George Washington lives again! Only this time, it's in a Grocery Store!

You have the spirit of George Washington in you and you're itching for a revolution. You're also a teenager working at a grocery store

"Hello, welcome to Waldos. Did you find everything you needed?", I say numbly as I greet, what feels like, the thousandth customer of the day. I slap on my fake smile, per the usual routine, and continue on scanning the items.

All I can think about is how this place needs a little fire in it. A little bit of, how do you say, sporadic revolt rising from deep within the proletariat grocery force. Stockers, cashiers, greeters and pharm techs unite! The store is so tidy, sitting in all it's autonomous oppression. The management oozes fascist tendencies as they constantly check in on our daily progress.

"So, bud, how are you doing today? Are we whipping that scanner good? No items missed, correct? We cannot be missing any items!", my manager comes over with his fake a*s giddy tone, firmly placing his cringe-worthy hands on my shoulder. He is about two more sentences from getting a plastic grocery bag wrapped around his fat head.

"It is going fine", I mumble back, eyes focusing on the computer, doing anything to avoid his soul sucking gaze.

Some days, I just want to scan his head and scream back. "IS EVERYTHING GOING GOOD IN YOUR HEAD TODAY? ARE YOU STILL A FASCIST PIECE OF S**T?", but today is not the day. Tomorrow... now, that is a different story.

I look at my watch. Only ten minutes until my glorious in-house lunch special at subway. A foot long chicken breast on wheat, extra mayo with spicy mustard. No damn peppers please and if I have to repeat myself one time, I am going slap the glass so hard. I do not know what that would accomplish but do I know that it would feel good. As I sit in a booth in the back, the sticky table filled with accumulating germs from months of lousy cleaning, I plot out the revolution.

First, we will walk in normal, ready to clock in another eight hours of misery. We will start our daily work load, each acting as if the grandeur of our plans are not set in motion. Then, it will happen. The cashiers will miss scan every item, each piece of store inventory slithering out the door like freed snakes from a brothel. You know, there are snakes in brothels? Maybe? Anyways, The backroom stockers will arrange the store in a mess, a days worth of work will turn into months worth of rearranging. The pharm techs will... well, they will continue to do their job because we do not need blood on our hands, YET. I mean, literally, they could kill people if they mishandle their prescriptions.

As for me, I will run to the store intercom system and scream the war call of all oppressed, both past and present.

"THIS... THIS IS OUR DAY. THE DAY WE REVOLT! WORKERS, UNITE!"

Then, I will quickly runaway to my car in the parking lot and head home to play some league of legends. I will climb ranked as high as I can, drinking energy drinks as I drift into a gaming induced coma.

Everyone will get fired. Chaos will ensue and I, the lone reformist, will come back the hero after the massacre of store protocol.

I'll be manager of this communistic store before they even know what hit their massive elitist egos.

Scan that s**t you b******s.