Supermarket(3)

“Hey there, friend!” a man said. I turned around to a grinning man in his early thirties. He extended his hand to be shaken as if he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “I’m Ted Daniels, assistant manager here.” He looked like a corny white dude. Pale skin with a dash of acne held over from his teenage years, buzz-cut flattop, short-sleeved button-down, red tie, and black pleated slacks—the ultimate nerd.

“Hello there,” I said, mimicking his attitude as best I could, trying not to think about how he looked like a Mormon who joined the Los Angeles Bloods after two years of mission work down in South Central, throughout Crenshaw and Compton, and was now sporting a bright red tie to prove just how gangster he really was.

“I’m Flynn,” I added.

“And are we applying for employment today?” he said. His smile never seemed to go away, even when he spoke.

“Uh, yeah, I mean, I saw that you guys were hiring and wanted to fill out an application.”

“Well, golly, aren’t we in luck?!” he said. It really annoyed me how happy he was. His whole vibe bothered me. I have no idea what overcame me, but I snapped and punched him in the face. My fist connected with his nose, and blood spewed from the slit created by the explosive blow.

“Oh lawd Jesus, these white people done did it!” Ronda screamed. Ted hit the floor screaming in agony.

“Why???” he bellowed.

I stood there, frozen. I couldn’t believe what I had done. Something just came over me. How the hell could I have done such a thing?

“Are you listening to me?!” he screamed. “Why?! Why, Flynn?!”

Seconds later, I was sitting in an old wooden chair in Ted’s office. Ted sat behind his desk. His nose was perfectly fine.

“Flynn, are you listening to me?” Ted said.

“I’m sorry, sir . . . what was that last part?”

I had imagined the whole thing, caught in a daydream so vivid I didn’t even remember making my way to his office.

“I said why, Flynn,” he said, annoyed but still smiling bigger than ever.

“I’m sorry, sir, why what now?” I replied.

“Why are you here, Flynn? Do you even know why you’re here? Everyone is family at this establishment. We have a code, a code of ethics, you could say. We want to help everyone under this roof acquire whatever skills their individual needs may be. So what truly brings you, Flynn? What skills do you need?”

A second ago I was surely headed to jail for assault, and now I found myself in the middle of a job interview.

“A job,” I said.

“Well, aren’t we a wise one?” Ted said with a laugh. “You’re in luck. A bunch of the seniors here are graduating and we will need some extra hands come summer. You seem like a nice kid, so I’d love to hire you.”

“Seriously?” I said. I hadn’t done shit to deserve this offer. Maybe it was my pretty face?

“The job is yours,” Ted said as he reached under his desk.

“That is, if you can sell me this bottle of Windex.” I couldn’t see his lips through his smile.

I looked at the bottle of Windex then looked back at Ted.

“So you’re telling me if I sell you this thing I have the job?” I asked.

“Precisely,” Ted said.

Without a moment’s hesitation I grabbed my backpack, which was resting against the leg of my chair. I opened the pouch, grabbed my wallet, and took out a twenty-dollar bill. I then licked Andrew Jackson’s face and slapped the federal note against the bottle, sticking it to its surface.

“Buy this bottle of cleaner as is for five dollars,” I said to Ted.

He looked at me, puzzled. “Wait a minute, you’re losing money here, Flynn.”

“Look, Ted. Would you buy this product from me or not?” I said with a smirk.

“Well of course, but why would you throw away fifteen dollars like tha—”

“The way I see it,” I interrupted, “I just spent fifteen dollars to secure a steady income for the duration of my time as an employee at this establishment . . . Boss.”

Ted was baffled. He wasn’t sure if I had pulled a fast one on him, or if I’d given him exactly what he wanted. But judging by his next words he was definitely intrigued.

“You’re hired!” he said, offering his hand for me to shake.

“Seriously?” I said, not believing it.

“Oh, of course, Flynn. I really believe in energy, and I have a good feeling about you.”

“Well, thanks, Ted. That means a lot,” I said, unsure why this guy was so eager to give me a position. “Wait a second,” I said. “What would I be doing and how much money would I be making?”

“Oh, ten dollars an hour. You’ll be our floater.”

“I’ll be a what?”

“I’ll explain everything on Monday! See you at nine a.m.,” he said, pointing to the calendar on his desk.

With that I was out of his office and walking past customer service, gainfully employed. “See you later, Ronda,” I said.

“Mmmmmm-hmmmmmm,” Ronda replied with that fierce, strong, black-woman attitude. I loved Ronda’s attitude—she gave no fucks, quite honestly, and I absolutely adored her for it.

On my way out, just beside the customer service desk, I spotted a soda machine by the automatic doors. A few employees were loitering. They seemed to be doing everything but their jobs. I pulled out my wallet, searching for a bill to insert in the machine. A picture fell out—a picture of me sitting in the park on a summer day, my arms around a beautiful blond girl, a girl who broke my heart, a girl I was still in love with. She sat in my lap, looking into my eyes. We were in a field of grass. The shutter had caught us midlaugh. It was some Hallmark shit, and she looked stunning. I picked up the photo and put it in the pocket of my jacket.