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The ruthless combination of the two high pitched 'beeps' that signifies the scanning of a bar code continually strains every aspect of my day. The dusty, archaic conveyor belt doesn't help either. Rambunctuous pre-schoolers running rampant throughout the area like an army of decapitated chickens in a coop. Diminished hairlines and plastic smiles keep a watchful eye from the customer service booth; That's why I am here in the meat cooler, smoking a joint. The head head butcher normally goes on lunch at this hour, so this is my single solitary moment of solace in my entire 9 hour shift at Kruller's Supermarket. As I exit the cooler behind a cloud of steam and haze I am swiftly brought back to reality : I'm stuck here all day everyday and there isn't shit I can do about it. When I look up I don't see spacious summer skies, or feel a soft breeze run all across my body. I see lifeless, frightened and aging mothers walking down the aisle wishing just once it would magically transform into a model's runway. I hear that fucking beeping, the conveyor belt, the unsupervised wailing toddlers. I feel the atmosphere choking the life out of my existence, almost systematically. I'm continually surrounded by college drop outs and washed-up, old, perverted men, too dull to do anything else but stock mayonnaise and clean up spilled milk - literally. It's a regular ol' suburban black hole of employment, for once you are in, there really is no easy escaping. So here I am. It's the summer going into my first year of college and I'm confined to the misery of this life draining entity called a supermarket.
Just as my high was starting to set in, it was immediately sterilized by the loud croaking of the ancient PA system, barking orders in the friendliest of ways;
"Adam to the customer service booth, Adam to the customer service booth please! Thank you!"
As I restlessly saunter, red-eyed and agitated, towards the customer service booth I began to wonder what wonderfully menial task they could have prepared for me. Could it be cat food? Maybe picking up trash outside the store is what they have in store for me. Or could it be the ultimate insult : Jell-O. Now it may seem silly, but trying to stock Jell-O can only be compared justifiably to attempting to construct a playing card castle. The base of the rectangular box is entirely too narrow for any grocery store's shelves, making it extremely difficult to even stand up straight by themselves. Furthermore, the weight of the box is also impractical, as it becomes increasingly harder to get these damn things to stand up on top of each other. For any bag-boy lackey to receive this job is a severe slap in the face. Anything is better than Jell-O, anything.
"Adam, we need you to do Jell-O, got it?" ordered store manager John.
"Fuck." Luckily I didn't say that one out loud.
"Shit!" Shit. I said that one out loud.
"What was that now?" he was taken aback.
"Listen Adam, when I ask you to do something I expect you to do it no matter what, do you understand me?" he said almost rhetorically.
"Yes sir."
Hesitantly I added, "Can I at least go on my break first? I was supposed to go on like 8 minutes ago but I missed it."
"Yeah" he sounded reluctant. "Yeah, go punch out and come right back when your done."
I took a B-line directly to my car, the only other place I wouldn't be bothered at.
As I reclined my drivers seat and turned the dial up on my stereo, I began to think about college. In between the haze of my mind lies what's ahead of me. Responsibility, decisions, stress: All things I'm likely to experience when I get outta here. At least I'll be free, no fascist grocery clerks constantly trying to bring me down, no trivial teenage drama that accompanies life in the suburbs, and certainly--No Fucking Jello. As I sparked another joint, I began to calm down. The devil on my shoulder was telling me to run for my life while the angel was telling me to suck it up and stop being a pussy. Somewhere along the line the little red fellow must've gotten the best of his heavenly counterpart because I started my car and began to pull away from Kruller's. It's increasingly minimizing image in my rear-view mirror felt right. Maybe I was a little high, but it was OK because with no remorse, I just gave up my summer to the devil in exchange for my testicles...which should be picked up by my father sometime around 8 o' clock tonight.
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Keepin' it Real
Posted May 29, 2008
This story literally made me laugh out loud, especially at the swearing gag, and I don't do that often. The humor was top notch, and the quality of which it was written reinforced it. I thought it flowed very smoothly and held my attention with ease. Great mechanics. I loved listening to you... (
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