Smirt

“I know the rules, Kenneth. Anything out of the ordinary that happens in this supermarket and I’ll be fired.” It’s great how my own boss doesn’t trust me. Not. I can be responsible and mature. Of course I can. I mean, I haven’t been working here for nearly two years. Note the sarcasm.

“And don’t forget to call Mira to record store inventory,” Kenneth warned me for the thirtieth time, “I have to be at the art gallery soon, so I guess I’ll go now.”

That’s another useless fact about Kenneth: he’s an art snob. Oh, excuse me, an art critic. As if there’s a difference between the two. I don’t think there is one, to be honest.

The second time I heard the bells on the door chime, I knew that Dahlia had arrived. After leaving a text message and voicemail for Mira, I made sure the registers were secure. Then I went over to the entrance to meet Dahlia. She stood there, unsure, but approached me and hugged me nonetheless. I wasn’t surprised by this, just a little cautious. I still hadn’t brought up the group therapy session which was tomorrow.

“Hey, Chris. Wow, this is where you work?” Dahlia gestured towards the store, eyes focusing on the cash register I was assigned to. I had hung up my Vienna vest on the indicator that showed which number the register was. My register was number seven, a lucky number.

“Yeah. It pays the bills,” I cleared my throat, my voice reduced to a whisper. “You’re not supposed to be in here actually. I could get fired for allowing you inside after closing time.”

Dahlia’s head turned in the direction of the entrance. “The hours of operation say that Vienna closes in an hour.”

I ran a hand through my hair nervously. “Uh, yeah, but it’s inventory day. My co-worker is supposed to be here soon.”

“Why did you invite me over then?” Now she sounded confused and maybe a bit concerned. She was also biting her lip.

“I have this idea. . .it might be crazy, hell, it probably is, but I think it will be fun.” A grin appeared on my face as I extended my arms upwards. “There are a shitload of things I’ve always wanted to do in this place. Stupid, immature, and maybe even pointless things.”

This revelation piqued her interest. “What do you have in mind, Ingle?”

My grin turned sheepish as I took out a folded sheet of paper from my pocket. “It’s all on this list.”

Dahlia snatched the paper and unfolded it eagerly. “Cool. Mhmkay, what’s the first one?” Her eyes scanned it, deciphering my messy scrawl. Suddenly, her hand grabbed mine, pulling me forward.

“Where are we going?!” I asked, panic stricken as she glanced at the aisle signs and numbers quickly.

“We’re not going to do all this shit in order,” Dahlia replied, rolling her eyes. “Live a little, will ya?”

“There’s a word for that, isn’t there?” I said dazedly, following Dahlia, not questioning what would be the first task we would cross off the list.

Dahlia responded with a nod, as well as a brief smile. “It’s a phrase in Latin. Carpe diem.”

“Right,” I agreed, “carpe diem.”