"No, no, no, dear, I want that wrapped in red paper." A middle-aged woman came through my line and talked to me as if my IQ were that of a grade school kid. When I first started working, it was simply a way to decrease   the time I spent at home and make my parents happy. I never thought that a year and a half later, I would still be at Marshalls, waiting for this woman to get through my line. I smiled and said, "Oh, that's no problem." She bent over the counter to look at the computer and made sure I was doing my job correctly. Her sweater grazed my hand and she smiled like she meant well. I wanted to roll my eyes but instead I just smiled. Ever since I started working here, I've tried not to let people like her get to me. And forget judging a book by its cover, because I have been proved wrong time and time again. The wealthy middle-aged women were far ruder than the teenage boys. At first, I was constantly surprised. Now, I tried not to even guess how the person coming near my line was going to act, because it was never the way I imagine. I never expected people to be so rude and at the same time nice. But for every rude person I saw, at least five pleasant customers came through my line. "Here you go," I handed the woman her receipt and hoped her $5 wine glass was wrapped to her liking. "Have a nice day!" I said. And just as I thought I was fed up, the next customer came through. "She had about one more minute and I was going to tell her to get out of line," she whispered   to me with a smile. Why did the writer work at Marshalls?
To have more time to go out. To make money for the family. To find a way to be happy. To improve her IQ on doing business.