Hot Sauce and Cigarettes

Georgie

Humans are tiny things, frail things. In the grand scheme of life, we don't know where we are or what we are doing half the time, what we'll be doing five minutes ago. You feel it sometimes, when you're staring at the diamond sky and the ragged mountains or you hear a song that seems to know everything about you and your struggles in a single sweep.

Very few people experience this sense of awe. That somehow, maybe, they are not so big. That the world really doesn't revolve around them and life is not always built around you to be this cushioning, fuzzy sort of force.

This frightening and naked fact, once realized, is something that can act as a catalyst--sparking you to rise against it for reasons other than fame, fortune, or any type of award. To make a name for your own purpose, not expecting anyone else to follow along. To do what you truly love doing, instead of what others think you are meant to do.

All this came to me then in a wave. Not when the tuna cans finally settled--the bulk in a lumpy cluster and a few chosen ones rolling far from the group. Not as Reeves stammered, straightened his tie (today it had bugs bunny plastered on it) like a little boy in front of the men in black. Not the way the surplus of costumers stopped their endless banter and finally focused on one of the officials, who was scribbling angrily down on some form and saying something to Reeves.

It hit when I finally settled my eyes on Demeter. She seemed to shrink. She was twirling a ring on her dainty finger oddly. Her face was not its usual stern slate of masked emotion, but rather that of a girl who's been holding a shiny balloon and can only watch it float away, because her hand slipped and she'd let go. Her normally tightly done ponytail now had stray hairs sticking out, her heels lost some of their height.

The two men surrounded her, I suppose they said something. Then they left, taking the mystery with them. The automatic doors swooshed closed and the beeps started up again slowly. Now all that stood were the naked facts: Tuna had broken its mold, we'd obviously failed our inspection, and humans are just tiny, fragile things.

Reeves walked past our registers quickly, telling us to carry on. Joseph spoke:

"Sorry, bro--"

"Just... do your job, alright?" Reeves looked annoyed. I wasn't really worried about him then, wasn't worried about Joseph rolling his eyes and opening a plastic bag. I was remembering Demeter. The epiphany she'd inspired and the fact that she'd now become someone important, and the way her strong frame had shrunk back into the Cash Cage.

I looked up at Tim, whose clear eyes were on the Costumer Service window as well. Then, he did something odd. He turned off his light.

This was odd, because Tim breaking rules was like The Crazy Guy forgetting his purse.

"Tim?" I blinked, my eyes following his cool nature in shock. He walked towards the Cash Cage.

(we're tiny sure, but can do something about it)

I shut off my own light then. No one was coming to register eight today anyhow.

I caught up to Tim. There were no words, just a silent sort of agreement that whatever we were doing, we were in it together. No matter how much trouble we'd be in for leaving our meager posts.

Tim punched the keypad next to the entrance, and opened the door for me.

Demeter didn't react or yell or ask if we were stupid. In fact, she was visibly upset, sitting on the counter on our side of the room, head in one hand and some official document in the other. She still had the mind to cross her legs, but her face was all red and her eyes looked like they'd been hurriedly dried.

Tim walked over and patted her back, and didn't stop even though he was waved away twice. I stood awkwardly, suddenly forgetting why I'd tagged along.

(Ever walk into a room and instantly forget why you went in there? But you get this uneasy feeling like it was important. Or something...)

"Look." Demeter threw the document she'd been holding at my feet.

My eyes skimmed run-around sort of words and the typical dry, monotonous workplace jargon.

I had to read it again, because sometimes even writers don't have any clue about a word you are saying.

"You're going to be fired." I said blankly.

She nodded, "If it happens one more time."

She swatted Tim away and he finally backed off, looking grim.

"When's the next inspection?"

"Two months."

Tim looked surprised, "I was under the impression that inspection occurs in cycles of every six--"

"Yes, yes. But it's happened so many times and this time they're serious," She sort of huffed, "He's ruining me! I don't know what--I mean--" She heaved a dry sob and whispered, "I can't get fired... can you imagine how embarrassing..."

I didn't really understand, because it was just a grocery store and there were probably plenty of other places she could be, more high-standing places. But I could tell it was important to her, so I didn't argue at the time.

Instead, I focused on the conflict involving Abraham:

"Throw him out." I suggested, "Ban him till then, or something."

"We have no proof. He's never around during inspection, he just messes something up and slinks off... Inspectors don't buy that bull excuse, 'oh, we have a mental patient-slash-anarchist who visits us and really likes tacos'.... I'm going to get fired because of that... guy..."

There was a long period of silence. Finally Tim said:

"Have you considered the... common option of oral communication?"

"Oral...what..." Demeter was practically in hysterics now. Not the funny kind, either.

"Uh. I think he means talking." I interjected quickly.

She nodded, paused, "I yell at him all the time. I've tried calling him an idiot. I don't know what else could work."

"I mean, like, a real conversation."

She shook her head.

"Well," I said bluntly, "Do that."

"...But.. he's cray-zee." She rubbed her face, pinching her nose and sort of rocking back and forth. Back and forth on the counter. It's weird, what people do when they get stressed out. Though I'm one to talk.

"We have reason to believe that he may be feigning mental abnormalities for reasons unknown." Tim pointed a finger between the pair of us.

"Just try it." I piped up.

"But..."

"Do you want to keep your job?"

"Yes." She said this halfway, but began to sit up straight again.

"I suggest you try something new, then."

"I don't..."

"We'll help. We'll get him to wise up and quit. But you've got to... confront him. Nicely."

Demeter looked down at the floor for a second. Then she looked up, hopped down from the desert of blue counter and suddenly she was no longer on our level. She was once more our wicked boss who didn't give a care what we thought or said.

"Nicely..." She sighed, then inhaled and shouted,

"What are you two doing in here, anyway? Shoo. Go back to work. Geez."

We flinched when her face went into boss mode and her hands came out of her robe pockets, ready to strike. I felt like I had to pause the game, step away from my controller, and go pee all of a sudden.

But you can't pause real life.

So instead Tim and I rushed out of The Cash Cage, very eager to serve new and annoying costumers.

"...What the hell were we thinking." I blurted out as we took our places on register again.

Tim shrugged as he clicked on his light, and the number seven shined once again, a little halo over his blonde hair, "I've always said that it is imperative to be kind to all, especially if you don't know the circumstances fully."

(WHUT)

"I guess..." I hesitated.

Tim was right about one thing, however. We didn't know the circumstances, let alone the people, fully.

But when you're feeling insignificant,

(human)

you can't help but get involved in other people's duels. Whether it's romance, gossip, or the ever-stupifying art of drama, I'm sure every teenage girl or young adult has been there.

And the lines for dueling were drawn two days later, when The Crazy Guy finally decided to show up in the snack aisle.