Convenience Store Loser Ends a Livestream Queen

At 2:00 am, I unboxed the last case of chips.

Two entire rows of shelves were empty, and I was the only one working the overnight shift.

Restocking, organizing inventory, mopping the floors, taking out the trash—all of it was on me.

I'd been working night shifts for a full month now, from 10:00 pm to 6:00 am, without even a single break.

Nobody knew much about me, the newest employee. Even the store manager only knew that I was an entry-level transfer from corporate and that I was efficient, didn't cause trouble, and got things done without a fuss.

With four thousand stores nationwide, the company was bound to run into management problems at the ground level, making regular personnel rotations essential.

I changed into my faded, washed-out store uniform.

Just then, my phone buzzed. It was Carter Barrino calling.

"Louis! Come out for drinks! There's a big shot who's dying to meet you!"

"I'll pass. I have to watch the store," I said before hanging up, ignoring Carter's pleas.

Carter had been my best friend since we were kids. For years, people had been lining up to get an introduction through him. But tonight, I was just "Lou the convenience-store clerk", and I didn't have time to entertain any big shots.

I grabbed a sandwich that had just passed its best-by date, crouched behind the register, and started eating. As I ate, I scrolled through short videos.

When I was halfway through eating the sandwich, a black van screeched to a stop outside the convenience store. A woman jumped out, selfie stick in hand, the ring light attached to her phone practically blinding.

Behind her, a plump assistant scrambled in, hauling a heavy ring light setup, with a power bank and a spare phone hanging around her neck.

Street live streams—I knew the format all too well. Ambush random pedestrians, push them until they snap, edit out the context, and pump out viral content for quick cash.

The woman shoved the door open and swung the camera around.

"What's up, everyone! It's 2:00 am right now! Let's see who's still out here struggling to make a living at this hour!"

Her account was called "Street Unfiltered", and it boasted 4.2 million followers. Her specialty was hunting down working-class people late at night, such as delivery drivers, rideshare drivers, night guards, and convenience-store clerks.

She'd corner them on camera, hammer them with questions until they lost their composure, then edit the footage into viral shorts.

The camera panned over and locked squarely on me as I ate my sandwich.

A flicker of curiosity crossed the woman's eyes. It was the look of a predator spotting its prey.

"Hi! We're 'Street Unfiltered', where we cover local everyday life. We're doing a survey on people who aren't married. Do you have any plans to get married?"

I didn't even look up. "Not really."

Her voice shot up an octave, like a predator who'd just picked up a scent trail.

"Oh? Is it because your income doesn't really allow for it?"

I finally glanced up at her.

She looked to be in her mid-20s, with a small face and a well-proportioned figure. But even her carefully done makeup couldn't completely hide the faint exhaustion on her face. Pulling all-nighters was probably the norm in the live-streaming world. She was just another person hustling to make a living.

There was a sense of certainty in her tone, and the unspoken judgment was clear.

She was probably thinking, "I can tell just by looking at you. You're just a broke convenience-store clerk with no house and no car. There's no way any woman would ever want you."

I paused. It wasn't because I was angry. I had just choked a little on my food.

I stood up, grabbed a bottle of water from the shelf, took a sip, then turned back around.

There were about 600 thousand viewers in the live stream, and the comments were flooding in nonstop.

[A night-shift clerk talking about marriage? How absurd!]

[He's only making 1,500 dollars a month, and he thinks he can afford a wife?]

[LMAO! As if any woman would actually marry him.]

[Just a sexually frustrated guy trying to save his pride.]

[ROFL! What a brutal reality check!]

[Where'd his 1,800-dollar-a-month confidence come from?]

"I just don't plan on getting married," I answered. "Marriage isn't exactly a necessity for me."

The woman, who I later learned was named Joanna Trotter, softened her voice and switched to a concerned—almost patronizing—tone.

"You don't have to be embarrassed, buddy. There's nothing shameful about being poor. The only shame is being afraid to face it. It's because it's hard to find a wife with this kind of job, right? I mean, working the overnight shift at a convenience store does make it hard to…"

She deliberately left the rest of her sentence hanging.

The comments finished it for her.

[What mother-in-law would ever accept him?]

She chuckled. "Do you also think that your life is a total failure?"

The comments swarmed in like locusts.

[Here it comes!]

[She's going for the gut punch!]

[He's about to lose it!]

[Look at his face! LMAO!]

[She's absolutely destroying him!]

I watched the comments fly past, then looked at the woman standing in front of me, expectantly waiting for me to snap.

I knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted to piss me off and push my buttons until I lost my composure, then get me rambling on camera while I tried to defend myself.

That way, she could edit me into "the broke, angry loser who couldn't get a wife". Throw in a viral background track, and "LOLs" would fill the comments while money rolled into her pockets.

Meanwhile, I, the pathetic loser in a convenience-store uniform, would become entertainment for 600 thousand strangers.

A failure? I could've just told her to leave, but I didn't agree with her.

Since when did staying single mean owing the world an explanation?

Since when did working an overnight shift at a convenience store mean one deserved to be put on display for 600 thousand people like a circus animal?

Since when did refusing to live according to her standards make someone a failure fit for public judgment?

I picked up a new carton of chips, carried it over to the shelf, tore open the tape, and stacked the bags one by one.

After placing the last one, I stood up, brushed the dust off my knees, and looked her in the eye.

The comments started flooding in again.

[He's standing up!]

[Is he about to get violent?]

[Be careful, babe!]

"Alright," I said. "Let's talk."

Joanna froze for a second.