Working at Kmart

“Where you from, esa?” I turned around calmly, to see who so rudely addressed me. I recognized him immediately; I’ve seen this vato before; he’s from WM. “BKM puto.” “Big K-Mart, fool? Man, now I’m going to F you up good.” He drew out his Wal-Mart knife from his pocket. I smiled at him, and then I took my pellet gun that I had just purchased at K-mart for the lowest price there is. I shot him twice in his chest; he fell to the floor clenching his chest. I thought he was going to die, then I remembered it was only a pellet gun from K-mart. “Hey fool! Those things F***ing hurt! Sh** man, I’m starting to bleed. I’m going to get you one of these days!” That’s when I started to think if $6.20 an hour was really worth me having to live in fear, wondering if one of these Wal-Mart guys is going to take me out one of these days.
I started working there on my 16th birthday. That’s right, the day I was allowed to work, I started working. I caught on real quick ...