by Matt Shaw
BEEP.
This is my life.
Sardines - tinned.
BEEP.
This is my life and it’s ending one can at a time.
I stop my conveyor-belt and slump back in the uncomfortable stool the store give us to ‘rest’ in.
“Something wrong?”
I look at the customer. Is ‘something wrong’ they ask - I wonder, would they really care if there was something wrong or are they more concerned with the fact I’ve stopped scanning through their items.
“You okay?” the customer repeats.
I stand up, “I’m sorry....”
I’m not really sorry. I don’t care.
“What’s the matter?” asked the customer.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“Is the machine broken?”
I look at the customer in utter disbelief.
“No,” I speak slowly for them, “the machine isn’t broken.... I’ve had enough of doing this shit job day in and day out.... I’m fed up.... fed up with serving miserable people such as yourself.... I’m fed up passing the same products down to the bagging area, day in and day out.... I’ve had enough.”
The customer’s just looking at me now.
“I
can’t
do
this
anymore.....”
I don’t wait for a comeback. I stand up and walk away - ignoring the queue of customers I have, all of whom are just looking at me. I ignore Jackie, on the next till down from my own one... I know she’s saying something but the adrenaline flowing through my body, making my heart beat loudly, drowns out her voice.
No turning back no.
I just need to get out back. Get out back, away from the eyes and whispering voices.... get my coat and go home.
What the Hell am I doing?
Don’t think about it. Just carry on. You’ve done it now. Even if you change your mind, you’ll probably be fired for your outburst anyway. The scene, I’m creating, is bigger than a written warning....
No.
Don’t think about it.
This will be for the best, anyway.
The Ex is out of my life, for good. And so will this job be, within the next thirty minutes or so, after I’ve cleaned out my locker.
I’ll probably have to find a new place to live too. I won’t be able to pay the rent anymore. It’s not like I have anything saved up for situations like this. I don’t care.... I probably will in the morning when everything I’ve done, sinks home, but for now - I’m carefree.
A fresh start will be good for me.
I push the door open, which reads ‘staff only’, and step through to the back room corridors which lead the way to the staff cafeteria and - more importantly - my locker....
As I reach the locker, and pull the door open, I wonder whether I’m meant to stick my head into the manager’s office and let him know what I’m doing. Is that the correct protocol or do I simply walk out and let one of the other staff members tell him?
Jackie’s probably already told him...
She’s probably already announced it to the World...
* * * * *
“She’s not here.”
“I’m sorry?” I ask.
“Susie...”
Play it dumb.
“Susie?”
“I know who you are.... she was talking about you. You’re Peter.”
I approach the empty till, where this woman is calling across to me from - both so I can read her name tag and to stop other people listening in on our conversation.
Jackie.
Not as pretty as Susie, that’s for sure, and she looks as though she is enjoying watching me squirm at the thought of knowing all about me - with me knowing so little about her. I don’t like her.
“I thought she was working today?” I ask, ignoring the previous comment about the two of them talking to me; showing it doesn’t bother me.
“She was supposed to be.”
“She’s ill?”
“Mentally, yes....”
What was that meant to mean? I pause - resisting the urge to ask my new friend, Jackie, whether she is being purposefully difficult.
“Not even an hour into her shift, she just stood up and walked out... said she couldn’t do it anymore.... Her head is probably all confused from her date with her ex-boyfriend.”
I look at Jackie and she smiles, slyly. It’s obvious she’s hoping for a reaction. Had it not been for the fact I had been up all night, cleaning up the tiny pieces of the ex-boyfriend, she may have got one from me.
As it is - I’m tired.
And I’ve already won that particular fight.
I shove the shopping trolley, I was previously pushing, away from me and walk from Jackie - towards the store’s exit.
“What about your shopping?” she calls out from behind me.
I ignore her.
Again.
As I leave the store, I think about Susie and hope that she’s okay. I’m sure she is. She’s a sensible girl and I’m sure she has a plan - a valid reason for walking out of her job. Either way, as a friend, I’m sure she won’t mind if I pop round to her house to make sure that she is okay.
A friend in need...
I climb into my car and fire up the engine - I’ll go to her house now, strike whilst the iron is hot. She’ll be impressed that I’m there for her so soon after learning the news; swing by the bus stop first, just in case she is still there. I know how poor the bus services are around here so she’ll be even more impressed if I’m even able to give her a lift home!
If I play this right, I don’t think we’ll just be ‘friends’ for long and I can’t help but smile, a little, as I pull out of the car park and head towards the bus stop.
The bus stop isn’t far from the supermarket, making it nice and convenient to the shoppers who aren’t fortunate enough to drive and it’s not long before I am parked up opposite it.... empty.
She isn’t there.
No one is.
Not even any old age pensioners, which surprises me a little bit.
No loss.
She’ll still be just as happy when I show up at her house. Maybe stop off on the way and grab some flowers - a little gift, from one friend to another, just to cheer her up a little.
I wonder....
..... Will she even need cheering up?
It was her choice to walk out, from the sounds of it. Maybe she’ll already be really happy. I won’t get her the flowers, yet. I’ll save them for another occasion where she’ll definitely be needing some cheering up. Save my money...
There is a recession on, after all.
I press my foot down on the gas - keen to get to Susie’s house as fast as I can; make sure I’m the first person round there.... to comfort her - or should that be ‘congratulate’ her?
As my speed gathers - I’ll find out what her mood is like, soon enough.
I’m excited and, at the same time, a little nervous.
This afternoon could be the making of us.
* * * * *
I don’t know what I feel.
Everything seems to have gone wrong, in a very short space of time. I should be thinking of this as a new, fresh start but - I can’t help but feel as though it’s the end of the line.
No partner.
No job.
No money.
And, if things don’t turn around soon, no home.
I feel numb.
I’m sure, when the numbness wears off and the adrenalin stops pulsating through my body, I’ll panic and break down and cry... until then, I have nothing to give.
I should get down the job centre straight away - start applying for anything and everything... try and find something to get the money coming in - minimise the damage as best as I can.
At least that’s what I should do.
But I can’t move.
I got in and just dropped to the floor, in the middle of the hallway, on my knees - totally bea
ten. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here now - could be minutes. It could even be hours.
Come on, Susie, this won’t do.
Get up.
Get yourself motivated.
Start putting things right.
You can do it.
You put yourself in this situation, you can get yourself out of it.
KNOCK! KNOCK!
A knocking from the front door breaks my motivational inner-monologue and startles me back to the real world; with my heart beating hard, from the sudden jump, I turn my head, back towards the front door and who-ever was knocking. If I don’t move.... if I stay really quiet - whoever it is, they might go away and leave me be.
I don’t want to see anyone.
Who even knows I’m home?
Maybe it’s my boss - come to talk me round leaving. Should I go back? It would make everything easier if I did. Put up with it for a little longer whilst I look for something new to go and do.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
I clamber up to my feet; I’ll do it. I’ll go back. I won’t say ‘yes’ straight away, though. I won’t let him see I’m desperate. At the moment... at the moment I’m the one in the power seat.
I feels nice.
Comfortable.
I open the do......
Peter?!
“Hi,” he said, “I came as soon as I heard...”
“I’m sorry?”
“Jackie told me. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine... I’m sorry but I’m a bit busy - did you need something?”
“No. Sorry. I just came to check up on you - see if you were okay...?”
“Thank you,” I smile at him. Not because I’m pleased he came around to my house uninvited - it seems a little... stalker-ish to me... But I smile at him because it seems the polite thing to do.
“Bit of a rash decision, though! Is there anything you needed? Anything I can do for you?”
Anything he can do for me? I’d walked out of a job - not broken my leg.
“I’m good, thank you. Look, I’m sorry but I really need to be somewhere...”
He laughs, “Job centre?”
I don’t respond, other than to stare at him in disbelief.
“I’m sorry, just my sense of humour,” he said.
“Look, I don’t think it’s really appropriate for you to just turn up around here - uninvited. It’s a little bit weird.”
“Uninvited? You did invite me - the other night?”
“We had a date.”
“Yes.”
“And then I text you saying I’d rather we stayed as friends....”
He doesn’t react. He’s just stands there, in my doorway, looking at me.
“We are friends,” he says, eventually.
“Okay,” I don’t want to make him angry. His expression seems cold - emotionless - and I feel uneasy. I have a quick look to the left and right, of him, seeing if there is anything around who could help me if he becomes aggressive but, unfortunately, the street seems deserted.
He continued, “and this is what friends do, right? They pop over and check to see if the people they care about are okay or not - especially after they’ve been through something traumatic...”
“I walked out of a dead-end job, it was hardly traumatic,” I said. I discreetly push the door closed a little bit, helping to get a barrier between Peter and I - if he tries anything funny - it’s not as far for me to slam it shut, should I need to.
“You walked out of your job and I was worried about you....”
“And I said thank you - it was sweet of you to think about me.”
“But not sweet of me to pop over and see if you’re okay? Well, what should I have done?”
You should have taken the hint that my ‘friendship’ text was simply a polite way of telling you to go away and leave me alone. Don’t say it, Susie. Bite your tongue.
“Maybe you should have called to see if it was convenient to come over?”
He doesn’t say anything - again, he just stands there for what seems an eternity.
“Well, I’m sorry to have bothered you. Next time, I’ll text....”
And the worrying thing is - I think there will be a next time when he feels the need to get in touch with me.... I’ll have to change my number.
“I didn’t want to upset you,” he said.
He has.
“You haven’t. Again, thank you for popping over but I’m good, thank you.” I start to close the door but he puts his hand on it, stopping me from pushing it further.
“So, did you need a lift to the job centre? It’s not a problem - it’s on my way home.”
“No, but thank you, my mother’s coming over to take me down there. You know what mum’s are like.”
Another lie.
He paused for a minute before, “Well, if you’re sure... look, if you need anything.... anything.... don’t be a stranger - give me a call. We’re friends, after all.”
He smiled at me. A smile that went straight through my soul, sending a shiver down my back. I’m not worried about losing the house now - I think I really should be moving. Move to a new house. Change my number.
I don’t want friendship.
“Well, thanks again....” I reiterate as I put a little more pressure on the door, forcing it to close. I can’t help but let out a little sigh of relief as the Yale lock clicks into place.
He didn’t seem that strange when we first met; almost as though he’s a different person. Still feeling uneasy, I walk through to the lounge and peep through the netted curtain - he’s at the bottom of the driveway now, looking back at the house.
Seriously creepy.
He turns around, again, and crosses the road to what I can only presume is his car.
Don’t stop watching him.
Make sure it is his car.
Another sigh of relief as he climbs inside and drives off down the road - a little squeal from his tyres as he goes. Have I annoyed him or is he just heavy footed? Either way, when I do leave for the job centre; I think I’ll go out via the back door.
