ISSUE I: P(art) of the Soul

PROSE
By JAKOB OWENS
brand, fake flowers arranged by
color. Business came in waves and
some days passed by with hardly any
business at all. You often wondered
how the Dollar General stayed open,
‘‘ In a lot of ways, your baby
boomer co-workers seemed
like the only stagnant people
you knew. "
or if it was still open today. Before
you graduated from college, a new,
shiny Dollar General was being built
on the Northside of town and you
had not visited the small town in
over ten years.
By the end of your college career, the
emo kids had migrated elsewhere.
Some ended up going to college and
others joined the workforce. They
grew up. They went away. Maybe,
they even went to work at the new
and shiny Northside Dollar General.
In a lot of ways, your baby boomer
co-workers seemed like the only
stagnant people you knew.
You remember a regional director,
a man by the name of Paul. He was
a hot topic during lazy afternoons.
Paul lived in a pretty, two-story brick
house in a gated community
a city over. He hardly came
around and you only met
him a handful of times. You
remember his handshake
being a little too firm and
a little too sweaty. His
mustache grew too long over
his lips and his dress pants
were around an inch too
long. Mary said he owned all
of the local Dollar Generals
and was making a fortune, except for
the one where you started working.
And all he had to show for it was his
allegedly beautiful home and leased
new model Nissan.
Susan said he was too
busy in his in-ground
pool to care about
his pants dragging
too low or a bunch
of women making
minimum wage.
All of the ladies had
pristine looking
uniforms. The collars
of their black polos
By JOSHUA HOEHNE
were stiff and their black Bobbie
Brooks slacks were always lint-free.
Terri even kept a lint brush from
the bargain bin by the cash register.
There was not a strict dress code at
Dollar General; black shirt, black
pants or jeans, and badge with your
name. You had everything but the
badge stuffed in your dorm closet;
a plain black top from Kmart, plain
jeans from Abercrombie and Fitch,
or your sister’s slacks from her
debate days. You received the badge
from Terri on the first day of work.
She pinned it neatly on your shirt.
Terri shook her head at you when you
clocked in for your first day of work.
She let out a disapproving grunt and
handed you a lint brush. She ordered
you an embroidered Dollar General
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