Ben Ryder Howe graduated from one of the world’s top schools (the University of Chicago) and was an editor at one of the most prestigious titles in publishing (the Paris Review). So you wouldn’t think he’d find much challenge in working a bodega counter, or find much reward in it.

You’d be wrong on both counts, though, as he details in a new memoir, “My Korean Deli: Risking It All for a Convenience Store.” The book details his experience buying and running a deli in Boerum Hill, Brooklyn, along with his wife’s Korean-immigrant family, and the struggles and satisfactions that ensued.

Among the lessons learned is what it takes to spend long hours slinging cigarettes, punching Lotto tickets, coping with line cutters and otherwise meeting the demands of high-strung New Yorkers. He spoke to @work about life at the register.

What skills does it take to be a good counter clerk?

It actually requires a lot of intelligence. You have to be really aware and attentive. People in New York have very high standards for their cashiers. They don’t want them to be too chatty, they want to be remembered if they’ve been there before. And they don’t want you to be constantly looking up prices, or asking, “How much are Froot Loops?” They want someone who’s in control.

There’s a lot of pressure to keep the line moving. Nobody wants to wait, and New Yorkers have a lot of different ways of signaling “Come on, let’s get on with it,” whether it’s shuffling their feet or sticking their money out at you. There are so many ways of pressuring you, and a cashier has to learn not to get rattled.

What surprised you about the job?

You can’t be asleep on the job, and the most surprising thing was just how challenging it was to stay focused. There are so many things going on. You’ve got a sandwich in the microwave, you’ve got a distributor who’s dropping off beer and wants to get paid, you have a line of customers who want to get back to work. Then there are the things you probably find more in New York than anywhere else, like somebody who’s decided to take a nap in your stockroom, or someone who’s lost and wants directions and feels entitled to cut the line and demand your attention. You have to juggle all these things at once, and especially for someone starting out, it’s just overwhelming. You feel like your brain’s on fire.

Lottery customers seem to present a distinct challenge to the counter clerk.

They’re much moodier than the typical customer. They’ll come in with some numbers they’re dying to play, and they’re almost giddy with excitement. Or they’re really feeling low. You kind of have to compartmentalize them, because they can interfere with the other line of customers.

You mentioned remembering prices. I’m always amazed at how many the guy at my local bodega has in his head.

Well, here’s a little secret: Sometimes they fake it. It’s not because you’re trying to cheat somebody, it’s because you don’t want to look like you don’t know the price. But cashiers eventually develop that ability to remember huge lists of numbers. I see it in my in-laws — the numbers they can hold in their head are just crazy.

In the book you call counter work “addictive.” What’s addictive about it?

The social interaction is something I came to really enjoy. You look forward to seeing customers, to being out in the world.

So that’s part of it. The other part is, it’s like a daily game. There are small differences in how much money you make from day to day, and you look forward to the little variations. You wonder, what’s it going to be like today?

You describe moments of being “in the zone,” a concept people might not think to apply to working a bodega counter. What’s involved with that?

It’s that awareness of what’s going on in your store. You have all different customers wanting different things — how quickly can you identify which type of customer this or that person is? Some shopkeepers seem to be omniscient. They know when a health department inspector is lurking, when someone is struggling to find something, when someone is up to something. When you’re in the zone, it happens during pressure situations, when you have 10 different things going on at once.

You develop a rapport with the people you work with. You see it behind a bar — the way bartenders and barbacks can communicate without talking. When you’re in the zone, you just know exactly what you have to do and you do it, and nobody has to communicate.

It sounds silly, because it’s a deli, but it’s fun, especially at the end. You can look back and say, hey, we made a little money doing that and people got what they wanted and they were happy.