[ WP ] Everyone on Earth has a superpower . Some people have incredible abilities , but most have very mundane powers , you included . Tell us about being a convenience store worker when someone tries to rob your store .

... Well, shit. 
 
 I knew immediately I was in for it when the guy walked in, and instead of seeing his face I saw twenty different faces of people I knew. He pulled a pistol and leveled it at my chest. Raising my hands above my head, I inwardly wondered why we did n't invest in some sort of currency-holding technology that was n't *literally* a fucking cash register. At this point, getting robbed was part of the job. 
 
 `` Money in the bag, asshole!'' He violently threw a plastic bag at me. I imagine it lost some of the intended effect when it floated harmlessly to the counter. Staring at it unimpressed did n't seem to make him happy. `` Now!'' He pointed his gun at me harder, if that makes any sense. He reached his spare hand behind his neck and itched. 
 
 `` Okay, okay. Jesus.'' Pressing my hand down on the button, I exhaled when-lo and behold- there was a pathetic amount of money inside. I grabbed a fist full of dollars and put them into the plastic bag. As soon as I slid the plastic bag back across, he snatched it up and took his gun off of me to look inside. 
 
 `` That's it?'' The man with twenty different faces said. His charade cracked for a little bit, his voice was a slightly higher tone. He glanced up at me, and remembered where he was. 
 
 `` What the fuck do you think you're tryin' to pull, asshole?'' There was the man I knew and loved. His power was seriously tripping me out, though. I was being mugged by Aunt Julie, my friend Christian and my little league base-ball coach. He leaned down to itch his lower leg, getting angrier. 
 
 `` What the hell are you staring at, fuck face?'' He sounded offended. 
 
 `` Gee, I wonder.'' 
 
 `` Fuck you!'' He shouted. 
 
 `` What? How is it my fault you're robbing my store?'' 
 
 `` Bitch!'' He sounded upset. 
 
 There was an awkward silence. 
 
 `` What the fu-'' He started off again. 
 
 `` Yes! That's it! That's all the money in the register. Okay? There was practically no money in the thing when I started working here. We're gon na go outta business in like, two days.'' 
 
 His eyes- or, rather, my father's/co-worker's/nan's eyes glazed over, thinking about past decisions, I imagine. 
 
 `` Oh.'' He itched his arm. 
 
 `` Yeah.'' 
 
 Another awkward silence. 
 
 `` Is there-'' I started, but this time it was him that interrupted me. 
 
 `` Man, I am so *fucked. *'' He sounded more like a normal person now. His gun arm was drifting off somewhere to the left, to my relief. He continued. 
 
 `` You know how much it fucking sucks, to have this shit going on with your face *all* the time? I'm a fucking freak! I do n't even know- you know only I can see my god damn face!? Me! That's it! My mother ca n't even love my face because she does n't know what it looks like! How was I supposed to make friends!? I was screwed from the start! I'm fucked! *FUCKED! *'' His shoulders slump and his hands slapped against his thighs, harmlessly. 
 
 Damn. Heavy. 
 
 `` I'm sorry, dude.'' I said, half-assed. 
 
 `` Forget it. Fuck it.'' He turned around and left. 
 
 I stood there for a while, my arms still in the air. After a while, I lowered them, and decided not to call the police. I do n't really know why. He probably had too much on his plate already. I looked into nearby security camera and shrugged. 
 
 That night really made me reconsider a lot of things. In the end, I suppose I realized there were powers a lot shittier than being able to make people have mild itches. 

