James

There was about twelve dollars in my pocket with which I intended to buy cigarettes. It was the last of my money, it bummed me out but I knew Davie would have some cold beers. The cashier asked me for ID. Her nametag said Tim. I peered over her shoulder to the dude at the next register. His nametag said Sasha. Fucking hilarious, I thought. Tim, the female Tim, who was probably about seventeen years old, scrutinized my driver’s licence for about another seventeen years. Flicking her eyes from the plastic card to my face and back again in ten to twenty minute intervals. Hurry the fuck up, I thought. I couldn’t believe the little bitch was laying a power trip on me, throwing her weight around like she was worth something. I’ve never had anything against people who work in a grocery store, or anywhere for that matter, have never held the belief that your place of employment can dictate your value as a person. This bitch was just emitting this vibe like her ten dollars seventy an hour somehow made her better than everyone else. I’ve got news for you, sister, I mused, you’re from the same shitty gene pool I am, you’ve been raised in the same bumfuck town as the rest of us, and in a few years you’re gonna wonder where you went wrong, with your shit job and your two kids and your loveless marriage to Sasha over there. Now gimme my fucking cigarettes. “Yeah that’ll do thanks. That’s $11.20” She finally capitulated. “Thank you so much, Tim.” I said, sarcasm buried too deep for her to notice. She handed my ID back. “Haha, oh, thanks. Have a good day.” She giggled. Good luck with the baby I said to myself. But I’m not pregnant, she didn’t reply. You will be, I hypothetically told her.