It is 10:00 a.m. I can’t remember the last time I had a good night’s rest. Once again, my light sleep is abruptly interrupted by the blaring sound of that ringtone that I am starting to hate. Disoriented and half asleep, I silence my alarm. 

I say to myself, “Here we go again.” 

Immediately, I start to remember the daily affirmations that work has given to me: “I’m productive. I’m strong. Keep smiling.” 

I have no idea how this is going to help me feel better, but I look at the time and realize I immediately have to start getting ready for work. I enter the shower as fast as I can, wanting to stay a little longer there as usual, put on my uniform I ironed the night before, make some coffee, take the keys from my car, and start driving to the train station. 

On my one-hour train ride to the Smilemart, I notice I am not feeling as usual; there’s this feeling I’m missing something. I think for a while, and I realize that I forgot my smile at home. I usually put it on right before I open the front door, as I was told to by the store managers. 

“OMG, my smile,” I say to myself while thinking that life has been easier since we all had to wear that smile at work. 

In the ride, I take some time to look around at the people in the train, some of them wearing smiles on their faces, some of them not. The smiley people seem so happy–they are all wearing their uniforms while the others have regular clothes on and just seem immersed in their thoughts. 

When I get to the store, I do my best to fake a smile and start doing my duties. The first thing I need to do is organize the shelves with Kelly, my coworker. She is so nice to everyone, wearing her smile like everyone else working here. But today, for some reason, she looks a little bit rigid. 

We have been folding sweaters for about an hour when a customer starts complaining that she has been there for seconds and nobody has asked to help her. 

“It is clear that I demand some help,” she says. 

“How can I help you?” replies Kelly. 

“Well, you are not getting this right,” the customer bellows, her voice dripping with entitlement. “Do I need to call the manager?!” 

“Is there anything wrong?” Kelly asks, with her smile still there. 

“You have to follow the color theory to stack those. Are you stupid?” The lady says and continues, “Why is the lavender sweater next to the purple?” 

“I am so sorry; you are right.” Kelly replies and immediately starts to put everything down in order to meet the woman’s demands. 

The lady looks at me and says, “What about you? Why aren’t you folding?” 

I am still speechless, astonished by this behavior, and confused. Clearly lavender sweaters should go next to the purple ones. However I start helping Kelly. A few seconds later, the women leave.

“Kelly, what happened?” I say to her. 

“Just our work; she is right,” she replies. 

I get confused as I try to understand why we are prioritizing a colorblind customer’s satisfaction when we were right. We resume folding the sweaters, but my discomfort becomes more noticeable. I really miss my smile. 

Suddenly, an urgent need to use the restroom overwhelms me. 

“Kelly, I really need to use the restroom,” I say to her. 

“What do you mean? We are working,” she replies. 

“Yes, I’ve never had this sensation at work. What am I supposed to do?” I say desperately. 

“I don’t think we are supposed to use them; they are for customers,” she says. 

I cannot hold myself anymore, so I grab a mop and the cleaning cart and go into the restroom. It’s the only way that no one questions why I’m there. I use the restroom as fast as I can, and I realize that something as simple as using the restroom is a luxury for this company. 

When I walk back to where Kelly is, I notice there is a worker that I’ve never seen before in the grocery section who is not smiling. I look at him and become aware I’m not smiling either. He looks back at me and gives me a small smile. I start walking faster to avoid getting in trouble and finally meet smiley Kelly. We finish folding the sweaters with the new color agreement. 

Next task for the next hours is to act as a security guard while the customers do self-checkout.

“I seem to be a magnet for retail workers,” a customer boasts, clearly relishing their perceived importance. 

“Why?” I replied. 

“The cashiers check me out every time I go shopping,” he says. 

Kelly and some other workers start laughing. Meanwhile, I am just wondering If my life has ever had a meaning since I started working here. 

“What’s the difference between retail workers and turkeys?” one says. 

“The turkey rests on Thanksgiving,” he replies. 

I keep questioning my existence, contemplating the cosmic significance of these mind-numbing tasks and wondering if the universe is playing a cruel joke on us all. 

I look in the distance, and the next thing I see is the old guy from the grocery section coming to me. 

“I want to talk to you,” he says in a low voice. 

“To me? What’s wrong?” I reply. 

“I need to talk to you. Come with me,” he says back. 

We walk over a corridor which I have never seen before that ends in a room where a couple of workers are taking a lunch break. 

“What is this place?” I ask, surprised.

“The Anti-Smile union,” he replies. 

“Sorry, what?” I say, confused. 

“Yes, as you hear, we want you to join us. We work without having to wear that thing on our face.” He continues, “We have always been here, but the managers don’t want you guys to see us. I’m glad you’re not wearing it today.” 

“I forgot my smile today… I had to hide to use the restroom. And the customer’s complaint… Oh gosh…. And those jokes… I had never felt that work could be this hard,” I say. 

“That’s how they want us, their twisted plan; they want us to always be cheerful for others to make fun of us and do what they want with us. Have you noticed now? By wearing that smile, you forget about your true emotions, your human nature and yourself for the sake of customer satisfaction,” he says. “They say, ‘We don’t need any union interference here. We’re a family, and we take care of our own.’ But we are not asking for that, we have a family at home.” 

Then, he starts talking about the mission of the Anti-Smile Union. They claim to advocate for fair treatment for workers, improved working conditions, and the recognition of retail workers as human beings with needs and rights. 

I suddenly remember the first time the manager gave us that smile. They said how easy it would be to follow the company values, which prioritize customer and employee satisfaction. 

“How didn’t I ever think about this?” I say.

“Yes, by joining us today, you will be human again,” the man says. 

“What time is it? I must go back to work now,” I say. 

“You can take an hour’s break by joining us, and bathroom breaks too… Plus there’s an ice cream machine too,” he replies. 

“Seriously?” I’m surprised. 

“Yes, take as much as you can,” he says. 

“And what about the customers? Do I still have to deal with them?” I say, confused.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he says. “That’s what you signed up for.” 

I keep standing for a few minutes in the room filled with Anti-Smile Union workers, wondering if I should join them or not. On the one hand, I could continue wearing the mask, putting a fake smile on my face, and quitting my human vulnerability. Sounds awful, right? On the other hand, I could join them, take off the smile, and accept my humanity, but face the reality of this awful job that I can’t leave. 

I don’t know how to act upon this, being in a room with people sharing something as human as ice cream, while complaining about customers and managers and what their next move should be in order to fight to stay human. 

I am so confused. Would I be able to handle this job without the forced cheerfulness? Would I have the strength to face and talk about the daily struggles without the illusion of happiness? The thought of confronting the challenges head-on fills me with anxiety.

The feeling of despair floods me, and I start crying, realizing that my future wouldn’t have much hope. I wipe away my tears and take a deep breath. 

“Well, I’m ready to break free from the shackles of fake cheer and join the uprising against forced smiles! We will start an actual revolution together and regain our humanity,” I announce, raising my ice cream in victory.

Applause fills the room as my words reach the union members. They are joyful; they have one new member. 

Suddenly, the applause is interrupted by the alarm. It’s 10 a.m., time to go to work. I take a deep breath and say, “ I can’t even escape from work in my dreams.”

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Featured image by Robert Couse-Baker