The sun rises over a suburban tundra as I trek to the store for an energy drink & crackers, the foods of my ancestors & survival necessities for a 12 hour work day. Inside A soporific patron saunters in front of the monster energy, delaying my acquisition an inconvenient few seconds before my next encounter, a blockade of police officers, hindering my pursuit of crackers & serving the interest of one officer by providing him an opportunity to grab sunflower seeds & cut in front of my position as next in line.
"Seriously," I mutter aloud, unable to keep my exhausted thoughts quiet.
Unsure of how to respond, a quality ubiquitous of cops, he turns to me, no longer in a hurry.
"How are you?" He inquires.
"Alright," I reply. "Just on my way to work, ya know."
He hesitantly reaches for his firearm, forgetting money is kept in a wallet or perhaps reacting out of habit. He pats the holster before remembering how to pay for the snack typically consumed by relief pitchers anticipating potential work. I had to get to actual work, leaving me no time to speculate why police loiter in stores like baseball players free from proletariat responsibility.
The pseudo-intense situation gets interrupted by the store intercom: "This is the corporate office testing employee response time in the event of bomb threats."
An employee mopping floors responds to the voice of big brother, "everything's good."
"What if there is a bomb?" The cop asks the clerk, who answers with a contumelious smile, "well, the store is located over prodigious tanks of gasoline, so..."
The officer's eyes widen, while he feels for the reassurance of his gun then stammers an incomplete question.
"Essentially if no one responds, it's presumed to be a hostage situation." The clerk informs.
The prognosis compels The cop to become frozen with uncertainty, further detaining the line of growing customers.
"The theory motivating this exercise is that a little chaos enacts as an effective resolvent in matters of terror," the clerk instructs, which either satisfies or confounds the inquisitive cop, who then retreats to the comfort of his colleagues.
The clerk grins with vindication as I place two items on the counter, stating, "just this."
"Anything else," he asks.
"just this", I say, Handing him my debit card as high pitched feedback reverberates from the intercom.
"What was that?" He asks in rhetorical banter.
I shrug.
"Like nails on a chalkboard," he states with an affable grin.
"True story," I reply, finally able to exit the building, where I serendipitously locate a full pack of Newports. I remove a cigarette, assiduously lighting it on my escape to work, where I find "Swish" had sedulously prepared pork for the sandwiches I would be selling all day, which I repay by knocking over the sauce he was making, because I'm not at all a morning person.
"Do you pay attention to anything?!" He asks with a captious glare.
Too early to comprise a response, I simply smile, knowing his naturally jocose tendencies.
"Why don't you write a Yelp review about that?" He adds as I smile, walking away backwards.
"Maybe I will," I reply before completing 12 hours of a forgettable mélange, until answering a phone call while clocking out.
"How was your day?," a voice inquires.
Lightning a Newport, I Open a fortune cookie & answer by reading the inscription, "Put some old business behind you today". read more