Withdrawal
One of my New Year's resolutions is to write something every day this year. If I keep with with these words of the week, that's 1/7th of my job done, right?
Enjoy.
“Excuse me, sir. Do you have any more cookies?”
“Cookies are in aisle 4.” The clerk said, not looking up. It was late at night, he wanted to go home. The glare of the fluorescents always gave him a headache, especially in the winter months when natural light was at a minimum. It was a crap job, and he was hoping to actually leave his shift on time for once, but he could only do that once the spaghetti sauce was stocked. He was almost halfway done when this customer disturbed him. Didn’t these people know to read the signs?
“I’ve already checked that aisle, and there aren’t any.”
The clerk looked up from his work to study the customer. It was an older gentleman, maybe in his sixties, with thinning, white hair and a handsome, if somewhat haggard-looking face. He blinked too fast, which made the clerk uneasy.
“Sure there are. Aisle 4. Next to the crackers and peanut butter.” He went back to stocking spaghetti sauce, but the customer grabbed his arm.
“No, I’ve already checked there. There aren’t any more.”
The clerk sighed, setting down the jars he was holding, and tried his absolute best to be a good clerk. “What brand of cookie are you looking for, sir?” He asked.
“No brand.” The older gentleman looked at him, desperate. Something about him gave the clerk the creeps.
“Look, I’m sure your grandkids will understand if you don’t -”
“I don’t have grandchildren. The cookies are for me. It’s extremely important. Could you perhaps check in the back?”
The clerk sighed. “I’ll check aisle 4.” He left his cart with the unshelved spaghetti sauce and walked briskly down the aisle. As he passed the checkout lanes, he glanced at a clock. Five minutes before closing. There was no way he was getting out of here on time now. So, of course he would miss his TV show, it would take him an extra hour to get to sleep, and his whole routine would be ruined. He’d probably oversleep tomorrow morning, be late for class, and jeopardize his already precarious grades, which meant that he would be a stock boy for the rest of his life.
The older man followed him, uncomfortably close. The clerk tried to speed up to put a little distance between himself and the older man.
“See?” He said, his arm stretching out to demonstrate. “Cookies. Aisle fou-,” he stopped and stared.
The cookie aisle was empty. Crackers were still there. Peanut butter was still there, the tubs lined up, their labels facing out exactly as the store manager wanted them. But shelf after shelf of where there should have been chocolate chip, oatmeal, maple-filled, chocolate-covered cookies...all the shelves were empty.
Not quite believing what he was seeing, the clerk stepped in for a closer look. He peered at the shelves, even getting down on his knees in case there was a box hidden at the very back of one of the lower shelves. Nothing. Not even a crumb.
“You see?” Said the older man, not unkindly, as the clerk struggled back to his feet. “Now, I’m sure that if you just check in the back, you must have some.”
Over the intercom, one of the cashiers announced that the store was closing. The clerk could feel his precious time bleeding away, never to be seen again. “Fine.” He muttered, and headed into the back.
Weaving his way through the pallets of stacked boxes, he called for the grocery manager. There was no way that would be able to find anything in this mess without the manager’s help.
Eventually he found him, a short, swarthy man who’d reputedly been at the store for forty years. He was grinning in a way that made the clerk feel something like the butt of a bad joke.
“Let me guess: cookies?” The manager asked.
“How did you know?” The clerk asked back. The manager didn’t answer his question, only grabbed a small box from his desk and led the boy back out to the cookie aisle, where the older man was waiting patiently.
“Hello, Jim.” The manager said, shifting the box to under one arm so that he could shake the man’s hand. “I’m sorry, but we’re all out of cookies right now. The shipment’s not expected until next week.”
The older man blanched, the blood draining from his face as his eyes widened in what might have been panic. “N-no cookies? But...but what will I do?”
“Here.” Said the manager, handing over the box. “My wife smoked for twenty-five years, and this was the only thing that helped with her withdrawal symptoms. Try it. It’ll take up less cupboard space, and maybe it will work this year.”
Jim took the box uncertainly, but nodded, muttered thank you to the manager and the clerk, and walked hesitantly toward the checkout lanes.
“Man’s been trying to quit smoking for ten years now.” The manager explained. “He read an article about how substition could help him beat the habit, and ever since, every new years’ he’s been in to clear us out of cookies.”
“Oh.” The clerk said. “What did you give him this year?”
“Well, I figured that maybe this time he should do what everybody else does. I gave him a case of gum.”
End
Enjoy.
“Excuse me, sir. Do you have any more cookies?”
“Cookies are in aisle 4.” The clerk said, not looking up. It was late at night, he wanted to go home. The glare of the fluorescents always gave him a headache, especially in the winter months when natural light was at a minimum. It was a crap job, and he was hoping to actually leave his shift on time for once, but he could only do that once the spaghetti sauce was stocked. He was almost halfway done when this customer disturbed him. Didn’t these people know to read the signs?
“I’ve already checked that aisle, and there aren’t any.”
The clerk looked up from his work to study the customer. It was an older gentleman, maybe in his sixties, with thinning, white hair and a handsome, if somewhat haggard-looking face. He blinked too fast, which made the clerk uneasy.
“Sure there are. Aisle 4. Next to the crackers and peanut butter.” He went back to stocking spaghetti sauce, but the customer grabbed his arm.
“No, I’ve already checked there. There aren’t any more.”
The clerk sighed, setting down the jars he was holding, and tried his absolute best to be a good clerk. “What brand of cookie are you looking for, sir?” He asked.
“No brand.” The older gentleman looked at him, desperate. Something about him gave the clerk the creeps.
“Look, I’m sure your grandkids will understand if you don’t -”
“I don’t have grandchildren. The cookies are for me. It’s extremely important. Could you perhaps check in the back?”
The clerk sighed. “I’ll check aisle 4.” He left his cart with the unshelved spaghetti sauce and walked briskly down the aisle. As he passed the checkout lanes, he glanced at a clock. Five minutes before closing. There was no way he was getting out of here on time now. So, of course he would miss his TV show, it would take him an extra hour to get to sleep, and his whole routine would be ruined. He’d probably oversleep tomorrow morning, be late for class, and jeopardize his already precarious grades, which meant that he would be a stock boy for the rest of his life.
The older man followed him, uncomfortably close. The clerk tried to speed up to put a little distance between himself and the older man.
“See?” He said, his arm stretching out to demonstrate. “Cookies. Aisle fou-,” he stopped and stared.
The cookie aisle was empty. Crackers were still there. Peanut butter was still there, the tubs lined up, their labels facing out exactly as the store manager wanted them. But shelf after shelf of where there should have been chocolate chip, oatmeal, maple-filled, chocolate-covered cookies...all the shelves were empty.
Not quite believing what he was seeing, the clerk stepped in for a closer look. He peered at the shelves, even getting down on his knees in case there was a box hidden at the very back of one of the lower shelves. Nothing. Not even a crumb.
“You see?” Said the older man, not unkindly, as the clerk struggled back to his feet. “Now, I’m sure that if you just check in the back, you must have some.”
Over the intercom, one of the cashiers announced that the store was closing. The clerk could feel his precious time bleeding away, never to be seen again. “Fine.” He muttered, and headed into the back.
Weaving his way through the pallets of stacked boxes, he called for the grocery manager. There was no way that would be able to find anything in this mess without the manager’s help.
Eventually he found him, a short, swarthy man who’d reputedly been at the store for forty years. He was grinning in a way that made the clerk feel something like the butt of a bad joke.
“Let me guess: cookies?” The manager asked.
“How did you know?” The clerk asked back. The manager didn’t answer his question, only grabbed a small box from his desk and led the boy back out to the cookie aisle, where the older man was waiting patiently.
“Hello, Jim.” The manager said, shifting the box to under one arm so that he could shake the man’s hand. “I’m sorry, but we’re all out of cookies right now. The shipment’s not expected until next week.”
The older man blanched, the blood draining from his face as his eyes widened in what might have been panic. “N-no cookies? But...but what will I do?”
“Here.” Said the manager, handing over the box. “My wife smoked for twenty-five years, and this was the only thing that helped with her withdrawal symptoms. Try it. It’ll take up less cupboard space, and maybe it will work this year.”
Jim took the box uncertainly, but nodded, muttered thank you to the manager and the clerk, and walked hesitantly toward the checkout lanes.
“Man’s been trying to quit smoking for ten years now.” The manager explained. “He read an article about how substition could help him beat the habit, and ever since, every new years’ he’s been in to clear us out of cookies.”
“Oh.” The clerk said. “What did you give him this year?”
“Well, I figured that maybe this time he should do what everybody else does. I gave him a case of gum.”
End