short stories ~ literary fiction ~ social commentary
copyright © 1999 - 2013
I recently got a new job, same company. I'm a stock person in a major supermarket. Now, as time permits, I'm a cashier. Many people asked how I was roped into such a thing. I shrug. I signed up, for many reasons.
Yesterday, after working dairy doing stock six hours, I signed into a register for two hours. A family came through, big order. The boy -- ages are difficult to judge -- maybe six-years old, wanted a sticker, the paid stickers we put on things. "Let me see the back of your hand."
He showed me. I stickered him, much to his delight, then the other hand, for his sister. He stickered his sister, giggles around. I finished the sale, bidding the family goodbye.
Again, ages. The next customer, a man much closer my fifty-six years than the boy's six years, smiled. "I'm glad I had to leave the house today." He nodded toward the departing family. "So easy to forget the innocence around us."
I rung up his couple things, giving him the total. "Yeah, huh? The joy of simple pleasures." I passed his change and receipt. "Oh! Did you want a sticker, too?"
He smiled, holding his hand forward. "Could I?"
I stickered him.