Supermarket(4)

“Fuckin’ bitch,” I said.

I pulled out my dollar and inserted it into the machine. A can of Coke dropped. As I stood back up I heard a voice behind me.

“So, I’m guessing you just magically found that dollar you didn’t have fifteen minutes ago when I asked for one, huh?”

It was the weirdo from outside. He stared at me nonchalantly, with brown eyes set back by dark circles. He looked like he needed a good night’s sleep. He was chewing a toothpick and bouncing a red rubber ball. The kind people play handball with.

“Uh, well, I . . . ,” I stammered.

“UUHHHH, WEEELLLLLL, you make me sick, dude. You dick. What if I were homeless, you don’t know,” he said, pulling an apron over his head. It revealed a name tag that said Frank.

“Wait a minute—”

“You’re a fucked-up person, man!” he interrupted.

“But I . . .”

“Hey you!” said Ted Daniels, looking in Frank’s direction. “Back to work, please! We’re on the clock.” The group of employees behind Frank walked off to whatever it was they should have been doing. “And none of that from you on Monday,” he said, looking at me with a smile. Then he did an abrupt about-face and scooted off.

“You work here?” I asked.

“Hahaha, yeah, dude . . . I’m just fuckin’ with you, man,” said Frank.

“Wait a second,” I said, staring at Frank, puzzled. “You work here and you stand outside asking people for money?”

“Well, I don’t know how much ‘work’ I do,” he said with a wry smile, making air quotation marks with his hands. “And plus, when I stand outside, people walk right by me. You were the only one who even said something and didn’t just stare right through me. So thanks for being the only person who acknowledges my existence in this place.”

“I’ll see you on Monday, Frank,” I said.

“Oh shit, did Ted just hire you?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess he did.”

“Cool. Well, I’m out. Gonna go try to fuck one of these girls,” Frank said, walking in the direction of the college chicks working the cash registers. “Catch you later, Flynn!”

He tossed me his rubber ball as I waved. I nearly dropped it trying to catch it, then began to walk out of the store. I stopped in my tracks.

“Wait a sec,” I said, turning around to ask him how he knew my name . . . but before I could, he was gone.

“See you Monday, Ronda,” I said on my way out.

“Not if Jesus answers my prayers and takes me in my sleep this weekend, baby!” I wasn’t sure if she was playing or serious. Either way, Ronda was pretty dark!

Oh, shit, wait . . . does that sound racist? I didn’t mean dark like her skin tone, because I think all women are beautiful, you know? Like, I mean, I have my preference, sure—I like blond girls with big tits, you know? I’m a guy in his midtwenties from the, like, whitest town in existence. I mean, I’m not saying whites stick together or anything, but . . . fuck! When I said Ronda was dark I meant her sense of humor, okay? Not her skin color.

Shit, man . . . can we just skip to Monday already?





CHAPTER 3


MONDAY ALREADY


It felt as if all I did was blink and there Monday was. There I was. Standing in front of the supermarket, bouncing my red rubber ball. I wasn’t sure what to expect from my first day. I was just happy to have the job. I wasn’t feeling particularly worried about it. Nor was I feeling overly excited. Just ready to get going. I needed the experience and I needed the money. Heading in, I grabbed a few stray carts, trying to make a good first impression.

“Hey kid!” said an old black man. He was sitting outside of the store playing chess.

“Uh, excuse me?” I replied.

“Where are you today?” he asked with a wise smile.

“What are you talking about, old man?”

He picked up a red knight and moved it up and to the right.

“Where are you?” he demanded. “Where are we? Right now.”

“Uuuhhhh . . . clearly at a supermarket.” This guy is crazy, I thought.

“Oh, that’s unfortunate. Well, let’s talk when you’re actually back.” He turned back to his game, moving his bishop.

“Okay man . . . ,” I said, a little creeped out. I’d never seen someone play chess against himself. Guess this guy had a lot going on upstairs.

I stared into the store from the outside. I spotted a few customers. One man stood clutching a cup of coffee, holding it to his nose, inhaling, muttering something to himself. Every time a customer would activate the sliding doors, I could faintly hear him. “Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee!!!!” Dude was into his joe.

Looking around I saw other people, including Ted Daniels, the assistant manager, greeting customers.

“Hello there, friend, welcome!” he said with that unsettling smile.

I’m not sure why he annoyed me the way he did—his smile was so constant that the front row of his teeth had become a permanent substitute for his lips. No one could be that happy all the time. There had to be something dark lurking behind that grin. The only time I caught him without it was when he was eating. Then he would only smile in intervals between swallowing and reeling in his next bite. Something was off about him. He was a little too into his gig.