I have become convinced that Walgr33n�s has a company policy regarding the provision of employment to the insane. Just about every employee outside the pharmacy, which is regulated by the state, and the photo counter, which is populated by slouchy teens, has been, if not completely certifiable, at least seriously sociopathic.

In the Walgr33n�s I used to frequent on the south side of Chicago, there was one woman in particular you tried to avoid. She had a humongous bouffant hairdo, dyed black with a white stripe down the middle, like a skunk. But the Bride-of-Frankenstein hair wasn�t why you avoided her. She talked slower than anyone you ever met. It was excruciating. �How���..would��..you��.� ��like to pay for that?� I�d interrupt, speaking even more quickly than usual as if I could make up for lost time. �With cash, please.� I learned that cash wasn�t the answer, for making change was not her forte and required extra conversation that could add precious minutes to your visit.

While the Walgr33n�s I visited most often when I lived downtown didn�t have any one employee or stood out, the store appeared to either have an IQ cap for employees of somewhere well below average and also seemed morally opposed to training its employees on the equipment. I actually rang up my own purchase once when an employee couldn�t figure out the cash register. I�m pretty sure letting the customers use the register is not in the employee handbook. Although I was pleased that my experience at my high school after school job as a clerk in a discount clothing store finally paid off.

But I am most fascinated by a clerk in our local Walgr33n�s here. He�s not incompetent, he�s not stupid or poorly trained. He aspires to be SUPERCLERK! �* [insert trumpet fanfare here]. He makes small talk and small change. He remembers your name, even if you didn�t tell it to him. He makes it a point to be able to say hello and goodbye and make change in the native language of all of his customers. He�s SUPERCLERK! � And yet, even though I really want to draw a comic strip about him, there is something not quite right about the whole venture. Although he seems totally dedicated to his vision of SUPERCLERKness�, his small talk seems planned, not natural. It�s as if he�s taken lessons in social interaction from the same people who write telemarketing scripts. I can�t quite put my finger on it, but he�s a little odd. And yet, amazingly good at his job. And also, he looks and sounds a lot like the pimply-faced crack-voiced teen who works at Krusty Burger on the Simpsons.

Then again, it is entirely likely that I am the sociopath in the equation. Because the only thing I can find to say about this guy is that he�s friendly and attentive and good at his job. That�s rare enough I suppose. But if I cringe when I see he�s working because I know it means I�m going to have to have a conversation with a virtual stranger, than maybe it�s me who has the problem.

Nah.

*SUPERCLERK! Is a trademark of Harriet M. Welsch, who, if she had any artistic talent at all, would turn him into a superhero.

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