the cashier associate asked.
Shelley double-checked her list, and then cleared her throat, afraid that her voice might crack when she spoke. She had never done the actual ordering before. In some strange, egocentric way, she felt on the spot. “Um, I need one dish soap and a large shampoo, please.”
“Moisturizing or tearless?” the cashier associate asked.
Shelley looked back at the shelves and realized that she had a small selection from which to choose. “Oh . . . moisturizing.”
The associate plucked the two items from their shelves and brought them to her register. Both items had the same grey packaging with the word “Quality” stretched across the top at an angle. The moisturizing shampoo had a picture of a smiling woman sporting a shampoo hair-do. The dish soap had a picture of white dishes and lemon slices. The associate rang up both items using a scanning gun.
Shelley slid George’s card through a machine, and then offered the associate one of her grocery bags. Pleased that she had finished her first transaction, she looked for the battery booth. Kurt had been abusing the bathroom click-light for weeks. He threw tantrum s when anyone would try to turn it off, and he became hysterical when the light began to grow dimmer by the hour. He began waking in fearful, crying fits, and as much as Shelley loved her little brother, she was just about ready to lose her mind. Batteries were expensive, but right now, they were very necessary for everyone’s sake.
The battery line was much shorter than the soap line, but it moved slowly . Shelley saw that they were short a couple of cashier associates, and a manager was busy arguing with a customer over a denied refund. The customer refused to walk away, and the c ashier associate standing before him stared quietly with her jaw agape.
Shelley took another deep breath, still struggling to abate her anxiety. Through the corner of her eye, she saw a woman who looked remarkably like Virginia. She turned with a gasp, only to realize that her mind had played a cruel trick on her. No one among the crowd looked even remotely like her. She jumped as the loud speaker clicked on.
“Attention , Food-Mart customers: for the next thirty minutes the plastics booth will be discounting all recyclable food containers by ten percent,” the voice announced. “And remember, it’s the team player who ultimately gets ahead. Food-Mart values your customer loyalty.”
Shelley turned and saw Charlotte standing in the cereal line with her mother. Both were wearing what appeared to be designer surgical facemasks, imprinted with pretty designs and a brand logo. Relieved to see her friend , Shelley waved.
Charlotte skipped over to her. “Hey, I thought it was you!”
Shelley nodded, unsure what to say.
“I haven’t seen you around, but I heard what happened,” Charlotte said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.”
The irate customer stormed off and the line began to move a little.
Charlotte’s mother called to her and she turned away for a moment. “I gotta go. Sorry about . . . everything.” She hurried off.
The line moved forward a little more, and Shelley moved a few paces toward the booth. When she finally got to the front of the line, she was met by another smug associate. She frowned as she noticed that the batteries were each sold separately. The click-light only used one AA at a time, but Shelley knew that Kurt would go through them quickly. She thought to buy several, but reconsidered when she saw that they were almost fifteen dollars each. It was n o wonder her parents had always been so stingy about that light. “I’ll take two AA,” she said.
“That’s it?” the associate asked.
Shelley nodded. She finished the transaction, putting the batteries in the same bag as the soaps.
“Attention , Food-Mart customers: a news associate in Area Three will be beginning broadcast in less than one
Shelley double-checked her list, and then cleared her throat, afraid that her voice might crack when she spoke. She had never done the actual ordering before. In some strange, egocentric way, she felt on the spot. “Um, I need one dish soap and a large shampoo, please.”
“Moisturizing or tearless?” the cashier associate asked.
Shelley looked back at the shelves and realized that she had a small selection from which to choose. “Oh . . . moisturizing.”
The associate plucked the two items from their shelves and brought them to her register. Both items had the same grey packaging with the word “Quality” stretched across the top at an angle. The moisturizing shampoo had a picture of a smiling woman sporting a shampoo hair-do. The dish soap had a picture of white dishes and lemon slices. The associate rang up both items using a scanning gun.
Shelley slid George’s card through a machine, and then offered the associate one of her grocery bags. Pleased that she had finished her first transaction, she looked for the battery booth. Kurt had been abusing the bathroom click-light for weeks. He threw tantrum s when anyone would try to turn it off, and he became hysterical when the light began to grow dimmer by the hour. He began waking in fearful, crying fits, and as much as Shelley loved her little brother, she was just about ready to lose her mind. Batteries were expensive, but right now, they were very necessary for everyone’s sake.
The battery line was much shorter than the soap line, but it moved slowly . Shelley saw that they were short a couple of cashier associates, and a manager was busy arguing with a customer over a denied refund. The customer refused to walk away, and the c ashier associate standing before him stared quietly with her jaw agape.
Shelley took another deep breath, still struggling to abate her anxiety. Through the corner of her eye, she saw a woman who looked remarkably like Virginia. She turned with a gasp, only to realize that her mind had played a cruel trick on her. No one among the crowd looked even remotely like her. She jumped as the loud speaker clicked on.
“Attention , Food-Mart customers: for the next thirty minutes the plastics booth will be discounting all recyclable food containers by ten percent,” the voice announced. “And remember, it’s the team player who ultimately gets ahead. Food-Mart values your customer loyalty.”
Shelley turned and saw Charlotte standing in the cereal line with her mother. Both were wearing what appeared to be designer surgical facemasks, imprinted with pretty designs and a brand logo. Relieved to see her friend , Shelley waved.
Charlotte skipped over to her. “Hey, I thought it was you!”
Shelley nodded, unsure what to say.
“I haven’t seen you around, but I heard what happened,” Charlotte said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.”
The irate customer stormed off and the line began to move a little.
Charlotte’s mother called to her and she turned away for a moment. “I gotta go. Sorry about . . . everything.” She hurried off.
The line moved forward a little more, and Shelley moved a few paces toward the booth. When she finally got to the front of the line, she was met by another smug associate. She frowned as she noticed that the batteries were each sold separately. The click-light only used one AA at a time, but Shelley knew that Kurt would go through them quickly. She thought to buy several, but reconsidered when she saw that they were almost fifteen dollars each. It was n o wonder her parents had always been so stingy about that light. “I’ll take two AA,” she said.
“That’s it?” the associate asked.
Shelley nodded. She finished the transaction, putting the batteries in the same bag as the soaps.
“Attention , Food-Mart customers: a news associate in Area Three will be beginning broadcast in less than one
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