If working minimum wage at Kroger paid the bills, I would be a floral clerk forever. It’s hard but creative. It’s nice to look at flowers and talk about flowers all the time. Kroger is the world’s largest florist, so there’s that. But really, flowers are food for the soul. People change amid flowers. I feel it.
In a lightning-bolt of good luck, I have gotten a job in journalism, with the digital news division of The E.W. Scripps Co. as a general assignment reporter in Warren and Butler counties, exurban wonderlands paved and landscaped. The total population exceeds the city of Cincinnati, with each person bearing a story, just waiting . . .
The Scripps folks saw my time as The Oregonian’s downtown reporter as a good fit, and I like where they’re going. I’m jumping aboard May 20, after my brother Ted and I drive to the Texas Star Party. Journalism has a high recidivism rate because nothing's more fun. Not even Kroger.
My departure threw off the floral department schedule; Erica had picked up hours working weekend cashier third shift, for $1 an hour more. On Wednesday, the front-end staff loaned Amanda none other than Zach the Cashier. “So that night,” she said, “we’ll probably be selling a lot of baby’s blood.”
On my last shift, two young women and a brother, maybe 11, came in. He chose hot-pink carnations “for my sister-in-law. She’s having a baby. Right now. A girl.” I said it’s a big deal. He nodded. Behind him, one sister offered to pay. He shook his head and handed over $5. Then they left. I took out the trash, swept the floor and clocked out.
Causes Anne Saker Supports
Freedom of thought.