The Screen Says I'm Fine

The screen above the register scores me after every customer. A green face if I hit the friendliness numbers, a percentage in the corner that resets at midnight. Corporate calls it guest warmth. We call it the vibe score.

I've learned how to hit it without feeling anything. Eyebrows up half an inch, three second hold on eye contact, have a good one said like I mean it. It works on everybody, the trucker buying five energy drinks, the kid who steals a Snickers and knows I saw.

Tonight the store's been empty since one. I've restocked the same cooler twice. Around three I caught my own reflection in the register glass doing the smile before the door even chimed, before I'd looked up to see who it was.

The screen hit 100 at close. Perfect warmth, six hours straight, not one customer under a nine.

I stood there re-reading the number like it might apologize. I gave nothing tonight. I know exactly how much nothing I gave. The machine watched the whole thing and still couldn't tell the difference between a person and someone doing a very good impression of one.

I clocked out and drove home still holding the eyebrows up half an inch, just in case anyone was watching that too.