I really do. I didn't always and might not always feel that way. I was like every other teenager and young adult who has worked for low pay and no prestige. However, I was fortunate enough during most of my career to have good bosses and nice customers. Over the years, I began to value being able to help people concretely with what they needed and to recognize the impact that a good or bad customer service experience can have on someone's day.
Granted, if I didn't have the Internet to publish what I have to say, I might be far more disgruntled than I am when I'm working. I doubt that my workplace will be able to replace its registers because of the financial losses incurred by the pandemic; I was agitating for technological upgrades before Covid-19 struck and now I don't know how I could even mention them. Being internationally known to the world's most powerful people is not part of most cashiers' lives. I don't know if any customers whom I have helped know who I am outside of that setting; it doesn't seem to me that they do, and I am happier that they don't.
Being poor is difficult, but it only makes me angry when I'm casually abused because of it. It is particularly upsetting to be not only abused but also victim-blamed by people who are either unaware of the power of their privilege no matter how many times they're told that their privilege and not my enjoyment of abuse is what allows them to abuse me, or by people who are aware of their privileged power and who are consciously unscrupulous.
