to be put back on the shelf. Grab a cart, put the items in there, and methodically go up and down each and every aisle, regardless of what’s on that aisle and whether you know where the items you have are supposed to go. Here’s the trick: on several occasions, when putting an item back on the shelf, grab a few and put them in the cart. This will give you a reason to go through all the aisles a second time (and I mean ALL of them). It also helps if you’re like me and never learned where stuff belonged. I’ve had this take up to an hour, and you can too.

So as you go to apply for a job, or continue to trudge through your demoralizing job, remember that there are starving kids in India. And also while your boss looks like Stalin, there are still ways that you can stick it to him.