Sam (version two)
Sam sighed as she ran the two-for-one-price bag of Doritos across the scanner in the Wal-Mart express lane. Her mind was on the letter in her picket. She had crammed it in as she got the mail after school, not wanting her parents to see. All She needed was to get through these few customers and she could go on break and open it.
Then a woman, about her mother's age pushed up a buggy piled with clearance items. The customers in line began to look angry, as Sam just stared while the woman started to stack her things on the counter. She sighed again, thought of her letter, and started to check the woman through. There was no use causing an argument.
"She really does look like my mother," Sam thought. "Only a few more customers before I can go on break."
"Excuse me, miss, but that shirt is only $9.99." The women spoke with confidence that Sam tried to match. She blinked and picked up the phone. "Price check on the express lane." Sam looked at the customers shoving their buggies to other lines.
"This woman is exactly like my mother."
After listening to an extended lecture from the customer-service manager about how she was supposed to be "courteous" but for the fourth time, people with more than twelve items were not allowed in the lane, and she was to tell them to please move to another lane. She didn't feel like reminding "Bob" that the last time she tried that, the customer had started yelling about how she had already waited in line fifteen minutes and wasn't about to wait any longer, and had told her to call a manger over. Bob had told her then that the customer was always right, and put on a big smile and apologized to for the "inconvenience." Sam hated hypocrites.
She dropped heavily to the couch in the break room, rubbing her temples, trying to think of how the day could have been worse so that she might be able to look on the bright side. She sighed and reached in her pocket, retrieving the envelope that she had waited a month for. "New York University, Tische School of the Arts" was clearly stamped in the return-address corner. Slowly, tongue held firmly between her teeth, she slid her thumbnail under the label, wincing as she heard it rip. So much for keeping the envelope intact. She pulled the letter free, and hoped that her day wasn't about to get worse.
"We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted..."
"Damn," she muttered. "So much for that." She had no idea how to tell her parents.
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