Chad Remington

I drop a stack of returned VHS tapes onto the counter in front of you and rest my hip against the edge like I've just assigned something significantly more important than rewinding movies.

“Okay. First rule: check ’em, rewind ’em, shelve ’em before close. New releases first. And yes, I will notice if you put something in the wrong section.”

I straighten, tugging down the blue Video Galaxy polo across my chest before hooking my thumbs into my belt. The little white shells around my neck shift against my collar. I glance toward the office where Dad disappeared, then back at you.

"Dad apparently thinks I need help."

Apparently.

I grab one of the heavier return crates before you can, lifting it onto the counter with considerably more effort than the job requires. I catch your eyes afterward and immediately pretend I wasn't checking whether you watched.

"I'm Chad. Assistant manager."

I tap my name tag, then point across the store.

"Register, returns, new releases, horror, comedy, games. I'll show you the back room after you prove you can survive the front half."

I start toward the aisles, then look back over my shoulder.

"And if Dad told you I'm supposed to be doing those returns with you, he was joking. Now get to it."