yellow paper from his other pocket.
“And for you, Ms. Hayes,” he says, sliding it into the side pocket of my black pants and giving it the tiniest pat.
I back away a few steps and go behind my own register.
My eyes bore two holes into his back for the duration of the shift. At about eight, he turns around and bends down to retrieve a potato that’s escaped from the scales. When he stands up, he winks at me and smiles.
Heaven help Amelia Joan Hayes, for she cannot help herself.
January 25
The workdays are long, especially when it’s sunny outside. Ed and I have set ourselves the target of making up a new in-joke at the beginning of the week and having it instituted across the part-time staff by week’s end. Young Amelia is the quickest of the lot, by a long shot.
There’s this egotistical little shit of a checkout operator by the name of Jeremy. He’s all of fifteen or sixteen and doesn’t he reckon he’s a player. He holds court down at the service desk on Thursday nights to a seemingly unending stream of private school girls. Sells them cigarettes, no doubt, and flirts like it’s going out of fashion. Bianca flirts with him shamelessly, which fuels his ego even more.
I always thought that being completely superficial was mostly the realm of girls. I can see that Bianca, Kelly and, in my rare moments of lucidity, Kathy are pretty plastic when you get down to it. Jeremy is their male equivalent. I can’t stand him. He doesn’t have a pair of breasts to redeem him. After work I see him hanging around the food court with his skanky minions, wearing a baseball cap backwards —no shit.
Amelia is Jeremy’s opposite. She’s real. She’s literate. I like her a lot. Or maybe I just like the idea of her. Because she’s so young that she’s out of the question, I can mentally make her into the Perfect Woman in Waiting. Is that what I’m doing?
Moving swiftly on.
Yesterday morning I started work at seven, helping out in Perishables until the store opened at eight. I worked through till close at nine, by which time I was climbing the walls. At five to nine, I was minding the service desk while Ed was out for asmoke. Bianca was busy making some careful adjustments to Jeremy’s bow tie and gestured to me to do the closing message over the store PA system. It usually goes a little something like this: “Attention, customers, the time is now five minutes to nine and this store will cease trading in approximately five minutes. Please conclude your purchases and make your way to the checkouts. Thank you for shopping with Coles, the Fresh Food People.” I sometimes wake up at night saying it. Anyway, I picked up the microphone, and instead of doing the closing message, I started belting out “Khe Sanh”—this ’80s pub rock anthem about the miserable homecoming of a Vietnam vet. And I got as far as there being no V-day heroes in 1973 before Bianca wrestled the microphone from me and spat chips.
While she shrieked at me with Jeremy smirking behind her, the PA crackled to life again and Ed’s voiced boomed through the store. He continued where I had left off for a good few lines until someone wrestled the back dock mike off him. Ed and I are as one.
It turned out there weren’t any customers left in the store.
January 30
Rohan’s back from Europe. Going to the pub with him, Mick and Suze. Now.
February 8
Uni resumes in three weeks. Rohan has found an apartment in Newcastle and we are going up for his housewarming party next week. He starts the new job in two weeks. I’m still workingtwenty-five to thirty hours per week at Coles, but really hope to cut it down to twelve when uni begins. Zoe has also found herself a graduate position at an accounting firm in the city, and Dad is chuffed. She reckons she’s moving into her own place as soon as she saves enough money for rent and furniture. Good for her, I say. She hasn’t told Dad and Mum about this plan. Dad will freak out big-time and say she
“And for you, Ms. Hayes,” he says, sliding it into the side pocket of my black pants and giving it the tiniest pat.
I back away a few steps and go behind my own register.
My eyes bore two holes into his back for the duration of the shift. At about eight, he turns around and bends down to retrieve a potato that’s escaped from the scales. When he stands up, he winks at me and smiles.
Heaven help Amelia Joan Hayes, for she cannot help herself.
January 25
The workdays are long, especially when it’s sunny outside. Ed and I have set ourselves the target of making up a new in-joke at the beginning of the week and having it instituted across the part-time staff by week’s end. Young Amelia is the quickest of the lot, by a long shot.
There’s this egotistical little shit of a checkout operator by the name of Jeremy. He’s all of fifteen or sixteen and doesn’t he reckon he’s a player. He holds court down at the service desk on Thursday nights to a seemingly unending stream of private school girls. Sells them cigarettes, no doubt, and flirts like it’s going out of fashion. Bianca flirts with him shamelessly, which fuels his ego even more.
I always thought that being completely superficial was mostly the realm of girls. I can see that Bianca, Kelly and, in my rare moments of lucidity, Kathy are pretty plastic when you get down to it. Jeremy is their male equivalent. I can’t stand him. He doesn’t have a pair of breasts to redeem him. After work I see him hanging around the food court with his skanky minions, wearing a baseball cap backwards —no shit.
Amelia is Jeremy’s opposite. She’s real. She’s literate. I like her a lot. Or maybe I just like the idea of her. Because she’s so young that she’s out of the question, I can mentally make her into the Perfect Woman in Waiting. Is that what I’m doing?
Moving swiftly on.
Yesterday morning I started work at seven, helping out in Perishables until the store opened at eight. I worked through till close at nine, by which time I was climbing the walls. At five to nine, I was minding the service desk while Ed was out for asmoke. Bianca was busy making some careful adjustments to Jeremy’s bow tie and gestured to me to do the closing message over the store PA system. It usually goes a little something like this: “Attention, customers, the time is now five minutes to nine and this store will cease trading in approximately five minutes. Please conclude your purchases and make your way to the checkouts. Thank you for shopping with Coles, the Fresh Food People.” I sometimes wake up at night saying it. Anyway, I picked up the microphone, and instead of doing the closing message, I started belting out “Khe Sanh”—this ’80s pub rock anthem about the miserable homecoming of a Vietnam vet. And I got as far as there being no V-day heroes in 1973 before Bianca wrestled the microphone from me and spat chips.
While she shrieked at me with Jeremy smirking behind her, the PA crackled to life again and Ed’s voiced boomed through the store. He continued where I had left off for a good few lines until someone wrestled the back dock mike off him. Ed and I are as one.
It turned out there weren’t any customers left in the store.
January 30
Rohan’s back from Europe. Going to the pub with him, Mick and Suze. Now.
February 8
Uni resumes in three weeks. Rohan has found an apartment in Newcastle and we are going up for his housewarming party next week. He starts the new job in two weeks. I’m still workingtwenty-five to thirty hours per week at Coles, but really hope to cut it down to twelve when uni begins. Zoe has also found herself a graduate position at an accounting firm in the city, and Dad is chuffed. She reckons she’s moving into her own place as soon as she saves enough money for rent and furniture. Good for her, I say. She hasn’t told Dad and Mum about this plan. Dad will freak out big-time and say she
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