Page 40 of The Cadence
“Miss, I need to speak to your manager.”
“Hold on.” As forecasted, the ball sailed through the air…but there was a guy in an orange jersey, tackling a guy in green who tried to catch it! “No good!” I yelled. “Ha, told you so.”
“If someone doesn’t speak to me about these reprehensible vegetables, I will be forced to lodge a formal protest!”
“What?” The Woodsmen players who caught punts were running out onto the field and Will jogged off it, so I turned to the customer. “Sir, I’m sorry, but our manager is home watching the game. I’m the best you’re going to get for a complaint department. Those carrots don’t look right but I don’t think there’s anything…”
“Phallic,” he filled in, and I nodded.
“I just think they’re old. We usually get a big delivery on Monday, if you want to come back then. You can leave them here,” I suggested, and he dropped the wilted vegetables on my conveyor belt and walked off, muttering angrily.
The rest of the day was quiet, up until the game and the postgame show ended. Then people seemed to get hungry, or maybe their cupboards were now bare because they’d stress-eaten everything in them. Things had gotten very close and very nail bite-y in the fourth quarter.
Thank goodness, the defense had come through. I expressed that several times to my coworker Cully, because I had gotten a little angry that the other side of the team hadn’t done enough.
“The offense really should have scored more,” I hissed as he quickly bagged the groceries I scanned. I checked to see if the customer was listening, but she was trying to type in her loyalty number and that keypad sometimes got funky. Her attention was diverted.
“I think the offense was trying their best,” he told me.
“And what about special teams?”
“What about them? Ma’am, do you care if I put the detergent in with your cereal?” he asked the woman.
She didn’t and I helped her input her phone number. “Special teams could have done a better job, too,” I said. That meant the guys who caught the ball after punts. Why couldn’t they have run it back for a touchdown? “Special teams” also included the field goal people, and they could have faked a kick and scored a touchdown themselves. I just felt like there was a lot of pressure on the defense and everyone should have stepped up more, but Cully only laughed when I said that.
We were working hard and I didn’t notice the customers much, except to say hello and other normal things. Then I heard someone call my name. I looked down the line of people waiting to check out and saw the girl that I’d had coffee with, Kirsten.
“Calla,” she said again, and waved the six-pack she carried. “What’s up?”
I waited until she was in front of me so I didn’t have to yell in anyone’s face. “Hey,” I greeted her. “How are you? Do you have your ID ready?”
“You never texted me back,” she said. “I thought you left or got booted out of Bodine’s house.”
“Booted?” I echoed. “No, I’m here. I thought you’d be back at school for the fall semester.”
“Uh, not yet. I’m going to a party tonight,” she informed me, and patted the cans.
“Fun. Can I see your driver’s license?”
“I don’t have one,” she told me. “Nobody in The City drives, because we have adequate public transportation.”
“Oh, ok. I also used to take the bus where I lived before, but to buy beer, you need identification.”
Kirsten sighed and took a little wallet out of her pocketbook. “Here,” she said, showing me a card behind some clear plastic.
“That’s from your university, right? It doesn’t show your date of birth and anyway, I need something official and government issued. Do you have anything else?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve been driving around here,” I pointed out. “You really don’t have a license? Then I can’t sell this beer to you.”
She stared at me, her eyes wide. “Are you joking right now?”
“I’m sorry,” I told her. “I could get in trouble, too. I’ll have someone put this back.” I transferred the six-pack to the shelf under the register where the penis carrots had gone before, and where I kept my box of tissues for just in case.
“Are you fucking serious?” Kirsten asked me indignantly.
“Let’s move on,” the guy behind her recommended. He had already unloaded his brimming buggy, and it looked like he was hungry.
