Behind the Register

I like people enough. They're ok, but when I'm behind a register all I can think of is my anxiety. My crippling anxiety. The customers aren't rude. In fact most of them are pleasant. It's just the line. It goes on and on. Five minutes feels like an hour. Eventually the line slows down. A girl in a sugar skull mask walks up to the register. "One scoop of Peanut Butter Swirl, please."  I scan the ice cream drums. That's one of the flavors we ran out of.  "I'm sorry. We're all out of that one. Can I suggest another flavor?" The girl removes her mask. I was so out of it that I didn't realize it was Olivia. "I was just kidding." She says. I breath a sigh of relief.  "That means you're done with helping Wilber?" Olivia nods. "And that means I can leave the register?" "Not just yet." Norm interrupts. "No?" I say, sheepishly. "No, you're too good. I can't have you leave just yet." I messed up.  I did well, and because of that I was asked to stay.