Hot Sauce and Cigarettes

A month has passed, and when it comes to the adult world, here is the greatest lesson you will ever learn:

All that shit you thought you were leaving in high school.... Yeah? It never really leaves.

People still gossip, and talk, and laugh at the unfortunate behind their backs. There's still an element of being in charge of yourself, but when you're thrust into any new situation--you're lost. Which is why they give you lots of things on which to pen your name or make you go to stupid little mini-meetings. There are still way too many people with egos larger than their brains and tongues far too big for their mouths. There's still a lot of awkward, still a lot of complaining and griping on the work anything entails. There's still the stench of stupid everywhere. And most of all, there's still the scent of young love.

Which, incidentally, also smells a lot like stupid.

Whether you're 19 or 90, you'll never escape.

What changes... is how you handle it.

So the best thing to do, I find, is smile and watch it from a distance.

I was doing that now, as Mr. Reeves tried to reattach some random peice of grey plastic that got loose from my register's screen. It wasn't even important. My little lightbulb up top was off and I was supposed to be going on lunch soon anyways. I tried to communicate this:

"Uhm. Reeves? My register still works. Just throw that piece in the drawer."

"No, no. I can do this!" Reeves was the self proclaimed handy man as well as official boss. And he would stop at nothing to fix something that needed mending.

Problem was, he kind of sucked at it.

He coughed, grumbling to himself.

"Pile of shit thing. They give me new technology to work with--does it work? No."

I shrugged. Everyone knows technology is a word for something that doesn't work yet.

Reeves scratched the back of his head, put his hands on his skinny hips. He had a bent posture and he always seemed to be cringing. His hair always drooped and his voice was always nervous or frustrated.

It was alright though, because somehow we all loved the aloof and slightly unnerving Mr. Reeves.

"How are you today Miss George?" Joseph appeared and smiled his thin smile, flapping his arms like a bird.

"Er... good." I smiled back. I didn't know what to make of Joseph and his strange voices and expressive movements. Sid theorized that he was a crack addict quite often. But then again, I found myself wondering what Sid himself smoked.

"Let me help you, brother." Joseph sighed, watching my boss struggling with the random bit of useless plastic. Reeves waved him away, but Joseph stayed, persisting.

The pair began arguing over the best way to fix the pointless thing. I took it as a cue and went to lunch.

Demeter

"You look tired, Demeter, would you care to sample some of my energy drink?"

I looked tired? Of course I was tired. It was midday of a busy payday weekend and I'd been staring at the violent canary yellow walls of 'The Cage' all morning.

"No, Timothy, I don't drink out of other people's cans. That's disgusting."

You get some of the strangest kids working here. Didn't Bucky Beaver know there was stuff going around? Pig flu and all that jazz? But then I felt bad, he gave me this lonely dog look and moved his squeaky shoes around on his side of the room. I raised my eyebrows as he held it out to me. I begrudgingly took a sip.

Bleech.

"It tastes like sugar water and icing." I waved it back in his face immeadiately.

Timothy shrugged, "I just thought I'd share."

I rolled my eyes, telling him to take his free love ideals to lunch and be back in an hour.

Georgie

"Lookit Riley. He looks like he's gonna eat for a baby." Sid shouted, "Ey Riley! You preggo or something?"

"Preggo..." I thought aloud, "Isn't that a pasta sauce."

"Alright, Ms. Know-it-all, alright." He said in a high-pitched voice as he puffed up in his leather jacket.

Talking to Sid was like talking to the one uncle at your family reunion that gets too drunk and still dresses like he's got an ounce of cool left. But for some reason he hung around me and taught me all the secrets the 1980s tapes would not.

"Don't ask for that lady's ID, she'll flip."

"He always breaks something, watch it."

"Oi, anything that guy tells you is a total lie."

"Check her coupons, she's a total packrat."

"Kid smears boogers when you ain't looking."

"CAT LADY COMING. Hold your nose."

So we stuck together. Along with Riley, making us the three musketeers. Or stooges.

Now we stood beside Riley, who was ordering a sandwich piled with everything they could possibly fit between two slices of bread. Sid ran up and punched him in a friendly manner. Riley just smiled. I didn't really greet Riley because you don't have to. Riley knew everybody and everybody knew him. He was the type of person you instantly called 'friend'. He was always up and around and talking to people. I wish I could've done that, but I'm a people-watcher, not a talker.

Marvin, our iconic homosexual-black-guy deli worker, looked up from behind the shiny glass counter, "What's up, George?"

"Not much." was my stereotypical response to this universal work question.

"I hope you don't want another sandwich," He said, "I'm too tired."

"I do." I smiled sheepishly.

"George, I'm gonna come to your register with nothing but pennies."

"You better not."

"Why? You ain't gonna do nothing." He stressed the word nothing, as he spread mayo on the bread.

"If you do I'll rip your ears off."

Sid cackled. Riley chuckled.

"Okay okay geez." Marvin hurried sarcastically.

Sid proceeded to comment on how 'boooooooring' my regular choice was. He told Marvin to add a bunch of foreign veggies before I could shout any objection. Stuff like this happened all the time over the past month.

I wondered why and how Sid became friends with anyone. Then again, look who's talking.

We passed The Crazy Guy on our way to the breakroom. Riley and I had to pull Sid by the arms to keep from following him out of curiousity. I didn't blame him, though. We all wondered about where he came from and what the heck he was doing poking our brains with the annoying stick. There were several oddities I'd noticed since first facing him--like the fact that he always wore peppermint patterned socks with ugly sandals and had a sign that read, "Please take generously" stuck to his strange purse. The fact that he didn't seem to buy anything a normal human needs, would often whistle like a bird, and left babbling notes in random places before he left.

"Why do you think he does that?" I asked, after staring dumbly for five minutes at a note that read:

CHICKEN SOUP NARCOLEPTIC PILOTS = CANCER??? SCHIZOPHRENIA smokers. spellurs.

"He's crazy. Nothing more profound than that." Tammy explained as she rung up someone's paper towels.

But personally, I sensed there was more to it.

Crazy Guy didn't seem to notice us as we made our way to the employee break room, thank gosh.

Demeter

I knew who was banging on the Costumer Service window before turning even slightly.

"Fuck my life." I muttered. Whose grand idea was it to put me in charge of costumer service?

Oh, that's right. Reeves.

I took a deep breath and walked up to the window, leaning lazily on my side.

"What do you want." I blew a hair from my face.

He scrunched his face at me for a second. Then he held up an apple. It was already half-eaten.

"I want to return this."

"Ew. I don't want it."

"You don't?"

The guy always looked slightly vacant when he spoke to you, I don't know why. He looked like a bum, so he shouldn't have had too much on his mind. Unlike me.

"Hell no--"

"Don't curse, you're too pretty to curse."

My own face squinted. Are you kidding me? Was this loser making a pathetic attempt of hitting on me? No, no, I scolded the part of the brain every woman has that's wary of sleezy pick up lines. It couldn't have been. Other men flirt, and they're staring all over you and there's smoothness in their voice, like caramel ice cream. Him... He was stuttering and his eyes whizzed way above my head. His hands were trembling slightly like they always did.

So I recovered, speaking into the speaker in the glass wall, "Look. Just... drop it down the chute and you can go get another one."

I didn't feel like arguing today. And arguing with him was like trying to tell an aloof president which door to go out of as he's walking over to the other side of the room.

There was a small chute where a costumer could just drop something for a refund, instead of allowing me a chance for air. Kind of stupid if you ask me. Then again, I think everything's pretty stupid.

I picked up the apple by the tippy top of the stem, afraid I'd catch some form of madness.

"Why are you returning this... sir?" I cringed, twirling it by the stem, watching flourescent light bounce off the surface.

"Oh. Oh ah, there was half a worm in it."

I shrieked, dropping the thing. It hit the ugly tile with a thonk. I bruised it, probably, but it didn't matter.

He only laughed from behind glass, "I lied."

Georgie

"...And if they don't have any hot sauce at the deli, he throws a fit."

"A fit?"

"Yeah. A fit."

I picked excess lettuce off my bread, knowing Marvin had done it on purpose.

"You got to watch it too," Riley continued thoughtfully, "He gets a little absentminded and sometimes forgets to pay for stuff."

"Demeter gets him for it." Sid smirked.

"Well you wanna know what I think?" Tim looked up from his little corner of the breakroom.

Our breakroom reminded me of a Western Saloon. We all gathered around the mismatched tables in our uncomfortable chairs--sipping on soul-warming Cup O' Noodles and getting drunk on energy drinks. All the while we shared epic tales of triumph and confusion. Tall tales, small tales, conspiracy theories, and questions.

"I think he's some kind of government spy that... is going to get Demeter fired."

"Ain't happening, boy-o. Reeves wouldn't drop her for a second. Crazy could be fuckin Abe Lincoln for all he cares. I think, secretly Reeves has got a thing..."

Riley slapped his forehead: "Oh, not this again."

"And you guys criticize my theory." Tim sighed, tapping his fingers on his lone section of table. We always invited him to sit near us, but he seemed to avoid anything remotely human, unless he could shake its hand.

"I have an idea." I piped in.

"Hm."

"Why do we care?"

"Er." Sid rubbed his head.

"It's elementary..." Tim said quietly.

Riley came up with a good answer while curling away at that horrid mustache, "Well... I guess cause we don't know a lot about them at all. But we have to see them everyday. So naturally we want to find out more."

"Well, well, well. Put that in your book and read it." Sid laughed, banging a fist on the table.

Demeter

I grumbled, taking out a paper for him to sign.

The muffled sounds of kids whining, Dads scolding, and people chatting pounded within the walls of my prison.

I dropped the form for exchanges in the chute and he took it, looking at me strangely with his annoying puppy eyes. Who would've thought a girl could find puppy eyes a cause for headaches?

"I need your signature." I snapped quickly.

"Oh. Right. Riiight. Red tape again, eh?" He winked.

I had no idea what that meant, but I threw a pen down the chute when I saw him rummage through his purse. It flew up and flicked him smartly in the earlobe. He didn't complain. Just groaned, picked it up, and his arm flourished across the now crumpled document against the glass.

I had been waiting for this.

Today I was going to find out Crazy Guy's name. I tried hard not to smile. It wasn't really important, it's just... ever since I'd started this unspoken war with him I figured if I had his name I at least had a way to figure out how to make him leave.

In the chute, in my hand. I could feel the smile threatening to teeter on my face.

I looked down at the corner of splotched ink. Completely illegible.

"Sir, I..."

"Who's sir?" He turned around. He had the nerve to walk up to an elderly man, shake his arm and then proceed to ask, "Excuse me, are you Sir? I am looking for a Mister Sir."

"Hey!" I shouted, glaring. He could mess with me all he wanted. But he didn't mess with my cashiers or my costumers. It didn't sit right with me.

He walked over to the window again, much too fast, pressing his face and palms of his hands against the glass like a child. His nose squished, making him look deformed, and and he grinned widely,

The eyes whizzed and frowned slightly, "Where do you guys keep the oven cleaner?"

I scowled.

"You are getting idiot on my window. Please stop."

"No really, tell me. I'm working on.... a project."

There was this dandy little metal curtain we had to cover the window when we closed. I pushed the button to send it down. Do this to anyone else, and I would've gotten a complaint. But he wouldn't do anything. I'd done it many times.

There were a few uneven knocks. Then the squeaking of a cart. And he left.

I smiled proudly, stepping away from the window, soon hearing the sharp heel of my designer boot squish nastily into something.

I hate bad apples.

Georgie

The theories and gossip and examinations of life stop when lunch hour is over, and then you begin mindlessly telling hungry spenders to have a nice day.

(please do not feed the animals)

When I got back to my register, the plastic attachment both Joseph the Head Bagger and Reeves the Store Manager attempted to "fix" was still hanging like a dead spider on a string of wire.

(why try and fix something that's not broken?)

I tore it off, threw it in a drawer nex to me, and that was that.

Reeves

"Sara, he left a note."

"Oh well that's peachy."

She swiped it from my hands, throwing it in a pocket of her purple smock. I'd never seen her read one, maybe she threw them away.

The blaring bell rang and I opened the heavy door. George stumbled in, dark hair waving in her face as she caught her balance.

"Girl's like a newborn fawn." Sara laughed bitterly. Her laugh was like black, stale coffee. Something you really had to get used to. George looked a bit insulted, but kept silent.

The first thing you do at the end of your day, as a cashier at our wonderful store, is count all the money in your till. Then Sara and I recount, and verify it. Usually you get to go home early--unless we get annoyed with you--then you have to do some meaningless task for twenty minutes.

I couldn't get annoyed with George, she was too quiet and only smiled and said nice things.

So I always let her go five minutes ahead.

Demeter was the opposite.

"She's too quiet. She shakes all the time, it makes me nervous. Her socks don't match."

Oh well. Today, I was in charge so:

"See you tomorrow, George."

"Bye guys."

Georgie

Riding home on your bike in the dead of night stinks.

But I made it in one piece. I almost ran over some raccoon but I made it.

Apartments breathe and live like any other house. They're just... schizophrenic. There are all sorts of voices in the walls, so many thumps and cooking fumes and different stories going on in each pad I wouldn't have time just yet to explain all of them, but perhaps another time.

In that moment, very tired, I just burst into the small living room of the place. Rose sat idly, reading a book. No surprise.

"Ah, I love how the coffee shop closes at four."

"Yeah well" I complained, "That's because the Europeans run it. Americans gotta have the option to buy their cheese at two in the morning, in sweatpants."

"Oh, come on. Don't exaggerate."

"I write, Rose. That would be the way I plan to earn a living."

Sort of, I guess.

"It's your week to take the trash to the curb."

"I know."

Rose was my very dear friend. But sometimes she was just ..too perfect and too responsible. I grumbled quietly and she smiled.

"Rock of Love is on tonight."

"I hate that show."

"Me too."

"Let's watch it."

There were subtitles at the bottom in the native tongue, but thankfully I could hear english words. I still can't figure out why we--I--watched that junk. Halfway through the ugly-toothed women wrestling in the mud for a rocker pig's affections, Rose turned.

"So... you like work so far?"

"Meh. It's okay."

"Maybe you'll get to be some type of manager person, like me! That'd be fun."

"Oh geez, Rose, it's a job. It's not like I took up scanning items to change my life."

She chuckled slightly as we watched a commercial for oven cleaner.

I really shouldn't have said that line then, because stuff like that always happens to me. I didn't know it then, but I do now.

Thompson's Grocery would change my life, along with everyone else's in that twilight zone of a place.

(it lies between the pit of a man's fears and the summit of his knowledge)

And it would begin the next morning, when I broke my bike running over The Crazy Guy's cat.