The Worst Proposal at the Copy Shop
I work at a busy copy and shipping store in the heart of downtown. It is the kind of place where the fluorescent lights buzz constantly and the scent of ozone and warm toner fills the air. Most days are a blur of paper jams, confused customers, and endless lines of people needing last-minute documents. We see a lot of strange things in retail, but last month, I witnessed something that still makes me cringe whenever I walk past the laminator. It was one day, a day usually defined by slow business and quiet chores. I was behind the counter, organizing a stack of shipping labels, when a man walked in wearing a full black tuxedo. It was two in the afternoon on a weekday. He looked completely out of place. He was clutching a bouquet of supermarket flowers that were already starting to wilt, the cheap plastic wrap crinkling every time he shifted his weight. He looked incredibly nervous, his hands shaking as he approached the counter. He walked up to me with a frantic look in his eyes and asked if I could print a large banner for him right that second. He wanted it done immediately, no matter the cost. I looked at our queue and then at his desperate face. I told him it would take twenty minutes. That seemed to send him into a spiral. He started pacing back and forth in the narrow space between the greeting card rack and the shipping scales. He was sweating, despite the air conditioning running at full blast. Every few seconds, he would check his watch, wipe his forehead with a damp napkin, and glance toward the front door. I went back to the printer, trying to focus on his file, but I kept glancing over. The tension in the room was thick. About ten minutes later, the door chime jingled. A woman walked in, looking around with a confused expression. She was dressed in casual clothes, clearly not expecting to meet a man in a tuxedo at a copy shop on a random that day. When she spotted him, her expression shifted from confusion to genuine concern. She took a few steps toward him, maybe to ask what was going on, but the man didn't give her a chance to speak. Suddenly, he dropped to one knee right next to our industrial laminator. The machine was making a rhythmic clanking sound, which made the whole thing feel even more surreal. He started a long, breathless speech. He talked about how their love was like a book that needed to be written. He rambled on about wanting their life together to be as clear as a high-quality photograph. The woman looked genuinely scared. She kept glancing around the store, clearly embarrassed by the scene he was making. She leaned in and whispered for him to stand up, telling him that people were watching and it was making her uncomfortable. But he was in his own world. He started shouting, his voice echoing off the linoleum floor. He kept making weird analogies about paper, staples, and how his love was permanent, like a document run through the thermal pouch. The other customers waiting in line were getting visibly upset. It was lunch hour, and people just wanted to get their jobs done and get back to work. A woman near the front of the line rolled her eyes and loudly remarked that he was ruining her entire lunch break. Another guy sighed, looked at his watch, and walked out. The man on the floor ignored every single person. He was vibrating with nervous energy. Finally, he reached into his tuxedo jacket pocket and shoved a small velvet box toward her face, almost hitting her nose. The store went dead silent for a moment. She looked at the ring, then at him, then at the crowded room of strangers staring at them. She let out a heavy, tired sigh. She took the ring from his hand, closed the box, and turned around. She walked out the front door without saying a single word. She didn't say yes, and she didn't say no. She just left. The man stayed on his knees for three full minutes after she walked out. He was staring at the floor, his tuxedo jacket bunching up behind him. It was the most awkward thing I have ever had to watch in my entire life. I honestly felt bad for him, but I also just wanted him to leave so we could get back to normal. I finished his banner, walked around the counter, and handed it to him. I told him he didn't have to pay for it, just please go. He didn't even acknowledge me. He stood up slowly, leaving the wilted flowers on top of the copier, and walked out the door looking completely defeated. I stood there for a second, listening to the silence return to the store. I picked up the flowers, which were already shedding petals on the machine, and tossed them into the trash. I wiped down the counter with a cloth, trying to get rid of the memory of his nervous sweat. That twenty-minute wait for the printer felt like it lasted for years. I have worked at this shop for a long time, but that day remains the longest twenty minutes of my entire life.