had been stolen. Did I catch the snack burglars? No. My manager told me about it at the end of my first week.
I encouraged him to change the name of the store.
He said no.
I had shrugged.
He had jabbed his finger in my face, almost jamming it up my nostril. “No more shoplifters, young lady!” He had very bushy eyebrows.
I had almost laughed, because of his eyebrows, but I wanted to keep my job. Because I totally loved it.
Sigh.
Anyway, now I was hawk-eyed for shoplifters.
Everyone who came in was a candidate for Crook of the Week.
As the new customer ventured further into the store, I could finally make him out. He was a disheveled homeless man, grimy from head to toe. He moved so slowly, I didn’t think he’d try to nab anything while I was watching. But I was going to need to mop up after he left. Ew.
He shuffled through the aisles, literally walking up and down each one. Twice. He was doing laps, almost like a rat in a maze. That’s how I felt when I was here.
The man continued to wander aimlessly.
Was he lost?
I hoped not, otherwise I was afraid I’d have to call an exterminator.
Thankfully, he eventually made it to the refrigerators in back. He grabbed a twelve-pack of beer. Would it be his lunch, because he was a late riser, or an early dinner? It didn’t matter to me. More power to him.
He shuffled up to the register.
“Welcome to Grab-n-Dash. How can I brighten your day?” Yeah, I had to say it to
He grunted.
Whatever.
I was supposed to card anyone who looked under the age of sixty. I’m pretty sure this guy was over a hundred.
I rang up his twelver of Budweiser.
“$6.99, please,” I beamed.
The guy was squinting at me. They all did. It was the shirt. It had no brightness control. Deal with it.
The man reached into his pants, and I mean, into his pants, like, right down the front, into his cash drawer, if you know what I’m saying.
He pulled out a greasy wad of bills. Like,
He tore off a small wad and dropped it on the counter.
Um, no?
I really needed one of those radiation-proof containment-boxes you see in TV shows, the ones with the windows where you stick your arms inside the rubber gloves attached to the sides? Yeah, those. Maybe I could ask my manager to build one around the Grab-n-Dash cash counter? Or not.
I eyed the black wad on the counter with some measure of revulsion. By some measure, I meant a number higher than modern mathematics has yet been able to count.
Was it even money? Did I have to find out?
I wondered if I could just pick it up with the hot dog tongs and drop it in the register? I would totally throw the tongs away after using them instead of hanging them back on the side of the hot-dog griller. I wasn’t gross. But I suspected my manager would freak out if he found the tongs in the garbage. I didn’t need him yelling at me and adding more stress to my life.
I needed another solution.
I looked between the man, his dirty money, the man, his dirty money.
I couldn’t bring myself to touch the blackened ball.
“I need change,” he rasped.
I was ready to sob.
Then, genius struck.
I grabbed my purse from under the counter and pulled out my own comparatively immaculate cash. “You know what?! Today is your lucky day!!”
He blinked.
“Your beer is free!!!!” I sang.
“Did I win something?” he grunted doubtfully.
“No! I’m paying for it!” I smiled as widely as possible, until my cheeks hurt. I’m pretty sure what I was doing was illegal, since it was beer. Fuck it. My generosity was above the law. I was the Robin Hood of beer, and this man would pay for beer over my dead body.
“Oh, I can’t take your money, young lady,” he rasped, then nudged the wad toward me with his grimy hands. The ball of bills tumbled toward me, almost toppling over the edge of the counter.
I winced, thinking I would have to pick it up. I reminded myself I still had those hot-dog tongs in case of emergency.
“I can pay,” he rasped.
“Oh, uh, I meant, YOU’RE THE WINNER!!!”
“Huh?” he was confused.
“You’re the, uh, millionth customer today! And every millionth customer gets a free twelve pack of Budweiser!” I’m sure I sounded as sane as Charles Manson at that point.
“Really,” he smiled. “You don’t say?”
“I do say, I really do!” I grit my teeth into the biggest smile I could. “Take it!”
“Thank you, young lady.” He picked up the twelve-pack.
Was he going to take the money? I think it was burning a hole into the countertop. Because it was radioactive. “Your money, sir? You don’t want to forget your money!”
He smiled at me, revealing one tooth. “Thank you, young lady. You’re a peach. You really are.”
“You’re welcome!!” I grimaced.
He set the twelve-pack down, scooped up the wad, pulled the waistband of his dirty cash drawer open, and dropped his wad inside. I know, it was as wrong as it sounded.
The poor man shambled outside.
Toward the end of my shift, the busy after-work crowd had thinned to nothing. I eyed the ICEE machine.
I really needed a brain freeze, otherwise my brain was going to instruct me to drink that antifreeze before the end of my shift. Again, I checked that the coast was clear. I tiptoed over to the ICEE dispenser. Not that anyone would’ve heard me.
I leaned my head under it. It was sort of awkward, but I was determined to get my mouth beneath the spout without wrapping my lips around it. Blue-raspberry, here I come. I was going to drown myself in it and brain freeze away my boredom.
I grabbed the lever with my hand and—
“Sam, what are you doing?!” Romeo laughed.
I twisted around and managed to bang my forehead against the spigot. “Ow!!”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” I rubbed my forehead.
“Shouldn’t you use a cup?” he smiled.
“Uh…we have to pay for them.”
“You don’t get free ICEEs?”
“No.”
“Your boss is a miser.”
