An Outrageous Demand

Thomas swung his basket as he waited in line. He had come here for five very specific things. A pack of post-it notes, a pack of 12 colored pens, a pack of 12 black pens, a notepad for scratch paper, and a twenty four pack of his favorite soda (vanilla Coca-Cola). Soda was better at getting him through long hours work, coffee was more a slow wake up in the morning. Thoughts of the upcoming deadline at his job still bogged down his mind. He had tonight to finish up his part of the deadline, and he had hardly begun. He had spent the whole day trying to get his ( less than competent ) coworkers to begin to understand just what they had to have done by the following day, he didn’t have time. He glanced down at his watch, it read 5:37 in blue light, but when he looked up, not a shred of sunlight remained in the sky. How did losing one hour lead to the sun setting so soon? I hate it. He hated everything. The bright florescent light dug into skin, and he yearned for his soft sofa waiting for him at home. But not even that could calm his annoyance as he realized the work that awaited him at home. But even that seemed better than waiting for people to finish scanning their endless amounts of food.

Finally, he reached the front of the line. A beautiful feeling of release filled him as a spot opened in the self checkout section. His measly five products made it easy for him to slip in under the limit. But he was cut, a women with too many items passed by him before he could even take in what was going on. Only after she had begun to check out did she make her excuse. He had no choice but to wait for another free spot.

Usually Thomas wasn’t the silent type, but he repeated to himself that he just had to make it home, clenching the handle of his basket as he waited. He wasn’t going to blow up over this, no matter how much he wanted to.

Before he knew it, he was softly crying to himself. In the middle of the store. Stress finally got the best of him. He felt all eyes on him.

Loud laughter, from a particular voice, one that he hated. Oh why did he have to be here?

“Shut up, Alexander.”