Drive Through Order Taker

Dear Person, 

Through my pleasant voice
And smile so bland,
I'm desperately hoping 
That you might understand.

I've stood here for hours. 
My feet are on fire. 
I've hidden exhaustion, 
Stress, and ire.

It's ten o'clock 
We're meant to be closed. 
The counters wiped, 
The tea box hosed. 

But instead of cleaning 
I stand here talking 
To you when 
I ought to be walking. 

Please 
Go away
I don't like people.

This poem is about: 
Me

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