Page 43 of Check Me Out

The lights seem brighter now, making his head throb, and he notices that his muscles ache. Spending hours crammed into anairplane seat will do that to you, and he decides to pick up some painkillers while he’s here. If he can find any.

He turns another corner into an aisle that makes no sense. Some of the items are foodstuffs and some not, so that crackers are next to laundry detergent are next to hamburger buns are next to kitchen sponges. The only logic at all—if you can call it that—is that everything is in either red or blue packaging. Why the hell would a supermarket do that?

It could be a really bizarre promotion of some kind. Fourth of July, maybe? When he tries to remember the date, he comes up short. He can’t even recall which month it is, a fact that scares him. And are the red and blue packages actually strobing slightly? They remind him of something, but he can’t quite place it. He realizes he’s whimpering and wills himself to shut up.

Something is wrong. Has he unknowingly ingested a psychoactive drug? Is he losing his mind? Suffering a stroke? He has no desire to have a complete breakdown in a maze of grocery store aisles. What he needs to do is get the hell out of here, return to his hotel room, and sleep.

As far as he can tell, though, the only way out of this store is to retrace his steps or continue forward until he finds the checkout counters. There’s no way that this layout could be in compliance with fire code. Perhaps he’s currently in some godforsaken place that doesn’t even have a fire code, or doesn’t enforce it—and if that’s true, there are likely other factors making this location unsafe.

His heart beats a rapid tattoo and the blood rushes in his ears. His skin feels somehow both hot and cold, sweaty and clammy. A panic attack. He’s never had a panic attack before, but now he’s having one right in the middle of a supermarket somewhere farfrom home, and he doesn’t even understand why he’s terrified. It’s just a shopping trip.

“Han?” he manages in a shaky whisper, as if that might magically conjure the man.

And it does. Han comes rushing over, brow creased with concern and eyes showing deep compassion. “It’s all right,” he says soothingly. He raises his hands as if he is going to touch Joe but pauses a few inches away. This makes Joe realize how badly he wants those hands on him. He wants tofeelHan.

Instead, he takes a shaky breath. “I feel incredibly stupid.”

“Please don’t. It’s not uncommon for our guests to, uh….”

This is weird enough that Joe feels calmer. “You get a lot of customers freaking out? That’s not normal for a supermarket.”

“No, it isn’t.” Han sighs. “Do you want me to find someone else to help you instead of me? Dina could, or maybe—”

“No!” Joe didn’t mean to speak so loudly and moderates his volume. “I mean, if you don’t mind. I’d rather stay with you.”

Han looks like someone who’s just been handed a wonderful and unexpected gift. When he speaks, he sounds a little choked. “I don’t mind. Most of our guests don’t really care which one of us assists them.”

“Then most of your guests are stupid.”

“They’re just focused on their own needs, and that’s totally fine. That’s what we’re here for—to serve them.”

The sharp edge of Joe’s fear dulls considerably. He still has the feeling that something terrible is about to happen—like an important exam he hasn’t studied for—but he temporarily pushes that away to concentrate on Han. “What you said before,about me not having to hurry, is that still true? You’re not closing soon?”

“We never close.”

Joe had always wondered who shopped at twenty-four-hour supermarkets in the wee hours, and why. Now he understands why at least some people do it. “And your shift’s not close to ending?”

“Our shifts are… flexible. I can stay as long as I like. And I’d like to stay with you.”

So they are in agreement on the matter. Excellent. “Okay, then. So if you could decide what I do next—whatwedo—what would it be?”

For a moment, Han seems bewildered, as if a question like this has never occurred to him. Joe realizes that it is a strange thing for a customer to ask a supermarket employee. But everything else has been strange today, and he genuinely wants to know what Han will say.

“I’d choose….” Han gnaws on his lip. “I’d choose to sit down with you for a little bit. No food, since you just ate. I’d just enjoy chatting with you for a time. And maybe you’d feel better too.”

“Can we really do that?”

“Sure. If you want to. Because you’re the guest, and I’m—”

“I want to.” Joe settles a hand on Han’s forearm. “Please.”

Grinning, Han leads Joe and his basket to the end of the red-and-blue aisle and around a corner. The next aisle contains office and school supplies—markers, notepads, glue—but there’s also a gap in the shelving unit, and in that gap is a door, whiteand unmarked, with a silvery metal handle. Han opens the door and holds it, gesturing for Joe to enter.

Joe expects a storage area or maybe a spartan break room, the type with folding chairs and a sticky, flimsy table. Instead, he gasps at the discovery: a space that looks remarkably like the living room in an apartment he’d lived in years ago. The floor is slightly worn hardwood that seems as if it might creak comfortably when stepped on. The walls are a soft green that looks nicer than it ought to. There’s a shabby bookcase filled with worn paperbacks, a fireplace with crackling flames, and an ugly but plush loveseat that could have come straight from Goodwill. The wall with the door is unadorned, the opposite one has a pair of curtained windows, and the other two are hung with cheaply framed black-and-white photos of the supermarket.

It’s notexactlythe same as his old place. For instance, the fabric on the loveseat has a different print, and the fireplace has a green tile surround rather than brick. The photos on Joe’s walls had been cityscapes. But this room is similar enough that he starts to shake.

“I… I don’t understand….”

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