I walked into the Castleton four corners Mobil, tired and warm. It was Saturday, sunny and my sweats were not a good choice.

                “Could I get $3.30 on pump four?” I ask the cashier, whose name tag I believe says Mike or Matt, or something that starts with an M.

                “Sure have a good day,” he said, and then stares. “Hey!” he says, “You’re that girl from the Fireside place at the college right?”

                I smile, try to avoid the eye roll, and look back, “Yeah that’s me,” I start to turn away.

                “Well Hi, I’m -” insert M name here.

                Being polite I respond, “Hi I’m Megan,” but what I want to say is that I’m bad with names.

                This is not the first and undoubtedly won’t be the last of the reactions I receive outside of my part-time gig at the college café, serving you with a smile with your purchase and an answer to your questions about the exchange program — for the tenth time.

                I genuinely like my job, enjoy the chance to people watch, and to see the lost freshman wander. I don’t mind cleaning up after my often times overly messy peers and I certainly don’t mind the hours I’m forced to keep. I don’t even mind much having to ask 400 times a night if you want to do that on points or on exchange.

                What I do mind is when you steal, or don’t tell me everything you’ve ordered. Or when you show up five minutes ’til closing and I have to serve you (an opinion expressed by myself, but in no way my company).

                The thing is, if you spill, tell me, I’ll clean it up for you gladly-that’s what I’m there for. If the Mountain Dew is out, by all means let me know, and I’ll happily change it for you.

                But please, don’t make my life any harder than it is. I’m happy to be befriended, to say hello outside of my work place, to have you recognize me outside of my green Sodexo polo and blue visor. But if you attempt to give me your number or elaborate or why your friends call you “Big Sexy” and I should too, then you are not being helpful-however funny everyone else might find you.

                I’m a senior this year, and although I can almost certainly smell my victory lap even from the first fall scents, I remain a worker, a producer, a community member, and yes- you got it by now- one of  the fireside girls.

                I’ll gladly answer your questions and clean up your messes, but just keep in mind, I have class in the morning too and as a senior, that’s what I’m really here for too.