Chewing the inside of her lip wasn’t helping. Not with the couple in front of her screaming at each other about their financial position.

“YOU! THAT’S THE REASON WE ARE IN THAT STUPID HOUSE!” she screamed. “And now?! Now, you want to move us over halfway across the country. Are you crazy, I’m just now getting to a stable point in my career. Moving that far away will kill it!”

Boyfriend. Husband, maybe, at least, that’s what Cheyenne thought. No one talks to another person like that for real, though, do they? Cheyenne’s thoughts were interrupted when the shouting woman stumbled back into her. Several unnatural colors streaked her hair, a nose ring in her left nostril, and a few visible tattoos gave the impression she lived an alternative lifestyle. Her tight-fitting black t-shirt read, ‘The Cramps.’ A pastel rainbow-colored broom skirt covered her legs, exposing naked toes clad in Birkenstocks.

Her significant other appeared normal. He was wearing a graphic t-shirt from some band Cheyenne had never heard of, Spear Front, and his long, black hair was touching his shoulders. His jeans were dark blue, frayed at the bottom. It looked like his black boots stepped on the cuffs often. It wouldn’t surprise Cheyenne to discover he was in the tech industry, or something to do with computers. Her last boyfriend, Jeremy, had a similar style. Except Jeremy liked flirting. He flirted with other girls. A lot. She broke it off with him a few months ago. Cheyenne was hurt Jeremy chose another fangirl over her. But she did keep some of his artwork as a consolation prize, believing someday it’d be worth something.

The boyfriend or husband was dumbfounded. Cheyenne got a front-row seat to their argument. His right arm had a very ornate tattoo in multiple colors, reading, ‘Faith.’ Could that be her?  

“We have to do this now, Faith? In Walmart?” He tried to touch her shoulders.

“DON’T YOU TOUCH ME, SHAWN!” she shouted, pushing him away from her, crying, Shawn tried getting close enough to console her. Cheyenne felt terrible for Faith, not so much for him.  

“C’mon Faith, don’t be like that.” Cheyenne chewed on the inside of her lip, keeping herself from smiling at his tattoo. She didn’t want to look like a kid on the playground watching a fight between the bully and the weakest kid in class. Instead, Cheyenne stared straight ahead. She thought that coming in after one o’clock would save her the hassle of domestic disputes. Or customers fighting with a customer service desk clerk with zero power. But this wasn’t Target. It was Walmart. The retail outlet where anything could and probably would happen. Cheyenne lived through four separate bomb threats while shopping at this location. It’s one thing to hear about threats like that on the news. It’s something else to be escorted out of the store, told to stay in one spot and wait until the explosive’s experts cleared the entirety of the building. Cheyenne was considering leaving now. All she wanted to do was return some socks Granny bought her.

The line inched forward. Four people now stood between her and the customer service clerk. Five, if you included the couple right in front of Cheyenne. The odd thing was the couple didn’t have anything in their hands. If they were returning something, where was it? Cheyenne glanced around customer service and saw nothing massive enough that the couple couldn’t have carried in alone.

Cheyenne’s attention was so glued to the couple that she didn’t realize the couple was next. Three people were standing behind Cheyenne now, also paying more attention to the soap opera in real-time in front of them.

“DON’T SAY A WORD, SHAWN!” Faith approached the desk, waving a receipt at the cashier. “We are returning these.” When she said ‘these,’ four cart pushers were pushing in four separate boxes on pallet jacks, each the same size as a big-screen television. Cheyenne didn’t see anything on the boxes indicating what they contained, but they had been opened and resealed with clear packing tape.

The cashier looked at the boxes, her face turning a pale-white color. “Um, what is all this?”

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO OPEN ANYTHING, DIDN’T I?” Faith gritted her teeth and spoke to the cashier without moving her lips. “I have five big-screen televisions I am returning.”

“Reason for the return,” the young girl behind the counter asked. Her name tag read Sarah.

“I don’t know,” Faith looked at the girl’s name tag, “Sarah. I guess because I DON’T WANT FOUR TVS IN MY HOUSE!”

“Can I see your receipt, please?” Sarah held out her hand, Faith slamming the receipt in her hand. “Thank you.” Without losing eye contact with Faith, Sarah picked up the phone and punched in a few numbers, saying, “Yes. I need a manager. At customer service. Five TVS. Yes. Five. Thanks.” She put the phone down, all while looking at Faith. “I need a manager to approve this, so if you can step over the side, please, I’ll be right with you.”

Faith looked like she would explode, and Cheyenne was all for it. But first things first. Returning Granny’s socks. They were cheap, not fun, and scratchy, like most foot apparel from Walmart. That’s why Cheyenne rarely wore socks. Most of the time, when she could get away with it, she wore open-toed shoes. Sandals. Flip-flops. Sometimes flats, but most of the time, Birkenstocks, like Faith’s.

“Hi. I need to return these,” Cheyenne said, sliding the socks and a receipt onto the counter for Sarah. Sarah took a deep breath, looking over at Faith and Shawn, keeping her eyes on them until her manager arrived.

“Sure thing,” Sarah said. “And you have the receipt, okay.” She scanned the receipt for the socks and then the barcode on the socks. The cash drawer popped open, and Sarah quickly pulled out the $7.78, counting it back just like Sarah had been trained. “Would you like your receipt?”

“No, thanks,” Cheyenne smiled. The manager was talking to the couple off to her left. “I hope everything over there will be okay,” she said, winking at the cashier.

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Yeah. It’s just another day at Walmart.”