At the centavo store, there is more to it. The underpaid, young worker examines the store aisle carefully examining each one, her own need for perfection feeds her desire for organization. How better can we organize the aisles, she asks herself?
She is a woman, with a brown complexion. She has Indian features from south of the border (In reality every place is south if one is brown) and has been repeatedly been reminded so. Today she has braided her dark black and thick hair to the side. It is not perfect indeed some of it sticks out, leaving herself some room for personal imperfection.
A child run pasts the young brown underpaid worker and heads over to the toy section, and a mother screams for her the child to stop while contemplating to leave the nail polish that she had decided to indulge herself with. The boy grabs a toy car, on sale for a centavo and fantasies that he is a speed racer. The mother sees the boy, laughing and a quick moment leaves the nail polish in the wrong aisle. Today, she will go one more day without unpolished nails and the boy will continue to fantasize about being a speed racer.