“Take it out of your pocket before I do.” Frank scowled at the school boy. He despised the lolly shop. A normal seventeen year old would love the busy little store but he had come to hate it. Its colorful walls, excited chatter and caramel smell made him depressed.

Frank would rather be at school like all his friends. In truth he never had many friends as such but still the idea of only ever conversing with nine year olds was terrifying. The bell that hung above the door began to become a constant tinkle. Floods of children ran through the door getting the wooden floor wet with their footprints. His scowl deepened.

Of all the places to work, a candy store full of annoying little children would be the job that suited him least. He didn’t exactly get along with them; his father often commented on this aspect, he said it was scaring away all the customers.

As far as Frank was concerned, the less children the better it would be. He scarcely got along with people his own age let alone someone ten years younger. The noise grew so loud that thinking became strenuous and actually working, impossible. There were too many people to even see the candy encrusted walls. A head ache drummed against his skeleton and the smell of damp clothing was retching.

The brightly clothed girls and boys made it hard to tell the lolly filled shelves from the people, it was like staring at a “Where”s Wally?” picture book. The only color he wore was on the white and green apron hanging loosely around his neck. After spending nine hours in a lolly shop every day of the week, black became more and more appealing. He wished he could leave.

Technically he could dump his pin-striped apron and leave right then and there. He contemplated the fantasy. It was his mother that kept him there in the first place. The thought of letting her stay in the suffocating hospital wasn’t bearable to him. He reviled himself for even thinking of leaving. Resigned to the fact that he was staying, he started shelving the bulky crates of Gummy Bears.

No matter how many times he was told to operate the register he never got used to it. Being called “sir” made him feel uncomfortable and old. With a sigh he served the last customers of the night. The lady seemed slightly scared of him as she quickly scurried out of the now empty shop. His father had already reconciled himself and gone to bed.

Frank walked over towards the little glass door and turned the key in its lock. The shop was much nicer when the moon light lit it up in his opinion and there weren’t any children to avoid. As he stood behind the counter surveying the store his stomach lurched; he could be here for his whole life. With a groan he buried his head in his hands, what was he going to do?