You know how they say a watched pot never boils? Well, I’m beginning to think that may be right. I’ve been put on nightshift because Andy couldn’t come in today and I’m literally counting the seconds until I get to leave. I hate nightshifts, they tend to be full of psychos who wait until the dead of the night to come out and get their shopping done.
One of the said psychos comes up to me. His pale skin highlighting the bags under his eyes as his gaze darts nervously around the store. His cheeks look so gaunt I wouldn’t be surprised if he said he hadn’t eaten in days.
“Hi,” he growls at me.
“Hi,” I reply, my smile faltering slightly.
He puts a bottle of whisky on the table and I fight back the temptation to roll my eyes. He’s probably some crazy alcoholic who only crawls out of his dumpster at night to get his poisoned liquid to fuel his addiction. Or maybe I’m just dramatic and have had too much time to think about it.
He dumps a twenty on the counter and rushes off before I can even give him change. I shrug and put it in the till, wondering how much the clock had moved now.
A coughing throat causes me to look up. “Hi, welcome to Shelby Forest General Store, what can I do for you?”
The teenage boy coughs again and looks at his hands. “Hi, I’m just looking for…um….”
Oh, here we go. Every Saturday night, like clockwork, this happens. How stupid does this juvenile think I am? He clearly wants some condoms. Why else would there be a nervous and dishevelled teen standing in front of me at almost one in the morning? Give me a break kid, I’m smarter than you think.
“What can I do for you, sir?” I ask as sweetly as I can. I think I’ll let him sweat it out for a bit.
“Um…I was looking for um…toothpaste,” he finishes lamely.
I grin. “You’ll find that in aisle three, sir.”
He glances out of the door, presumably to his girlfriend who is waiting in the car for him to get back. By the looks of things, it’ll be a little while longer. “And also, er…”
Urgh. All his “oohing” and “er-ing” is beginning to annoy me and I see another man join the queue. “I hate to rush you, but you’re holding up the line.”
“Condoms,” he whispers.
“Sorry?” I ask, leaning forward, feigning ignorance.
“Condoms,” he repeats louder, his spotted cheeks turning a crimson red.
“Oh,” I say, as though I hadn’t expected this at all. “What size?”
He looks at me in surprise. “Well, I guess…how big is a medium? Like, how many inches?”
My brows furrow and I try my best to look appalled. “Sir, I meant size of packet.”
“Oh,” he says, his cheeks turning even darker and he bites his lip.
I should ask what flavor, just to really get to him, but I think the poor kid’s gone through enough, especially when I can see he’s about to dart out of the shop and never return. And plus, the temptation to burst out laughing is becoming increasingly more attractive, and that would just ruin the entire illusion.
“You’ll find them in that corner over there,” I point towards a far corner of the shop, which he and his friends probably talked about as the corner that held the key to them 'becoming men'. Ha.
I’m still giggling to myself when the next customer puts his stuff down. “That was mean,” he says, spreading out his items on the counter as a broad grin adorns his face. “He’s going to have deep-rooted sexual problems because of that.”
I look up, smiling and almost stop when I see the pop star staring back at me. I shrug. “At least the therapist will have something to work with.”
The popstar laughs. “Oh, so you’re actually doing him a favor?”
I smile back at him. “In my book, yes.”
“Interesting book,” he replies, nodding before flashing me his enviably white teeth.
I shrug nonchalantly before chuckling and beginning to scan his items. “So what brings you here in the dead of the night? Kinda a strange time to be picking up vegetables, don’t you think?”
“I guess,” he says, beginning to pack his groceries. “But it’s easier this way, less people around.”
I nod. “Ah, I see. Very Mission Impossible of you.”
He looks up at me and grins. Well, that’s refreshing. Someone actually thinks I’m funny. Most of the people in this town take the phrase “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit” far too seriously, and to appreciate my humor, it’s important to be open-minded and preferably hard to insult, otherwise I can reduce someone to tears without even meaning to.
I accept his ten dollars and fifteen cents and slip them into the machine and when I turn back, his eyes are on my chest. Woah, buddy boy, don’t think so. If he thinks just because he’s rich, famous and good-looking I’m going to let him stare freely at my breasts, then he is unfortunately mistaken.
“Cat,” he says.
Ah, I see. He was looking at my nametag, that’s okay. I should have guessed really, I doubt I’m his “type”. His type being anorexic blondes of course and no, I’m not bitter.
I look down at the piece of plastic with ‘Cat Saunders’ imprinted on it. “Yep, that’s my name.”
“Is that your name?”
I roll my eyes. “No, I just said it was for fun.” What a stupid question.
He shakes his head. “No, I meant, is that an abbreviation for Catherine or Katy or something?”
I nod, not seeing why it matters. “Catherine. That’s my full name, but no one uses it.”
“So you’re Catherine Saunders?”
“Yes,” I answer slowly, trying to figure out why I’m suddenly talking to someone with the mental capacity of a four year old.
A smile spreads across his face. “As in Catherine, “The mayor is actually using the rise in taxes as a façade to hide his prostitute habit”, Saunders?”
Oh god. That was the article I had spent hours on before New Year. It had turned out causing quite a stir, which I found hilarious. It was no secret the mayor was a wannabe Hugh Hefner but apparently to say this aloud in this tiny town was like saying Elvis wasn’t really the King. I almost lost my job for that one.
But it was a political piece, what the hell was this ignorant, my-favorite-color-is-baby-blue popstar doing reading it? “You read that?”
He nods. “I sure did. I thought it was pretty ballsy of you, for sure.”
“Should I take that as a twisted compliment?”
“It was a great article.”
Oh god, why do I have to start blushing now? “Thanks.”
“I especially liked the way you compared his speeches to being very slowly burned alive,” he raises his eyebrows and gives me a stern look.
I giggle and shrug. “I only speak the truth.”
He laughs along with me until a timid cough interrupts us. Oh great, it’s Condom Boy, back with his little stash deviously hidden by a packet of tissues. The pop star glances over his shoulder at him before turning back to me.
“Looks like you’ve got more pressing issues on your hand.”
Getting a little boy laid faster? Not what I would consider a pressing issue, but I simply raise an eyebrow at him and turn to the poor guy who’s now looking at the door as though he’s expecting his mother to burst in.
“Well, I’ll see you later, Cat.” I like how he says my name, all throaty and casual, as though we’ve known each other for years.
“Bye,” I reply softly as I greet the boy with a small smile.
“And by the way!” I leave my customer hanging to turn to where the pop star is standing. “I’m Justin.”
Psht, yeah, as if I didn’t know. “Is that your full name?” I tease, grinning at him.
He winks at me and leaves the shop. Woah, hold up. He winked at me? As in actually winked at me? Not only that, but he actually looked mildly cute whilst doing it. Only he could pull something like that off without looking like he had conjunctivitis.
I think I’ll do nightshift more often.
-------------------------------------------------
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Trace, you sound more like my mother every day,” I say, pinching his cheek as though he was a five year old.
“Quit it,” he replies, slapping my hand away. “You were away for ages.”
I roll my eyes. “I was at the store, Trace. And just to remind you, we live on the mean streets of Tennessee. Nothing could happen to me even if I wanted it to.”
“Well then what took you so long?” he asks, helping himself to an apple from one of the bags.
“I got to talkin’ with the girl at the counter and I guess I was there longer then I thought.”
Trace raises an eyebrow. “Oh, the girl at the counter, eh?”
Trace is so narrow-minded. “Yes, the girl at the counter, Trace.”
“Did you get her number?”
“It wasn’t like that. We were just talking.”
“Woah,” Trace holds up his hands in shock. “You actually talked to a girl without hitting on her? What’s wrong with you, man?” he asks, grabbing my arms and shaking me.
Trace is such an ass, even more so when he’s trying to be funny, which he is now. Is it so impossible for me to just talk to a girl without thinking about getting into her pants? Well, yeah, maybe, but that’s only because all the girls I’ve been surrounded with in the past year have been amazingly gorgeous, which Cat wasn’t. It would be a little harsh to call her ugly, so I’ll settle on average. Yeah, she’s average. She had plain brown hair that went down to just past her shoulders. Let’s see, oh yeah, her eyes were quite nice--blue, when you would have expected brown. She was pretty, but in a completely standard way, nothing about her stood out. And she wasn’t exactly fat, she’s more…dumpy. Not obese, but a few months in the gym wouldn’t hurt.
God, I should just stop before I reach the brinks of a new level of asshole-ness. I really should be thinking about what a nice conversation we had instead of reasons for not sleeping with her, right?
“Hey Trace, did you read that article in the paper I told you about?”
“Which one?” asks Trace from in the fridge, where he’s putting stuff away.
“The one about local politics.”
Trace snorts and re-emerges. “No.”
“Oh. ‘Cause it was the girl that wrote that.”
“Really?” replies Trace, in a voice telling me exactly how unexcited he is to hear this.
“Yeah, we had quite a nice chat,” I say as I scrunch up our bags.
“Did you just say chat?”
“Shut up,” I say, punching him in the stomach as I head over to the living room and throw myself down on the couch, suddenly feeling incredibly tired.
That article of Cat’s is still lying on the table, where I left it a few days ago. She’s kinda cool, and it wouldn’t exactly hurt to have someone other than Trace to hang around with whilst I’m home. Maybe I’ll go round to the store tomorrow to see her. But I don’t know…lately every female friendship I have has pretty much bitten the dust because I’ve ended up doing something really stupid, like falling in love with them.
Nah, I'm safe. Nothing like that would never happen with someone like Cat.
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