Paper Bags and Plastic Hearts

It had been a month since I’d gotten a job as a cashier at Dash-Mart, the small supermarket only a few miles away from home. As crappy as it was, it was still way better than having to stay home and listen to my mother ramble on and on about her exciting (yawn) love life. I’ve had enough.

Love wasn’t something I wasted my time talking about to anyone. But of course, my mother was the exact opposite. She was basically in love with love and she made sure the whole world knew that, too.

I hate love, to put it nicely.

I like to think that it exists….for some people. Not for me. It’s something that comes and goes with the snap of a finger. It doesn’t last forever and whoever says that it does, is lying. I don’t understand how there are some people in the world who waste their time searching for the dumb sentiment, when in the end, it’ll only hurt them.

Anyways, I was glad I had a job that kept me out of the house for a few hours. The pay was okay. I mean, I really needed my own money. I wasn’t too keen on having to depend on my mother’s money for the rest of my life, despite her having quite a lot of it, what with being a realtor and all. I’d love to be able to have a certain ounce of independence and fend for myself. I was a lone wolf and I planned on staying that way for years to come.

I grabbed my car keys before making my way out of the house and to my old yellow Volkswagen beetle parked sloppily in the driveway. Despite the snarky comments I received from my mother on a daily basis about how ugly and old it was, I loved my car to death. I had gotten a good deal on it a year ago with the help of a mechanic friend. Bessie, my car’s name, was basically falling apart when I first saw her. But after working on it and giving it a good paint job, it came out just how I wanted it.

Bessie may be shit compared to my mom’s glossy red convertible, but I honestly couldn’t give a rat’s ass. I’d never give her up. She was my baby. We’ve spent some good times together. Sometimes I’d drive it to school, and other times, I just enjoyed walking. It was good for my head.

I stuck the key in the ignition and started the engine before carefully pulling out of the driveway and onto the street. I turned on the radio, switching the stations till it landed on an Everclear song. I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel, humming along to the song, as I drove past the familiar small town scenery. Once I arrived at Dash-Mart, I parked in a vacant space of the wide parking lot and stepped out of Bessie, locking the door.

I walked into work, mumbling a few hellos to my co-workers, who mumbled back. The atmosphere was a pretty depressing one, to say the least. Everyone that worked there was practically twenty years older than me, or more. Like Mrs. DeLuca, whose age I learned to be fifty-two.

The cool thing about working with older people is that they never really annoy you. They often keep to themselves, although these people seemed to be good friends, since they’d worked together at Dash-Mart for a long time. In Mrs. DeLuca’s case, way before I was even born.

She was a nice lady that had a thick New York accent. Always had her frizzy dyed orange hair fixed into a weird bun and a cigarette between her blood red lips. Her breath was terrifying, but I’d gotten used to it. Although smoking was only allowed outside, she always persuaded our boss into letting her smoke indoors. I think the only reason he allowed it was because we hardly had any busy days in Dash-Mart and because she was, well, old.

I made my way towards the back room of the supermarket where the employee lockers were located and opened mine, stashing my purse in there and pulling out the disgusting lime green vest that had the words Dash-Mart splattered across the back.

I slipped into the tacky uniform, and adjusted my nametag properly. I was so unfortunate to have it read Farah instead of Farrah. But I had fixed that the minute I’d received the nametag with the help of a black permanent marker. I had drawn a scrawny letter R between the already existing R and the A. It was ridiculous and it looked like the work of a four year old, but at least it was written correctly. I hated when people misspelled my name.

I slammed the locker shut and left the staff room, walking to my post. I stood at cash register number three, which was a bit far from everyone else’s. Cash register number four didn’t work while number five had been empty ever since I took this job.

The day had started off torturously slow. Four was the total of customers that came into Dash-Mart and zero was the total of customers I had to ring up. I hated slow days, only because it bored the hell out of me just as much as being at home in the afternoon. I chewed sluggishly on my bubblegum, which I was smart enough to bring with me, while my chin rested upon both my palms.

I suddenly changed my posture when I saw Lenny, the leader and manager, walking towards me. I noticed a kid walking right along side of him, with a bored expression on his face. I studied him for a brief moment. He sure didn’t look like any of the boys I’d usually see lurking around the town.

His hair was jet black and incredibly straight and his fringe fell over his eyes, which were a rich blue color. He was very pale looking and his outfit was entirely black. Black clingy Alkaline Trio shirt, black skinny jeans, black converse high tops. He had on a black cap slightly tilted to the side, as well.

“Farrah,” Lenny began saying in his businesslike voice while clearing his throat. “This is Andy, a new cashier.” He patted the kid named Andy on the back, which nearly sent him flying forward. He was quite skinny. And Lenny was…round. “This is Farrah. She’s been part of the Dash-Mart family for two months now.”

“One,” I corrected.

“Oh, right.” He chuckled a bit. “She’s been with us for one month now.”

Andy simply gave me a nod and a three second eye contact before looking away.

“Think you can show him the ropes, Farrah?” Lenny asked me, patting Andy’s back once again.

“Um, sure,” I replied, brushing some hair away from my face.

“Great! I’ll leave you two at it, then.” Lenny smiled briefly at both of us before spinning around and striding off to his office, leaving me and Andy standing there in an uncomfortable silence.

I forced a small smile at the boy. “Did, uh, Lenny show you the lockers?”

“No,” He replied monotonously with a shake of his head.

“Oh. Then follow me.” I left my spot and walked past Andy, motioning for him to follow, which he did. I could tell right off the bat that this kid wasn’t really going to be a problem since he didn’t seem to be much of a social person.

I led him into the staff room and turned the light on, which flickered a few times before brightening the room. “Um, since locker number five is the only one available, it’s yours,” I said, pointing to it. “Mine’s the one right beside it.”

He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Cool.”

“The vests are over there. You’ll probably be getting your nametag soon,” I informed. “Just make sure you ask them to spell your name right. Or else,” I laughed a little, pointing at my hideous nametag that had the huge R sticking out.

This made him laugh a very quiet, almost inaudible laugh. “Okay.”

I grabbed a lime vest off the racks and handed it to him, which he took with a weird look.

“I know, they’re awful. But it’s required.” I chuckled.

He slipped the vest on, which totally ruined his black outfit. Maybe he wasn’t much of a color person.

“Follow me again,” I said, turning the light off and leading him towards cash register number five. I gave him a brief and simple explanation of how everything worked. He was quiet the entire time and I had to keep glancing at him every once in a while to see if he was actually paying attention to what I was saying.

“So, yeah, that’s basically it,” I stated, once I was done. “If you have any questions, just ask. I’m at number three,” I pointed.

“Why’s number four empty?” He questioned, pointing with his chin.

“Oh, it doesn’t work,” I answered with a shrug. “It’s weird. They never really got around to fixing it.”

“Oh,” was all Andy said.

I smiled crookedly. “Anyways, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks.” He smiled briefly at me before his face went back to being blank.

“No prob,” I replied with a nod before turning around and heading back to my spot.

A few minutes passed and only two more people came by Dash-Mart. Like I said before, the atmosphere of this place was quite depressing. The slow instrumental music that played through the speakers was what probably helped with the sadness. In my opinion, anyway.

I began feeling sleepy and I knew it’d be our break soon. I was starving. I hadn’t eaten anything at school earlier that day. Once 5:15 rolled around, I left my spot to go get some food from the vending machines outside. I decided on getting a mini bag of Cheetos and a can of Sprite. With my afternoon lunch in my hands, I made my way over to an empty table, setting the edibles down before taking a seat.

Mrs. DeLuca and the rest of the co-workers were all sitting at one table, talking quietly among themselves. I opened my bag of Cheetos and began munching on some and looked around. That’s when I saw Andy sitting at the farthest table with his face hidden behind a magazine. There was a can of Coke sitting in front of him and nothing else.

I ate the rest of my snack, shooting glances at him every few minutes. I wondered why he was so quiet and I also wondered why a boy like him would ever consider working at a place like Dash-Mart. But then again, I knew nothing about him. He might’ve been needing a job, and this was probably the only one he was lucky enough to find, much like I was.

He was just so mysterious.