supermarket diary.

Old Herman Stevenson lives inside of a shoe. More or less. He comes into the store sometimes, pretty often actually, and he keeps all of his belongings in his right shoe, one of a pair of old PF Flyers that are in surprisingly good condition for belonging to a bum. His belongings consist of a food stamp card with a magnetic strip that doesn’t work, and usually, two dollars and eighty-seven cents. Because food stamps don’t cover the cost of alcohol, he uses the two dollars and eighty-seven cents to pay for his cheap beer, which costs exactly that. His food items usually consist of ramen noodles, or crackers, or Lays potato chips, or junk food of that sort, but it’s impossible to tell for sure what it’s going to be, really. Today, it’s M&Ms. And beer. A four-pack of Steel Reserve. I scan the items and give him the total, price of alcohol included.
“Three dollars and ninety-four cents, Mr. Stevenson!” I say with a smile.
He just sort of grunts like he always does and takes off his shoe, and hands me his food stamp card first, so I enter the numbers and he enters his PIN and then he pays the remaining two dollars and eighty-seven cents. Then I begin bagging up his stuff because I’m absent a bagger at the moment, and Herman just slips his card back into his shoe and slips his shoe back onto his feet. I can smell that foot and it smells awful. I’m sure the old woman behind him in line can smell it too, because she’s making a face like she smells something awful. I hand Herman his bag and he grunts again but I think he tries to smile, I mean he at least shows a tooth, and walks off. The old lady who made a face at his feet smelling is buying kale. I really love Kale but it makes me shit. I wonder if she has the same problem. I scan her stuff up.
It’s just another day at work, really, or at least it seems to be. A visit from old Herman usually certifies a normal work day; it’d be weird if he didn’t show. I think as long as I’ve been working at Publinks supermarkets, he’s come in every day. I think I enjoy it. He’s interesting. Anyways. It’s about two o’clock in the afternoon by my watch and Herman’s come in, and I’ve just been scanning up everyone’s groceries, no real complaints from anyone yet, and I’m throwing out all of these phrases I’m told I have to say – “Did you find everything you were looking for?” or “Is plastic all right?” (because God forbid we remind folk that they have the option of using paper), forcing a smile and really just wanting to go home. We’re at a slow spot right now; I ain’t had a customer come through my line in almost four minutes, and I’m just standing in front of my register with my hands in my pockets, looking bored. But here comes Jeb, Jeb the new guy, Jeb the bagger, Jeb the wise guy, Jeb the creep. Jeb’s got a big mole on his left cheek, makes him real hard to look at. But he comes up to me with a smile and puts out his hand so I can shake it or high-five it, in what really comes out as a culmination of both.
“Just get here?” I say. I’m a nice guy.
“Yeah bro, we been busy?”
I hate the way he talks.
“Until now.”
He just looks around for a minute.
“Any babes come in today man? Any babes in here now?”
I raise an eyebrow at him. He always wants to know this.
“Jeb, what do you think this is, A&P?”
He looks at me with a blank expression on his face.
“What?”
“Don’t worry about it; you wouldn’t get it.”
Doesn’t anyone read Updike? Goddamn.
Jeb walks away.
Since we’re slow I decide to check my phone for any text messages. I’ve gotta keep it on the “DL” though, since I could get in big trouble for so much as having it on me. I hold it at my right side just over my pocket and discreetly look down at the screen. I’ve got one; it’s from my girl.
Can you bring me tampon. <3 you.
I don’t reply. I hate that shit. What is this symbolic nonsense? Has the word ‘love’ been officially replaced? Or is it just a cop out so the verb doesn’t have to be used at all? I don’t know. Whatever. I love you. I don’t “<3” you too, though.
Here comes a customer. She’s a fat white woman who I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. She’s got a cart full of junk.
“Hello! How are you doing today?”
She just looks at me and begins loading her stuff up on the conveyer belt and I begin scanning. Jeb comes running over.
“Is plastic all right?” Now that he’s here doing his job I’ve got one less question to ask. Awesome.
“PAPER!” she yells. “AND DOUBLE EM!”
Jeb does as he’s told. He doesn’t ask questions. I watch the items as I scan them. Mostly junk shit; white people food. Ground beef, lots of it, though. She must be having a cook-out.
“Having a cook-out?” I ask.
“MIND YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS!”
“Okay.”
I get quiet and finish up her order. One-hundred and forty-two dollars even. Very nice.
“Have a nice day!” I hand her her receipt.
Jeb loads her bags in her cart and attempts to begin to walk her out. He doesn’t get far, though.
“DON’T YA’LL KNOW HOW TO MIND YER BUSINESS?”
“Have a nice day ma’am.”
She walks off.
The next couple hours are pretty steady. Shoppers come in quick succession and then stop for a couple minutes, then come again. That’s how it usually happens. There’s three other cashiers working – Johnny, Wally, and Suzanne. They’re all good folk but I’m not really friends with any of ‘em. I’m friends with a few of my co-workers but the people in charge don’t like to schedule us together because they think we distract each other. I guess, maybe, they might be right. While I’m ringing up this one lady, she tells me I have pretty eyes, and I say thanks.
“You remind me of my ex-husband.”
I’m not sure what to say to that so I just smile.
“You have a nice smile, too.”
“Thanks.”
I send her on her way.
Five o’clock rolls around and it’s time for us to get busy. Oh, and we get busy. It’s Monday, our busiest day of the week, and Monday from five till about six-thirty is prime time for bustling grocery shoppers. But at least I get to go home in an hour. My first rush hour customer is this gay gentleman who comes in often. His name is Daniel. He’s an English professor for the university. He’s read my stuff before and he’s liked some of it, given some criticisms, but always been supportive. I like him. He’s got a full basket of things and loads them up onto the conveyer belt.
“David, good to see you. How are you?”
This is why I like him. He starts the conversation; he asks the questions so I don’t have to be a robot with programmed phrases. It feels good. It feels human. Being at work and feeling human go well together, but they don’t usually come together. It’s a welcome state of bliss.
“Very good. Ready to go home, yourself?”
He’s doing well. He’s got something to tell me.
“Look, I met this guy and I talked to him about you – your writing. He said he’s interested.”
“Well that’s good, I guess.” I scan the last item, a pack of condoms, and tell him his total.
“Forty-two dollars and ninety cents.”
“But there’s more to it. He’s kind of important in the publishing world. I can’t give you all the details now but…” He swipes his credit card.
I get what he’s saying. His receipt comes out and I grab a pen from my drawer and write down my phone number on it and hand it to him.
“Call me after six. We’ll talk.”
He winks at me and grabs his bags.
“Will do.”
I really do like him.
Over at the customer service desk there’s a big line. While I scan up my next customer’s stuff, I keep an eye over there, curious as to what’s going on. I can kind of see this woman. She appears to be returning stuff, a lot of stuff. About a minute later I see the guy helping her out, his name is John, walk over to the page-phone. He picks it up and his voice appears over the store radio.
“I’ll need a manager to customer service please, a manager to customer service.”
The old bag’s probably a scammer, I think to myself, and I begin checking out my next customer. The easiest way to scam Publinks supermarkets, let me tell you, is to buy a bunch of stuff on sale – say, buy one, get one free, and return it when the sale is over for a full refund of the two. A total flaw in the company’s “good sales/good prices” policies, but easily accessible and easy to make a profit with. Usually a scammer will buy a cartload of buy one, get one items and make double their money. It makes me sick, it really does. I keep working. I don’t wanna watch the scammer bitch anymore.
“Have a good night!” I send off my customer, this fellow is a business suit.
Now here through the front doors walks old Herman Stevenson, stumbling over his own feet. He’s obviously drunk. It’s only five-something, Herman! Oh, but you’re homeless. He never comes in twice in one day; it must be a special occasion. I’m void of a customer, strangely, at the moment, and Herman and I make eye contact. He raises a hand and shouts.
“HEY!” A few people turn and stare at him.
I raise my hand and wave. Herman stumbles off towards the beer and wine isle.
Next thing I know, I hear my name.
“David!”
What?
I look up and to my right, and there’s this black girl I used to hang with. Her name was Mariah. She had a really bad-smelling vagina. She’s loading her stuff onto the conveyer belt. I hadn’t seen her come in.
“Oh, hey!”
She smiles at me, with a certain flirtatiousness and appeal. She looks good, I mean she always did, but she does now, too. I don’t even ask her if she found everything she was looking for; I just slide down her groceries to Jeb. I notice he’s got his eyes on her and I giggle a little bit on the inside.
“Long time no see,” Mariah says.
“You don’t buy groceries enough, that’s all.”
“I thought you’d been ignoring me.”
“I am.”
I have been.
“Oh, don’t be silly. I’ve missed you.”
I finished scanning her stuff. Last item – tampons.
“Aw. Twenty-one dollars and seventy cents.”
She slides her card and continues talking to me.
“You got a girlfriend or something now?”
I nod. She ignores me.
“Listen, I wanna take you out. You have my number. Let me know when you’re free.”
“Okay.”
She takes her receipt and walks away. She’s wearing short shorts and I’m watching her legs. She has nice legs. But she really did have a bad-smelling – CRASH! The sound of breaking glass and things falling. Everyone turns and looks towards the direction of the sound, which is then followed by a loud
“OH MY GOD!!!”
It’s a painful, horrified scream, coming from the other side of the store, towards the beer and wine isle, or, possibly, the beer and wine isle itself. Then it hits me. Herman! There is a young man just beginning to load up his groceries, apparently unaffected by the noise. I look at him and say
“Sir, I’m sorry, I’ll be back in one minute.”
He gives me a sort of pissed off look and puts his groceries back in his cart. He’s making a wise decision. I probably won’t be back anytime soon. I leave my register and run towards the beer and wine isle. There’s already a small group of people at the end of the isle, looking down it, some of them looking horrified and some just looking curious. I am both curious and horrified, and I’m not even there yet. I get there and push past the people.
“Excuse me, coming through.”
I gasp at what I see. One half of the beer and wine isle, the wine half, has fallen completely to the floor, in a mess of broken glass and gallons and gallons of spilled reds and whites. And amidst the mess is Herman, bloodied and passed out or dead, laying on the floor with a piece of broken wine bottle sticking out of his throat. I feel myself gag. How the hell does this happen, I wonder? And to old Herman, who lives inside of his shoe? My manager, Joe, comes running down the other end of the isle, screaming.
“Someone call an ambulance! And David, page clean-up, Isle six!”
“Yes…yes sir…”
I stumble away from the isle, towards the front of the store. I don’t think I’m going to page anyone. I don’t think I’ll even call an ambulance. I pass Jeb on the way to the front. I grab him by the shoulder.
“Jeb, call an ambulance and…just call an ambulance.”
“Okay.”
I look at my watch. It’s six o’clock. Finally. I run over to the customer service desk where the time clock is, and punch out. I don’t say a word to anyone I pass as I leave through the front doors. I try not to think about poor old Herman Stevenson who lived inside of a shoe. I feel dizzy. I feel faint. I want to go home. I wonder if Daniel will call me soon. I hope he will. I need someone to talk to. I forgot tampons.