Working in retail has its ups and downs, but our worst days are the quiet ones.

  On those days, the store feels like it’s holding its breath. We make no money, and time crawls painfully slow. Staff wander the aisles pretending to be busy — counting the same stock twice, stretching a two-hour lunch into three, or hiding in the stockroom half asleep.

  But the busy days?

  Those are the dangerous ones.

  Because when Pick Your Product makes money, we pay for it with sweat.

  We run around like headless chickens, rushing customers, stacking shelves, answering questions, and skipping lunch without even noticing. Mr. Adams always said,

  “Don’t let the store just look busy — let it feel busy.”

  By that he meant: don’t work harder… work smarter.

  I tried to give everything I had. I stayed on my feet all day, making sure customers found what they needed. But on profitable days, going home on time was never guaranteed.

  Because once the doors closed…

  the crazy little war began.

  At Pick Your Product, when closing time comes, most departments disappear like ghosts. The bakery leaves early. The deli vanishes. Even admin slips away quietly.

  But two departments always remain standing like exhausted soldiers:

  the Shelfpackers and the Frontline.

  And that’s when the nightmare starts.

  Back shopping.

  All the baskets and trolleys customers abandon throughout the day — filled with items they suddenly decide they don’t want — must be returned to their shelves. Mountains of unwanted groceries sit scattered across the store like evidence of a battlefield.

  That evening, as the doors shut and staff prepared to leave, Mr. Adams’ voice boomed across the floor.

  “Security has closed the staff entrance. No one leaves until back shopping is done.”

  Groans echoed everywhere.

  Moments later, the two generals of the coming war stepped forward:

  Gammie, supervisor of the shelfpackers.

  Liz, commander of the frontline.

  Both stood before Mr. Adams with their teams behind them like armies waiting for orders.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Mr. Adams,” Gammie began dramatically, “my shelfpackers worked extremely hard today. Our feet are vibrating from exhaustion.”

  Liz jumped in immediately.

  “My cashiers worked just as hard! You don’t understand what we go through serving customers all day. Our arms and hands are vibrating too!”

  Gammie raised his hand like a schoolchild.

  “Liz, you know back shopping is your department’s job. If customers leave items at the tills, cashiers must return them.”

  Liz crossed her arms.

  “The products belong on shelves, Gammie. That makes it your department’s job.”

  Mr. Adams sighed loudly.

  “I don’t care who does what. I want this store presentable before tomorrow. You two can argue all night if you want — nobody is leaving. I’m going to my office for coffee… and to call my wife. She’s a very patient woman.”

  With that, he walked away, leaving chaos behind him.

  The staff quickly realised our supervisors had failed us.

  One by one, people tried their luck.

  Mark stepped forward with a tragic expression.

  “Mr. Adams, the water in my street has been off for two weeks. A house near mine caught fire, and nobody had water to stop it. But today the water is finally back on. Please… may I go home and take a bath?”

  Mr. Adams didn’t even blink.

  “Mark, the back shopping isn’t going to pack itself away.”

  He pointed at the abandoned stock and disappeared into his office.

  Lance patted Mark on the shoulder.

  “Good story, man. Didn’t work though.”

  Meanwhile, Gammie and Liz were still arguing like politicians in a debate, each insisting their department was innocent.

  That’s when I noticed something.

  Isha and Jess had quietly started collecting baskets.

  “I need a cigarette,” Jess muttered. “Let me finish this so I can get out of here.”

  They shoved a basket into my hands.

  “Layla,” Isha said, already moving, “help us with these small ones.”

  Then she called across the store,

  “Lance! Stop looking lost and grab a basket!”

  Suddenly, the shelfpackers understood.

  If we cleared the small baskets first…

  it would look like the job was done.

  One by one, shelfpackers joined in, moving fast and silently. When Gammie finally stopped arguing, he noticed his entire team working.

  “Layla,” he asked, surprised, “are you letting them do back shopping?”

  “Yes, Gammie,” I replied. “We’re doing the small baskets. Mr. Adams doesn’t care who does it. He just wants it done.”

  Right on cue, Mr. Adams stepped out of his office and saw the cleared baskets.

  “Security!” he called. “All shelfpackers may leave. Open the staff entrance.”

  Cheers erupted from our team.

  “As for the frontline,” he continued, “finish the remaining trolleys. Gammie, take your vibrating feet and get out of my store.”

  We didn’t wait for a second invitation.

  As we walked out, Mr. Adams added,

  “Well done, shelfpackers… for working smart, not hard.”

  And just like that,

  we had won the crazy little war.