ethnography

When I started my first job I was intimidated. I was scared and nervous I wouldn’t make any friends or that I would get lost in the continuous aisles of groceries. In the front end of the Super Stop & Shop in Seekonk, I was tagged as "the new girl" and was the center of everyone’s attention. I was doomed until the next new person came along. Being very shy and quiet around people I’m not comfortable with, I hated my job for quite some time.
As time went on I eventually started talking to people and along with that came some new friends I never knew I would make. As my pals accumulated, I got to know everyone at the store. It became apparent to me how peculiar and different everyone was in their own special way, which is why I wrote my ethnography about my work. Observing all these different people made me understand and appreciate how beautiful and strange human beings can be.
One Saturday morning I sat down at a table in the break room. I chose Saturday to observe because they are the busiest day of the week for Stop & Shop. Break time was the only thing I could look forward to after hours of ringing up groceries. Just as I unwrapped my granola bar, Jared and Steve burst through the swinging door. Steve stared at me with his cold, almost venom-like eyes. His black stare and the cold hardness of his lip ring sent a shudder down my spine. I quickly looked away. He pulled his coat off and I examined his rebel flag tattoo on his forearm and nicotine stained finger tips.
"Mondor" he said gruffly, nodding to me. I guess this was his way of saying hi.
"Hey" I squeaked back. Jared flashed me his perfect smile of pearly white teeth. He had this cool as a cucumber vibe that instantly put me at ease. Jared’s good boy persona was the exact opposite of Steve’s severity, it made me wonder how these too could be such good friends.
A parade of old ladies from the bakeshop and the midget that pushes carriages come in next. Julie and Cathy are both in a fit of shrieking laughter. Cathy is quite the spit fire, her vocabulary is always sprinkled with various swear words. Julie is almost like a grandmother to me. Her words of kindness and sincerity are enough to warm me up on a cool day.
"Hello dear!" Julie calls to me, smiling. I smile and wave back. The midget, Bob, is not really a midget at all. He’s just abnormally short and he kind of looks like one of Santa’s elves, due to his long white beard and rosy cheeks. He doesn’t say anything to me, he’s usually off in his own little world. He has a snickers bar and an orange soda everyday, even in the morning.
Off in the distance I can hear the distinctive laughter of my really good friend, Catherine. She sees me and comes bounding up towards me, her hazel eyes are lit up.
"Thank God we’re working together!" We both exclaim together. Her black curly hair bounces as we high five each other. One of my supervisors, Ashlee, sticks her head in the room.
"I can hear you guys a mile away, you really need to calm down" She said crossly. She sounds harsh but we can both see her fighting back a smile. All three of us burst into laughter. Ashlee catches herself, and then returns back to her poker face. I know she has to be tough because she’s our supervisor but I know she just wants to act like giggly ten year olds like the rest of us.
Almost like a warm tropical breeze, Chris drifts into the crowded break room. His lazy smile and goofy personality always puts me in a good mood. He puts our his hand and we do our normal handshake, we slap each other five. We usually try to do it as hard as we can to see whose palm gets redder.
"What’s up Lindsay?" He says, his smile widening. I look at his shaggy brown hair that is forming into knots and tangles.
"How are those deadlocks coming along?" I know Chris’s dream in life is to be a Rastafarian. Judging from his oversized red plaid flannel, I’m not sure how he can be a lumberjack and a Rastafarian at the same time. I think his mismatched style is cute in a dorky kind of way, so I don’t mind. He pulls at his hair and nods in satisfaction.
"They’ll come in time, as long as I don’t brush my hair" he retorted. I wrinkle my nose jokingly. This results in a playful jab in my left side, a kidney shot. I still don’t mind.
My shift comes to an end. I am tired, my feet hurt, and I’m starving. I am back up in the break room one last time to write down my schedule for next week. Clarence, the porter, comes in whistling a tune. He sounds like he’s from the South. He reminds me of Robert Johnson, the blues guitarist from Mississippi who was the main influence of an entire generation of rock’n’roll and blues musicians. He wipes down a few tables and limps away, humming to himself. He is by far one of the most interesting people I will probably ever meet and I don’t think I’ll ever put my finger on why. I believe humans are unique in their own special way. Whether they are a Rastafarian, a snake, or that they just don’t have a care in the world.