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Walmart
                                                       by Steven Pineda

         There is a place that I work at that is called Walmart.  I get ready everyday just to go to work for the evil corporation of slave drivers.  The managers there are like giants holding whips slashing you and telling you to do there bidding.  You do get a break ever two hrs but the water they give you is gasoline and is nasty and they shackle you to the store so you will not try to escape and run for your life.  I stand at the register which is an evil machine that sticks its claws into you and doesn't allow you to move till you feed it money.  And the thing you should be scared of is the almighty customer which you have to bow down to and do what ever they say. As I stand there waiting for them to come with all there nasty goodies their going to buy I tremble because I can hear the sound of their foot steps which is like nails on a chalk bored screeching towards you.  If they choose you and go to your line beware for there are not forgiving and will throw you to the fire at a given chance.  The first customers comes towards me and with whips starts hitting me and telling me to move faster to ring up there items so they can go home and dwell in they cave they came from.  Hands hurting, Fingers bleeding this is the life of a cashier.  At the end of the day I reach the doors and something magical happens I grow my wings back and fly home to enjoy myself.  Then in return I become the customer and make another cashier bow down to me.

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