Ode to a Summer Retail Job

It's another summer morning at the store
Sunscreen in the air and flip-flops on the floor
Chaotic children run around like dust inside a sunbeam
And I wonder if I even dare to dream

I don’t want to touch wet money anymore
I don't want to touch wet money anymore
I'm fully aware it’s hot
But I'd really rather not
I don't want to touch wet money anymore

Every day it's wearing down my will
As each new customer comes to the till
In one hand a beverage
That they need to stay hydrated
Pulling from their purse a currency that's fully saturated

I don't want to touch wet money anymore
I don't want to touch wet money anymore
If it's been inside your sock
I just don’t want it at all
I don’t want to touch wet money anymore

If I only had a day without wet money
If every bill was clean and crisp and dry
My retail disposition would be sunny
I'd smile each customer fair in their eye
And I wouldn’t be ignored or condescended to
I'd say "How's it going" and they'd say "doing well, and you?"
And I wouldn’t go a-wondering if this is all my life is for
Selling Deadpool books to aging hipsters at a comic store
Is this what I intended when I reached this age?
Day-jobbing sporadically for minimum wage
Am I heading towards or have I just surrendered all my dreams
If the cash was dry, it wouldn't be as bleak as that all seems

I don't want to touch wet money anymore
I don't want to touch wet money anymore
There's an answer, what do you call it?
Oh that's right, a gosh darn wallet
I don't want to touch wet money anymore