Comment fic: Check Out
Title: Check Out
Author: mamapranayama
Genre: gen/humor, outside POV
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Summary: Written for the Outsider POV Meme at spn_bigpretzel for a prompt by lolaann1 : You see a lot of weird characters when you're a cashier at Wal Mart, but she's never seen this: Two extremely banged up young men with an entire buggy filled with bags of rock salt and table salt. What's the deal with all the salt? And one of them is really cranky!
Sorry y'all -- this is un-beta'd and quickly written, so it more than likely breaks many rules of conventional English.
You also might be able to tell that I have worked as a cashier before and it is not a career I would wish on anyone.
Check Out
There are some days when Yolanda doesn’t like her job … okay … most days Yolanda absolutely despises it. It’s nothing but standing around on her feet for hours upon hours, ringing up endless amounts of groceries and crap made in China with lines full of cranky people. And things have only gotten worse since school got out a few days ago and people already annoyed with the heat wave are forced to bring their kids along, letting them run around the store like crazed monkeys high on PCP.
On top of that, she swears she dreams of that goddamn beeping noise the scanner makes every single, freaking night.
But it’s a job - it pays the rent and she’s just glad she even has one in this economy, even if she did spend four years of her life studying engineering only to end up as a blue-shirted, cashier at Wal-Mart with no benefits and a pay check that would make even a homeless person weep with her in sympathy.
A job’s a job - even if it sucks donkey's balls.
And today is no different than all the other hellacious days she’s spent in this god-forsaken pit of despair. Currently, Yolanda has already been at her register for the past four hours without a break and she’s trying to make eye contact with Rodney, her shift manager, but he’s too busy hitting on that big-boobed bimbo, Barb working on register 4 to even glance her way and remember that she’s supposed to have her pathetically short lunch now.
Yolanda checks out ten more customers before Rodney finally peels his eyes away from Barb’s chest and signals for her to turn off her light.
Finally - she can get away from all of these people and smoke a cigarette or three …
But of course, as soon as she turns out her light, which is supposed to serve as a clear signal to every moron in the building that she needs a fucking break, two more guys push their cart into her lane.
God, fucking, dammit!
“I’m sorry sirs, I’m closing up.”
The shorter of the two men huffs an exasperated sigh, “We’re never getting outta here, Sam.” He moans and Yolanda can kinda sympathize with the guy - it feels like that to her too.
The tall man next to him, nudges him with an elbow, “C’mon ... we’ll find another lane.”
“Crap - they’re all full too. Look at those lines …” The shorter one whines just as Yolanda finishes checking out a lady with a shit-load of coupons. She looks up again at the two guys and feels herself give in to their plight knowing how Wal-Mart doesn’t like to have more than three registers per million people open at a time. Plus, both men are devastatingly handsome and if Rodney can ogle Barb like a piece of meat, why can’t she drink them in?
“Tell you what, come on through - but tell anyone behind you that I’m closing up, okay?”
“None shall pass!” the shorter guy quips, his face brightening with a grin that makes Yolanda’s insides do a flip. She rarely gets anyone coming through her lane that doesn’t look like a meth-head and she’s glad for the change. Maybe her day is looking up after all.
“Thanks so much.” The tall man beams as well and he’s got dimples in his face that automatically make him look about as cute as a three year old - freaking dimples! And that hair! (She has a thing for guys with long hair.)
Yolanda finds herself lightening up and smiling - something she probably hasn’t done all day - that is until the men start unloading their purchases onto the conveyer belt and she begins scanning their items.
Morton’s rock salt, 20 lb bag … beep …
Morton’s rock salt, 20 lb bag … beep …
Morton’s rock salt, 20 lb bag … beep …
Morton’s rock salt, 20 lb bag … beep …
She eyes the men cautiously now. What in the hell were these guys gonna do with all of the rock salt? Then a thought strikes her that makes her twitch with nervousness - what if they’re terrorists? What if they need all of this salt to build a bomb?
Then she feels stupid again and thinks that Wal-Mart might be frying her brain - terrorists don’t build bombs with salt - that was fertilizer, right? She really hopes so.
She glances up at the tall man again, trying to keep the questions off of her face, but clearly failing as he grins at her sheepishly like he knows that she must be thinking that they’re buckets full of crazy, “We’re stocking up … ya know … uh ... for making ice cream …” He shrugs like he can’t come up with a valid excuse for needing so much salt and it’s pretty lame even coming from such a handsome mouth, but it seems valid enough for her and much more plausible than a bomb.
“Actually …” The shorter man interrupts, “Sammy here is a big fan of taking tub baths - usually of the bubbly variety, but he took a tumble the other day and we heard salt was good for putting in the bath - ya know - to soak sore muscles.”
“Dude … that’s Epsom salt.”
“Salt is salt, man. And bathing in it is a much better excuse than making ice cream - Jesus … who makes ice cream when you can come to Wal-Mart and buy 10 gallon jugs of the stuff anyway?”
“God … it doesn’t matter, Dean.” the tall man says to the other while sighing. He then flashes Yolanda an exhausted smile. “Sorry. Don’t listen to him - it’s been a long day and he says stupid things when he’s cranky. And just for the record - I prefer showers.”
“Honestly,” Yolanda interjects even though she’s lying, “I don’t judge, I just scan.” In fact, she often judges people on what they purchase, she’s just gotten so used to biting her tongue, smiling , and pretending to be polite that it’s second nature.
She looks closer at the taller of the two and he indeed looks like he might have had some sort of accident. He’s got scrapes all over his face and a bright, red bruise on his cheek, but that doesn’t really diminish he looks and she doesn’t think of him as a possible terrorist anymore - not with those hazel eyes looking at her apologetically. His companion doesn’t look much better either and is moving like reaching into the cart is giving him all kinds of pain.
The long-haired man pushes the shorter one aside gently, talking in hushed tones that Yolanda can just barely hear, “Hey … I’ll get the rest of this - you got tossed around a lot harder than I did.”
“You and your OCD just like putting things on the belt in your ‘special order’ - like it makes a difference.”
“It does make a difference - food should be with food - med supplies with med supplies - salt with salt ..."
He starts adding the rest of the contents of their cart to the belt and she tries to keep up with it all while the shorter haired man wanders over to the impulse purchase rack.
Ace bandage … beep …
Ace bandage … beep …
Rolled gauze … beep …
Sterile bandages 100 ct. … beep …
Rubbing alcohol … beep …
Dental floss … beep …
Curved sewing needles … beep …
Cheetoes … beep …
Beef jerkey … beep …
Vienna Sausages … beep … (Yolanda cringes a little every time she sees those things - she just can’t help it - they’re sooooo gross - and that gooey slime they’re canned in? … She shudders again)
Gummy bears 1 lb bag … beep …
12 pack Miller Genuine Draft … beep … (she could definitely use some of this stuff after her shift.)
Starbucks Mocha Frappuccino … beep …
Chef’s salad … beep …
“That’s Sam’s …” the cocky one points to ‘Sam’, “I only eat real food.” He points to the Vienna sausages. Yolanda suddenly likes ‘Sam’ so much more.
“And this is his -“‘Sam’ says as he pulls out a pink bottle and places it on the conveyer.
Salon Selectives light-hold hair gel … beep …
“Hey - hair like this doesn’t get perfect on its own.”
“Whatever, dude … ”
“Actually … I think we need to get you some of these …”
A pack of thin maxi-pads hits the belt.
“God, Dean … grow up, will ya?”
The pads hit ‘Dean’ in the face on their way back.
Yolanda feels her smile returning - these two must be brothers - they act just like she does with her sister.
“Dude …?” Dean gives Sam a ‘I need this’ look as he hold up a $5 copy of RoboCop from the impulse rack.
“We don’t have a DVD player, man.”
“We’ll save it for Bobby’s.”
“No.”
“C’mon … you know you want it.”
“No - we don’t have room to haul everything around.”
“It’s only 5 bucks.”
“Lots of things are only 5 bucks, Dean. Doesn’t mean we need to buy ‘em all.”
Dean waves the DVD box in Sam’s face, “This is the director’s cut, Sam … so violent that it was supposed to be rated X until they cut the goriest scenes. Plus, there's boobs in the locker room scene --" Dean sing-songs and gives Sam one, last pleading look.
Sam seems to perk up at the word ‘boobs’.
God - why do all men have to be such … men?
“Alright … fine.” Sam acquiesces and Dean tosses the DVD on the belt, his grin filled with satisfied victory.
RoboCop DVD … beep …
“That’ll be $83.98.” Yolanda states after she scans the last item.
“Okay.” Sam slides a credit card through the reader and Yolanda catches the name on the card: ‘Samuel Balasubramanium’.
Right … she thinks sarcastically - he looks like a ‘Balasubramanium’, but really - she’s too tired to bother asking for any ID and it goes through easily, so her job is done. Besides - with a face and body like that, he could say he was Barack Obama and she’d let it go.
“Thanks,” Sam says to her, flashing his dimples again. He pushes the cart forward while Dean gives her a wink, “Keep smiling, gorgeous.” He says and she thinks then that it just might be Dean that she likes better as she melts from the inside out - even if he does eat Vienna sausages.
She watches the two men as they walk towards the exit, bickering all of the way like some of the older, married couples she sees in the store all of the time and she can’t help but hope that they’ll be in her lane again one day. She doubts that she’ll see them again - her luck is never that good -- but having these two guys in her lane has significantly improved her mood and she thinks she just might be able to finish her shift without wanting to kill any customers after her lunch break.
“Hey … are you open?” A fat man wearing a ‘get ‘er done’ t-shirt with that redneck ‘cable guy’ on it and the sleeves cut off pulls into her lane, his cart overflowing with groceries.
Yolanda’s grin drops.
Then again - she still has another 4 hours left on her shift …
The End