Heteroflexibility by Mary Beth Daniels Page B

greeted me.
    I watched her scan the items, wondering how a woman like her, no wedding ring, probably no help, could make ends meet working at Target. I wished I could ask her, get tips maybe, but instead pulled my credit card from my wallet and zipped it through the machine.
    “Transaction canceled,” it read. “Try again or use another card.”
    “Just swipe it again, honey,” the woman said. “It’s always on the fritz.”
    I ran the card more carefully this time, but it still read, “Transaction canceled.”
    “What does that mean?” I asked, panic already rising.
    “Let me try it over here,” she said, sliding the card across the groove above her keyboard.
    She shook her head. “You’re tapped out. It doesn’t tell me why, if you’re over the limit, or expired or whats-it. But it won’t go through. You want me to call them? Or you got another way to pay?”
    I pulled out the check card from my joint account with Cade, but I had a feeling I knew what would happen. “We can try this,” I said and ran the card through the machine.
    Transaction canceled.
    I checked my wallet. Two twenties and the uncashed check from Harry Histrionic. My face burned. “I guess I’ll have to put some things back, see what I can pay with cash.”
    A women with two kids behind me sighed and began grabbing her items off the conveyor belt and sticking them back in her cart.
    The checker smiled sympathetically. “Okay, honey, what you got?”
    “Forty dollars.”
    “What’s most important?” She pointed to the screen, which listed what I’d bought and their prices.
    The bed was over thirty all by itself. The blanket was twenty.
    “Um, keep the bed and the saucepan.”
    “Gotcha.” She began shoving the rest in a bin beneath the counter. “Okay, $37.98.”
    “And the Ramen noodles.”
    She scanned the packages, six for a dollar.
    “39.06.”
    I handed her the cash, utterly humiliated.
    ***
    I struggled beneath the boxes loaded with studio gear and essential clothes and pushed the button to the elevator for Fern’s condo. A security guard watched me from behind a polished teak desk as I tried to maintain my balance. Musak drifted from invisible speakers.
    At last the doors slid open. A greasy-haired twenty-something stood inside wearing a ridiculous gray bellboy get-up straight from a sitcom. “Moving in?” he asked as I shuffled inside.
    I wasn’t sure how to answer. There could be a policy against long-term guests. I didn’t want to get Fern in trouble, but even more importantly, I didn’t want to get kicked out.
    “Oh no, just some…stuff.”
    “What floor?”
    “Four.”
    He pushed a button, face forward, but his eyes kept shifting to my box. Finally, he pointed to the Target bag with the package sticking out, clearly marked, “Auto Blow Up Mattress.” Nosy asshat.
    I angled the box so he couldn’t peer in. “We’re going camping.”
    “Really? Where?”
    “The Ozarks.”
    “Which part?”
    Crap. What states were the Ozarks in? Maybe he didn’t know either. “Missouri.”
    “It’ll get cold at night. You’ll have to cuddle up.”
    The elevator dinged, and the door opened. I stepped forward, but the man put his hand against my box. “Wrong floor,” he said. “Someone pressed a button on two.”
    He moved to the doorway, looking both directions. “No one here. I should investigate.”
    “Probably somebody just forgot something.”
    “Could be someone in trouble.” He pressed the red button to stop the elevator from moving and puffed out his chest importantly. “Just let me check.”
    I leaned back against the wall, trying to find a comfortable position with my box.
     He disappeared down the hall. I blew a wisp of hair out of my face and waited.
    And waited.
    Finally, he popped back into the elevator. “False alarm.”
    “What a surprise.”
    “It could have been something important.”
    “It could have been a kid punching buttons.”
    “We don’t have any kids on the second