The Trouble Way (7 page)

“
Well, I have to get ready for work. Maybe you could finish up in the kitchen. There is a mirror there. If you want a ride, you better kick it into high gear. I’m nearly ready to go. I don’t want to be late.”

“
I just don’t know how I can afford another car at the moment.” Candy said, ignoring Ann’s request to move to the kitchen and continued to work on her face. “I have to find a place to live.”

“
Things will work out, they always do,” Ann said, stood a moment longer, then turned toward her bedroom to use the dresser mirror for the final touches on her makeup.

Candy caught Ann
’s reflection in the mirror as she left the doorway, smiling to herself and went back to applying her lipstick.

“
Candy, tomorrow, you will have to give yourself more time in the morning to get ready.”

“
I want the hide-a-bed collapsed, not just made, and the bedding put in the closet. I really don’t want the living room to look like a typhoon whipped through here.”

“
You are starting to sound just like my mom,” Candy said.

“
I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Ann said.

“
Oh, nothing ... nothing. I will make up the bed as soon as we get home from work, I promise. I’m such a loser. I’m so sorry; I promise I will do better, cross my heart.”

Ann rushed toward the back of the store to punch in. Candy was on her heels.

“Damn,” Ann said as she looked at the card and saw that she had missed the seven-minute grace period by a minute again. Her pay would be docked another quarter-hour and it would be recorded on her attendance record a second time in a week. “We’re late again, Candy.”

“
You are so picky,” Candy said. “It’s like you are blaming me for everything that goes wrong.”

“
You
are
the reason we are late, Candy,” Ann said. “You’ve already spoiled my perfect on-time record. You just have to be more punctual. I won’t be late again.”

“
Oh, Ann, you are right. You are such a wonderful giving person. I am so sorry. It’s completely my fault,” Candy said. “I will try super hard next time.”

“
While we’re discussing things, what is going on with your apartment search? We have passed the four week mark by several weeks.”

“
I know, Ann. I’m trying. It’s like you are pushing me out into the street. I can only do so much. I just don’t have quite enough yet for the first month’s rent.”

“
It’s like I am your mother. I have to clean up after you all the time. You don’t clean your dirty dishes. You don’t make the bed.”

“
Yes, you are exactly like my picky mother. She was always nagging me, telling me what to do.” Candy pulled a Kleenex from her pocket and put it to her eye.

“
Don’t start crying, Candy,” Ann said and put an arm around her shoulder. “Things will get better. I am not going to throw you out into the street.”

“
Oh, Ann, I am sorry,” Candy put her head on Ann’s shoulder.

“
Girls, we need both of you on the floor.” It was Ms. Becky. “We don’t pay you two girls to stand in the hall talking.”

“
Get ahold of yourself. We have to get to work,” Ann whispered and pulled herself from Candy and headed toward the Deli.

“
Everything will be okay,” Candy called after Ann as she scurried toward the front of the store. She smiled at Ms. Becky. “I’m sorry, Ms. Becky, Ann is a little emotional. Sometimes she gets to be a real basket case. Man problems. I had a heck-of-a time trying to get her to work on time this morning. I think she’s much better now.”

“
Yes, we all know about man problems,” Ms. Becky said doing air quotes as she said it. “You know what they say, you can’t live with them, and you can’t shoot them, except for in Montana.”

“
Very funny, Ms. Becky, I like that, you’re a hoot.”

“
You hang in there with Ann. Since you told me you moved in with her, it is apparent you have had a positive influence on her. Maybe you can help her improve her on-time record. She seems to have slipped a bit lately.”

“
I’ll do the best I can, Ms. Becky. You know Ann, she is headstrong. Sometimes she hangs around with the wrong people.”

Early
1970’s

Jesse
’s sole purpose was to remain anonymous. He selected his clothes with that in mind, a worn, long-sleeve, tan, cotton shirt that he tucked into his equally worn 501 Levis, and scuffed western boots. His hair was trimmed and combed. He was just a generic guy wandering around Big Richards. He observed for about half an hour, watching the employees, scouting out the exits, getting familiar with where the restrooms were located, just in case he might have use of a private area. Gettin’ the “lay o’ the lan’,” as the guy in
Of Mice and Men
had said. He did not engage employees in conversations nor did he ask for any assistance. He purposely avoided aisles where associates were working and avoided eye contact with everybody. He was practiced at being invisible.

He had a particular interest in the checkout employees and the supervisors at the front of the store. He focused his attention on Gladys, according to her nametag, a short, plump woman, who operated a register furthest from the service desk. Gladys was
a typical checker, a bit slower than the others he had watched. She appeared to have two speeds, slow and slower. She could do her job, but not without considerable concentration. Her lines were invariably longer than the other checkers’ lines. Jesse noticed customers, even if her line were shorter would seemingly feign a need for an item in another lane and drift unnoticed to that lane. It was the fourth time Jesse was in the West Seattle store over the past two months and it was the third time he had observed Gladys. She had worked evenings at the checkouts each time Jesse had seen her. He had his mark. It would definitely be Gladys.

Jesse had several stores in his sights and visited each of them several times before making his move. Seattle was great. It had a huge population and there were hundreds of retail stores from which to choose. It was perfect for Jesse
’s small side job. It was much more exciting and profitable than working at the campground east of town. He wasn’t getting rich; he did it for shits and grins, but mainly to get back at
The Man
. Like so many people of his economic station, he had been corn holed by
The Man,
cheated one way or another, whether it was excessive late fees on his rent or some outrageous penalty for breaking some obscure rule involving his checking account. It could be a ridiculous fine for going ten miles over the speed limit. Taxes, there was the ultimate swindle. It was as if there was an invisible pickpocket helping himself to Jesse’s paycheck. To add hot red pepper to his vanilla ice cream, Seattle was not the cheapest place to live.

Jesse had no beef with just the ordinary Joe. He
’d never take advantage of a little old lady, or man for that matter. It was the outfits that made their living off screwing the little people; those were his targets.

Like many days in Seattle, it was raining when Jesse left Big Richards. He had parked his truck near the end of the parking lot near The Triangle tavern. Instead of getting in the truck, he walked to the bar and pulled the heavy wooden door open and walked in. There were several empty barstools and he took one close to the jukebox.

A girl wearing a tight, long sleeve, dark blue, knit sweater with buttons open enough to see a good bit of cleavage was bent over the jukebox selecting a song. She held a cigarette between two fingers and punched three buttons with her middle finger. A Doo Wop record flopped onto the turntable and “Blue Moon,” by The Marcels, started playing. She stood and fingered a lock of long brown hair behind her ear and glanced at him with huge blue eyes, smiled, and walked to the table off to the side and sat with an Asian chick with glistening, long, black hair. Cleavage said something to the Asian chick and both looked at him, smiled, and returned to their conversation and sipped what looked like screwdrivers.

Jesse ordered an Oly and listened to the song. When he glanced at the table with Cleavage and Asian, they had stood and were holding aqua colored smocks. They walked behind Jesse and both smiled when he looked at them.

“Have a nice evening, ladies.” He saw the red letters on Cleavage’s name tag, Ann.

“
You too,” Ann said and bumped a table and started to giggle.

Big Richards
’ employees. Steer clear, Jess … trouble.

Jesse had glanced over a magazine he had picked off a rack at the checkouts and, from a distance, observed the row of registers to see Gladys struggling with the few customers in her line. He didn
’t know Gladys personally; his only encounter with her was nearly two weeks ago when he went through a line near her register and looked at her nametag.

He watched her as she rung up the few people in her line. Gladys appeared to be in her fifties. The crucial aspect about Gladys was her timid personality. Her biggest asset, as far as Jesse was concerned, was that she was an exceptionally slow checker. She did not do that little nonsense dance many checkers do.
“Nice day today” or “Did you bring this rain with you?” shit like that. It was too complex for her to engage in small talk while concentrating on keying in the sale. She struggled to get through each transaction and only said the required “Thank you for shopping at Big Richards,” when the customer gathered up their bag of purchases. Jesse intentionally did not proceed through her register. He did not want to be remembered … not this time.

Today, the situation was entirely different
than when he had cased the store earlier; it was imperative for Gladys to remember him. To that end, he wore a Seattle Seahawks football cap and a bright red sweatshirt and sunglasses with those yellow shooter’s lenses and a pair of flashy turquoise colored western boots.

Jesse snagged a cart as he entered the store and walked past the customer greeter, returning his
“Welcome to Big Richards, Go Seahawks” with a short “Yeah, right on, Go Seahawks.” He walked a few feet and returned to the cart corral and gave his cart a shove to the side and grabbed another. “Why don’t you repair your damn carts? Half of them have flat tires.”

“
I’m sorry, sir, I’ll take care of that,” Don said and retrieved the cart and pushed it aside.

Jesse pushed the cart to the rear of the store and lingered until the appliance associate walked away from the counter to help another customer several aisles away. He strode directly to the huge promotional display of TVs stacked on a dock in the middle of the aisle. He shoved the sign displaying the sale price of one hundred-ninety-nine dollars, knocking it over, and picked a TV from the stack. He balanced the large box on top of the cart and began pushing it to the front registers. On his way to the front of the store he took aisles with no customers in them and quickly tore the sale tag covering the regular price off the box and shoved it into his pocket.

Looking at the registers, he watched until Gladys had several people in line and took his place behind the last.

“
They ought to hire some speedier checkers,” he said loud enough for several people in front of him to hear, “or hire more of them.” Gladys eyes shot a glance at him and then back at the transaction at hand. One lady turned and gave him a look. She was not smiling.

The next customer stepped up to Gladys.

“Christ, I’ve got more to do than stand in a line all night,” Jesse said. Gladys glanced at him for the second time and then looked back at the items in front of her and made a mistake ringing up the item. She had to call the supervisor for a void. Gladys’ face turned crimson and her right hand trembled.

“
Don’t they train these people before they put them on a register?” Jesse said to the man in front of him. Again, Gladys glanced at him.

“
She’s doing the best she can,” the man said. He was not smiling either.

When Jesse finally reached the register, he was breathing hard.
“Can you hurry up a bit,” he exaggerated his movement and bent to look at the name tag with the red letters pinned to her aqua smock, “Gladys.”

“
I’m sorry sir, I’ll do the best I can,” Gladys looked for the price tag on the big box. She rang in two hundred thirty-nine dollars and fingered down the tax chart and keyed in nine dollars and fifty-six cents tax. “Will there be anything else?”

“
No, that’s it.”

“
That will be two hundred forty-eight dollars and fifty-six cents. Will that be cash, check, or charge, Sir?”

“
Whoa. Hold your damn horses, Missy. Are you trying to pull one over on me?” Jesse spoke loud enough for the supervisor to look their direction and scurry toward them. “That TV is on sale for one ninety-nine.”

“
I walk in here and don’t get a damn bit of help in the appliance department and have to load this thing on a cart and haul it up here, by myself, wait in line for a half-hour, and now I’m getting shafted. I don’t have to put up with this kind of bull-shit, there are plenty of places who will take my two-hundred bucks.” Jesse switched his focus to the supervisor and stood, silent, hands on his hips, and just waited.

“
Gladys, didn’t you check your ad?” the supervisor picked up the ad hanging by the register and rifled through it. “I’m sorry sir, you are absolutely right; the price is one hundred ninety-nine dollars. I’ll void out the transaction and Gladys can re-ring it for you.”

Both of Gladys
’ hands were shaking when Jesse handed her the cash and looked at the customer next in line. “Do you believe that?” he said and looked back at Gladys. “I’ve got better things to do tonight than stand in line at Big Dick’s. In case you didn’t know it, the Seahawks are playing tonight. It’d be nice to be able to get home in time for the kick off. Maybe you should read the ad like the supervisor says before you start ringing more people up wrong.” He snatched the receipt from Gladys’ hand. “By the way, Gladys, you should ask your manager to give you another shirt, your pen has been leaking through your pocket.” He pushed the shopping cart with the TV down the line of registers, catching notice of each checker there.

“
Thank you for shopping at Big ... ,” Gladys trailed off, looking down at her soiled smock, covering the stain with her hand. Jesse balanced the TV on the shopping cart as he strode toward the exit. He glanced back at Gladys; she rubbed the ink-stained pocket of her smock. Her face flushed as she looked at the next customer. Her concentration wandered and she did seemed confused.

“
Pay no attention to him, honey,” the lady in line said as she patted Gladys on her trembling hand. “He’s a total jack-ass.”

Don held the door for Jesse as he pushed the cart, nearly losing the TV as the cart bounced over the metal threshold, into the drizzle greeting him in the parking lot.

“I’m sorry for any problems you – ,” Don said, holding the door for Jesse.

“
I have a mind to just return the goddamn TV and buy it someplace else.”

“
Enjoy the game,” Don shouted.

Jesse ignored Don
’s pleasantries as he pushed the cart into the dismal night.

His truck was at the far end of the parking lot. He had purposely parked it there to keep it out of eyesight of any employee that may be close to the entrance. He stopped at the tailgate of his truck, lowered it, and loaded the TV.

When Jesse walked to the driver’s door, he reached into his pocket to get the receipt and the wind caught it and it blew in front of his truck. He quickly ran toward the blowing receipt and the wind caught his cap. A girl with an aqua smock slapped her foot on the blowing receipt, bent, and picked it up. Seeing that the girl had saved his receipt, he went after his hat. She stood until he had retrieved his cap and handed the receipt to him.

“
Nice catch. Thanks.”

“
You’re welcome” she said looking at his cap. “It’s a little damp. Go Seahawks.”

“
They lost their first game, maybe they’ll do better tonight. It’s early in the season and they’re a new team,” he said and walked toward his truck. When he was behind the wheel, he watched the girl as she walk nearly the entire distance to the entrance of Big Richard’s.

I
’ll be a goddamned sonofabitch, that’s Miss Cleavage from The Triangle. Ann.

He started the engine and drove out of the parking lot and down the street. When he got to the first light, he hung a U-turn and headed back to the Big Richards parking lot. This time he lucked out and parked a few spaces from the entrance.

Jesse grabbed a shopping cart from the cart stall and loaded the TV onto it. He pushed the cart to the entrance where the Don saw him and limped toward the door and held it open.

“
Are you having a problem, sir?” Don said.

“
Damn straight, I’m having a problem. You know, I came in here because you had a good price on a TV. When I get in here, I don’t get any help in the appliance department, I wait a half hour in line and then have an incompetent rude checker try to overcharge me on the goddamn TV. Nobody offered to help me to my truck so I loaded it by myself. I started driving home and then thought to myself, I don’t have to put up with this kind of bullshit. There are other places that will give good service and give a customer a hand loading what they just spent two-hundred bucks on. So, you’re damn right, I am having a problem. One hell-of-a problem.”