Misadventures at the supermarket

By , matthews, NC
My whole life I have been doing the same things. I’ve come to expect the same predictable things from my life. But everything’s about to change. I’m about to change. Everything is going to be different from now on because I’m going to do something about it. I take a deep breath and step through the door. The door that marks the turning point for me: The door to Tru-mart. The bell on the door jingles as I step through and a teenager who is running the cash register glances up before turning back to her fashion magazine, uninterested. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, hold my head high, and march my way towards the cash register. The first step I take is right into the path of an oncoming shopping cart. Fortunately, I jump out of the way just in time, only to knock right into the display of Forrest’s homemade chicken noodle soup. Some of the cans, that were stacked so perfectly, fall to the floor with a loud crash and start rolling everywhere. I frantically start chasing after the can which has made its way over to one of the cash registers. Without trying to draw any more attention to myself, I pick it up and hurriedly return it to the top of the pyramid of cans. Really, the store was asking for it. I mean, who stacks cans in a pyramid right at the entrance to the store? I thought they only did that in commercials. By that time, I have the attention of the lady with the shopping cart and all other of the 7 customers in the store. Only the girl at the cash register is still happily immersed in her magazine. Though my face is too dark to show red, I can still feel heat rising to my cheeks and I rush to the bathroom. How embarrassing! Even if I still get an application, the girl is most likely going to warn her manager of my less than impressive performance and he’s never going to hire me. Even worse, he’s probably going to tell all of his other manager friends about the ‘disaster girl’ and I’m never going to get a job. Stupid, small town. Why did my dad have to get an amazing job up here? Why did I think it was a brilliant idea and go along with it? Because I wanted a fresh start. Well now I’d have to go home and inform my dad that I’d ruined any chance of a fresh start and that we’d have to move immediately. I sighed and walked over to the sink so I could splash some cold water on my face. Then I smoothed my hair back and stood up straight. “Come on, Forbes, you can do this.” Normally, I’m not into the whole talking-to-yourself thing, but I figured the situation called for some self-motivation. I walked slowly, and I mean slowly, over to the bathroom door and hauled it open. Everyone seemed to have gone back to their shopping except the girl who had been at the cash- register had been replaced by a teenaged boy. Oh great. Now I was even more susceptible to make a fool of myself since there was a boy there. And a cute one too. I always managed to make a fool of myself in front of a cute boy. He had dark brown hair and as I walked closer I could see that his eyes were dark green, like emeralds. He looked up when I was a couple feet away. “Can I help you?” He asked, politely. His voice startled me. It hinted of an Australian accent. I could have melted then. “Um, I saw the sign and thought you’d need help. I mean, I need an application.” He bent down and to get something underneath the counter. “No problem, here you are.” He handed me papers that were all stapled together. The first paper had the basic stuff like your name and address. The second paper had questions like ‘What are your strong points?’ ‘What are things you need to work on?’ Everything, I said mentally. The third paper had questions like, ‘Where do you hope to be 10 years from now? And, ‘What do you want to do with your life?’ with big blank boxes that were supposed to be filled with a whole paragraph of an answer. I hardly knew what I was my summer plans are, let alone what I’m going to do for the rest of my life. I was too afraid to look at the last two pages. I was never good at the application and interviewing process, I shuddered to think of what it would be like when I applied for a real job. “The questions are a little more complex than what the job requires,” The boy said knowingly. “It’s not some life test like the questions make it out to be. My boss just likes to see what people might put down.” I was only slightly relieved. “Would there be any chance you could help me with the application?” I couldn’t believe I had just said that. To a boy. A cute boy. A cute, Australian boy. He smiled though, “Of course. Just wait five minutes and I’ll be on break.” I smiled back at him. At least there was one good thing to look forward to.





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