The grocery store I worked at was small, more like a large convenience store, really, but it was cozy. We had the usual cast of characters wandering in and out.
A family shopping at a grocery store | Source: Pexels
There was Mrs. Johnson, who had to be at least eighty, but still came in every Tuesday for her whole grain bread, a few cans of soup, and, without fail, a small bouquet.
She always said the flowers were for herself, “to remind me there’s beauty in this world, even when you’re old.”
That day started out just like any other. I was at my checkout lane, swiping groceries across the scanner, giving each customer my usual, “Hi there! How’s your day going?” while mentally counting down the hours until my shift ended.
A friendly grocery store cashier | Source: Midjourney
The scent of freshly baked bread wafted from the bakery aisle, mixing with the sharp tang of cleaning supplies someone had just spilled in the back. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was familiar.
I was just about to ring up Mr. Simmons, another regular who had this peculiar habit of stacking his groceries in perfect towers on the conveyor belt, when the automatic doors at the front burst open.
And in she came.
A woman in her late thirties, with hair that looked like it had been through a wind tunnel, and a face twisted into a scowl, was marching straight towards my lane.
Behind her trailed a little boy, no more than six or seven, with wide eyes and a nervous shuffle that made my heart go out to him immediately. He was holding onto her hand like it was the only thing keeping him anchored as she stormed up to my register.
A woman approaching the cashier tills in a grocery store | Source: Midjourney
Her eyes locked on mine like I was the reason for every bad thing that had ever happened to her.
“Why are you out of organic apples? I need two bags, not one,” she demanded, her voice loud enough that Mr. Simmons actually stepped back, clutching his carefully stacked groceries like they might spill at any moment.
I blinked, trying to switch gears from the mundane to the manic in record time. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. There’s been a bit of a supply shortage lately —”
“That’s not my problem!” she snapped, cutting me off before I could finish. “You people are supposed to keep this place stocked. I came here specifically for organic apples, and now you’re telling me you don’t have any?”
I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, but I kept my voice level. “I understand it’s frustrating. We’ve had a lot of requests for them, and they just haven’t come in yet —”
“Don’t give me that!” she shouted, and I noticed the way the store seemed to go quieter around us.
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