The customer’s blue ombré hair spell sparked like fireworks as he leaned across the counter, ranting about how I was the worst spell caster in Miami. I hid my nerves behind my best helpful-employee smile.

“Get your manager,” he snapped. Literally, he snapped his fingers at me.

“I’m the only one here, sir.” Just me and my pepper spray.

Espinosa’s Spell Supplies was so small, I didn’t have much room to move if he got violent. I’d have to run through a maze of shelves, knocking over bottles and tins and prayer candles, then dramatically throw myself through a floor-to-ceiling glass window to get outside, because the door opened inward. Bleeding to death on the sidewalk of a strip mall would suck. I could duck out the back door, through the workshop and storage room, but if I survived and any- thing was missing or messed up, my boss would kill me herself.

I needed to stop catastrophizing. It was super unhealthy.

“I have a very important interview! I can’t go there with hair like this!”

I’d been having important interviews for months, and I’d some- how managed not to yell at random retail workers.