Taking Stock (8 page)

“Um, I like where I am, and I like working for Ralph. I don’t want to switch.”

He stands up. “Frank is planning to wipe out the entire staff in Grocery, and replace them with non-slugs. I hope you don’t think you’re safe. He’s been suspicious of you since you refused to help eliminate employee theft.” Jack smirks. “Grocery’s a sinking ship, and you just blew your last chance to get off.” He leaves the break room.

I eat another mouthful of lasagna. I don’t think Jack’s very good at persuading people.

*

The day before Halloween, a Tuesday, I go into Spend Easy to discover the only other person scheduled to work is Gilbert. On an order night. The order gets here shortly after I arrive, and it’s huge—10 pallets. After we finish taking it off the truck, we stand in the middle of the warehouse and stare.

“We are badly undermanned, here,” Gilbert says.

“So it would seem.”

“No, seriously. I don’t think you can do all this by yourself.”

Suddenly, miraculously, three new Grocery employees arrive, already wearing uniforms.

“That’s funny,” Gilbert says. “Grocery is understaffed for six months, and then, one Tuesday, we get three new hires all at once, as if Ralph ordered them along with the beans and tampons.”

Our new co-workers remain silent.

“Why do you all have box cutters already?” I say. “Who gave you those?” I stroke the holster of my own box cutter lovingly. Jealously.

“Ralph did,” one of them says. “He said for us to help you with the order.”

“Who gave you permission to speak, rookie?” Gilbert says.

“He asked me a question. And my name’s Randy.”

“For the next three months, your name is Mud. Incidentally, that’s also how long rookies are supposed to toil in the aisles, fronting their brain cells away. Are you sure Ralph said you’re starting the order tonight?”

“I don’t know, Gilbert,” Randy says. “Why don’t you call and ask him yourself?”

Well, that’s interesting. Gilbert isn’t wearing his nametag tonight—he’s wearing Ernie’s.

Gilbert moves closer to me, cupping a hand to his mouth.

“Something is seriously amiss.”

Chapter Seven

On Halloween, I’m fronting with Donovan in Aisle Three while Gilbert sits on a cart behind us and twists the gold ring on his finger.

“I can’t believe the new guys started the order on their first night,” I say. “I had to tell them where a million things were. They don’t know where anything goes.”

“They will learn,” Donovan says.

“They suck.”

“We can’t all be restocking prodigies.”

I’m growing used to this sort of sarcasm. Brent’s started calling me Ralph’s golden boy.

I say, “Jack asked me to work in Produce, the other day.”

Gilbert looks up. “He asked you to quit Grocery?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d you say?”

“I said no. He told me I’ll regret it.” I consider telling them about Frank’s supposed plan to fire everyone in Grocery, but I don’t want to get involved.

Gilbert’s eyes are narrowed. He goes back to twisting his gold ring.

Donovan glances back at him. “Where’d you get that ring?”

“Found it. When I was a kid.”

“Where?”

“Under a tree, actually. They tore down the woods near my house for a subdivision, and left the fallen trees lying there for months. I found a hollow in the ground with a metal box, and inside it there was a bronze horse sculpture, a G.I. Joe, and this ring.”

Gilbert is highly suspicious of our new co-workers. It turns out one of them, Randy, is Frank’s son. Another is named Patrick, who’s deaf, which he indicated by writing “I’M DEAF” on a piece of paper. But Gilbert didn’t believe that until he spent two minutes screaming into Patrick’s ear as he restocked popcorn.

A couple hours into his first shift, I encountered Randy near the case count binder and tried to make small talk. I asked if he was attending school, and he said no, he’s taking a year off before going to college. I asked if he’s worked Grocery before, and he said yes, but the store layout is different and he’d probably need help locating product.

And then we sort of looked at each other for a few seconds.

“Wow,” said Gilbert, who was loading his cart nearby, “Do you feel that? You guys just completely ran out of things to say to each other. It’s palpable.”

For most of today’s shift, Gilbert sits behind us on his cart, which he pushes along with his feet as Donovan and I front our way up and down the aisles.

The store closes at five on Sundays. Six minutes before that, two prepubescent boys wearing Halloween costumes walk past us carrying four cartons of eggs each. They’re almost past the bottles of pop when Gilbert shouts, “Hey!”

They freeze, and slowly turn around.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Sorry,” one of them says.

“Put those eggs on my cart. Right now.” They do. “Now come with me.”

He brings them to the Dairy section and puts the eggs back where they were. “Those were medium-sized eggs,” Gilbert says. “You guys are going to want extra-large. They’re in the blue cartons.”

Two abashed frowns are replaced by two devilish grins. They grab the eggs and run toward the front end.

“Happy Halloween!” Gilbert calls after them.

*

“Hey, Sheldon,” Fred whispered once the purple-clad lady was gone, having wheeled in the trolley holding all the patients’ lunches. “You want your lunch today?”

“No. You have it.”

“You’re a good guy, Sheldon.”

“Thanks.” He walked over to collect it.

Another patient was sitting on the couch next to mine, staring at me. I stared back.

“What do you do?” he asked. “What’s your job?”

“I don’t have a job.”

“You must get one. If you don’t, they’ll crucify you. Quickly—what do you enjoy doing?”

“I used to like writing.”

“Writing what? Poems? Essays?”

“I wanted to write novels.”

His eyes went wide. “God. You’re not going to put me in a book, are you? Is that your plan? Put me in a book? People would think you’re a real ass, putting a mental patient in a book. I don’t want to be in your book. I’d be upset.”

“I can’t put you in a book if I don’t know your name.”

“I’m Methuselah.”

“You don’t seem very old.”

“You don’t need to be old for your name to be Methuselah. You just need a nutcase mom. Isn’t that right?”

“I guess so.”

Sam arrived, holding a takeout bag in one hand. “Thought you could use a second lunch. You’re looking skinny. What are they feeding you, in here?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I’ll have it,” Methuselah said.

Sam said, “I bought it for you, Sheldon.”

“Fine.”

He took out a burger and onion rings and set them in front of me. “I came up with another inspirational message.”

I unwrapped the burger while chewing an onion ring. “Yeah?”

“The secret to life is shut up, look, listen.”

“Not bad.”

“I thought you’d like that one. Do you like the burger?”

“Can I have an onion ring?” Methuselah said.

“Sure,” I say. “Go ahead.”

He stood up, took three, and walked away. Sam watched him go.

“The burger’s tasty,” I said.

“You like it? It’s veggie.”

“Really?”

“I don’t eat meat, so I can’t justify buying it for others.”

“You’re a vegetarian?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“It’s a long story.”

“It’s a long day.”

“Well, when I was a kid, my uncle lived in the country, and he owned two pigs. I loved visiting, because it meant I got to see them. I named them Oink One and Oink Two, and I spent hours playing with them. Pigs are extremely intelligent. They’re like us, in a lot of ways. One day, in spring, my uncle had the whole family over—aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, the whole clan. I spent the afternoon searching for the Oinks, but couldn’t find them anywhere. During supper, I asked my uncle where they were. There was an awkward silence. And I looked down at my plate.”

“Oh my God. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything, at first. I stared at it with a lump of masticated pork still in my mouth. Then I spat it onto the table. I ran to the bathroom, and threw the rest up. And I never ate meat again.”

A woman standing at a nearby bookshelf looked over. “Hey,” she said. “If vegetarians eat only vegetables, then what do humanitarians eat?” She chuckled, and walked away.

Sam looked at me, frowning slightly. I shrugged.

*

Five guys are scheduled in Grocery tonight, which seems like a lot for a Monday. We’re gathered around Ralph’s desk, in the warehouse. “He left instructions,” Gilbert says. He picks up a piece of paper covered with neat cursive writing in blue ink, and clears his throat. “‘Ernie: continue working the overstock racks.’”

So much for that—Ernie went home at four, complaining of a stress headache.

“‘Tommy: front the store 100%—two deep.’ He underlined ‘two deep.’” Gilbert says. “And he wrote it in capital letters.” Tommy snickers, and heads toward the warehouse doors. “‘Brent: work the freezer and the dairy cooler.’” Brent groans. “‘Gilbert and Sheldon: decorate the store for Christmas.’”

“What? Let me see that.”

Gilbert passes me the note.

“He seriously wants us to decorate for Christmas,” I say. “Me and you.”

“Seems that way.”

“But Halloween was last week.”

“Yes. Now it’s time to remind consumers that another holiday approaches, and if they want to avoid social tension, they should start purchasing gifts for their family, friends, significant others, co-workers, and acquaintances.”

“This is a grocery store. We sell food.”

“We’ll start selling toys, shortly,” Gilbert says. “The first shipment comes in tomorrow.”

The decorations are stored on the top shelf of the overstock racks, so we need an extension ladder. When it’s time to decide which of us will go up, Gilbert cites his seniority, and I start climbing.

The first thing I find is a sign that says “ONLY 50 SHOPPING DAYS LEFT”, with a bag of digits stapled to the back. The numbers are coloured like candy canes. I drop it down to Gilbert, and grab a plastic snowman.

We travel around the store, plastering wrapping paper and Christmas banners onto every available surface, in every department except Produce. Gilbert explains that the entire Produce department will gather an hour before the store opens tomorrow, for hot cocoa and decorating and plotting the demise of every Grocery employee.

We leave the ledge above Frozen until last. We’re supposed to place some fake snow there, and a glowing Santa. We get the ladder. I climb up, and Gilbert starts passing me decorations. Once they’re all on the ledge, he comes up, too. I start arranging some of the snow.

And then, the step ladder falls with a crash onto the frozen goods bunker.

“Shit,” Gilbert says.

I turn around. “What happened? Did you knock it over?”

“No. It just fell.”

“How could it just fall?”

“I suspect gravity was involved.”

I walk to the edge and look down. “Think we could jump?”

“You can try, if you want. But if you break your ankle it’ll be your own stupid fault, and you won’t qualify for workers’ comp. You’re probably that dedicated. I’m not.”

I decide I’m not that dedicated. There are a couple folded-up lawn chairs left up here from a summer display, and we put them to use. I can’t see a single customer anywhere.

“Someone should come by soon,” I say. “Isn’t Brent supposed to be restocking the freezers?”

“In theory, yes.”

I glance toward the cash registers. I’m surprised none of the cashiers heard the ladder fall. They’d probably hear me if I called out, but I’m not going to. Cassandra’s on Lane Four, and I’d rather be stuck here all night than talk to her. A customer will come by soon enough. Brent will be out with a cartload. Eventually.

“Do you plan to procreate?” Gilbert says.

“What?”

“Babies. Will you make any?”

“Why are you asking me that?”

“I’m going to make one. A daughter.”

“You’ll be able to choose, will you?”

“I’ll wait a few years,” Gilbert says. “Embryo manipulation should be sufficiently advanced, by then.”

“Fair enough.”

“Her name will be Melaena.”

“You picked out a name already? That’s so sweet.”

“Guess what it means.”

“What?”

“It’s a medical term for blood found in stool samples.”

“Melaena means bloody shit?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re naming your daughter that?”

“Certainly. Think about it—all my parenting problems will be solved. ‘Eat your peas, Melaena,’ I’ll say, ‘Or I’ll tell all your friends what your name really means. Clean your room, Melaena. Time for bed, you steaming pile of diseased feces.’”

“Oh my God.”

“Eventually one of her classmates will look it up anyway. That will be character-building.”

“Someone’s coming,” I say. There’s a guy strutting past the freezers, wearing an oversized hoodie and a backward baseball cap. He looks kind of short, though that might be a function of my current perspective.

Wait. I recognize him.

“Hey,” Gilbert says.

“Don’t. He won’t help us.”

“Hey!” Gilbert shouts. “Little help?”

Rick Chafe peers up at us, sitting on lawn chairs 10 feet above the floor.

“Is that Sheldon Mason?”

“It might not be,” I say.

“Shelly! Long time no see. Looks like you’ve really moved up in the world.”

“Ha, ha.”

“Are you still a virgin?”

“I don’t have time to discuss my sexual history right now. I’m busy.”

“Yeah, looks like it. Strange place to have a date with your butt buddy, though.”

“Hey,” Gilbert says. “He isn’t nearly good looking enough to be my butt buddy. If you’re interested, though, we might work something out once you fetch us that ladder.”

“Fat chance.” He grabs a frozen pizza from the bunker, and leaves.

“Way to blow it,” Gilbert says.

“Me? I’m not the one who agitated his homophobia.” I get up and walk to the end of the ledge, for a better view of the Meat department. “I’m surprised Eric wasn’t over here the second the ladder fell,” I say. “Normally he’s breathing down my neck.”

“Maybe he has a crush on you.”

“Have you ever noticed how antisocial his workers are? Most of them will barely even make eye contact.”

“You know he hires all poor kids, right?”