"You don't understand," he wailed, leaning on my store's customer service desk like an actor overselling it at a Hamlet audition. "I need that flour today. To-day!"
"We're sold out of that brand, sir," I said. "You could try another—"
"You don't understand! I need that flour! What don't you get?!"
I let that slide off me. I worked at the Brockdale Gateway, an infamous supermarket in the Sydney suburbs. My manager would fit an entire boot in his mouth if a customer asked, and that attracted terrible people like flies. You had to know how to tank this stuff to last long here.
This particular customer was a spotty young man with messy blonde hair, who gave off the impression that his mum had handled all his shopping until about twenty minutes ago. I tried to break the news gently.
"As I said, sir, we don't have that specific flour in stock. Nothing I can do about that."
Hamlet held his hands up like he was milking a giant cow. "You don't understaaand! Check the back!"
"If we had any stock in the back, we'd have put it in the front. So we can sell it," I added, in case his parents hadn't told him how shops work.
"Can't you just check the back? You don't understand!"
I gave up. "Alright. If it makes you feel better, I can go check the back to confirm we don't have any secret flour."
"Finally, he understands!" Hamlet cried to the heavens, as I went straight to the break room.
My name is Will. You know what my deal is.
Once inside, I grabbed a can of soft drink and sat down under a poster of an owl saying "Can't work more hours? O RLY?". I had to wait a few minutes or risk being accused of not really looking. Little moments like this got me through the day.
"Haah... can't wait to get home."
As usual, nothing happened.
I sipped my drink. Nothing continued to happen.
Stolen story; please report.
I burped loudly on purpose. "BRRRAAAAAAPP..."
I slipped the empty can in my backpack (that's ten cents at the collection point near my flat) and headed back to the counter.
"So," I said, in the tone of a policeman at your door respectfully taking his hat off, "I've had a look, and we don't have that flour. Just all the other types of flour. I'm sorry."
Hamlet stared at me for a while, processing this.
"Is there a manager I can ask?"
"What's the matter, buddy?" Jerry asked, gliding in smoothly as if he'd never been on break. "Charlie bit your finger?"
"Here he is," I told Hamlet. "Good luck."
"I'm sorry, sir," Jerry began as I left. "What can I do to make this right?..."
I wandered the store for a while, checking shelves. Not much else was happening: Kara was working a checkout, Chaz was standing around in the self-service area as Sanjay the loss prevention guy stopped four teens for a bag check, Troy was missing, the usual.
Someone tapped my shoulder as I fixed a shelf of discounted toilet paper.
"Hey, mate. Sorry to bother you, but... are you Boney Hawk?"
I turned around and slightly upward. The woman behind me was tall and fit, with a long black ponytail and a confident expression for someone who just asked a stranger if they were a meme. Gym rat, I guessed from the activewear and the basket of protein bars.
I usually denied it or feigned confusion, but usually the person asking was less attractive. "Oh, uh... the skater? Yeah, that was me!"
"Oh, nice!" she said. "Everyone at school said you died."
I smiled. "Well, I've still got the scars! But no, I'm fine. Don't really have the time to skate any more though."
She smiled back. "That's a shame. You were pretty cool."
I folded immediately, obviously. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind getting back into it. Maybe not the Boney Hawk part..."
She chuckled and offered a hand. "Oh, I'm Le—"
Troy popped up beside me like an evil puppet.
"Hey, Will. There's a milk spill in aisle ten and I don't know how to..." he paused, glanced at Le—'s chest, and gave her a smile he believed to be charming. "Hey, how you doin'?"
She was already backing away. "Uh, hey. Anyway, nice meeting you!"
I turned and stared at Troy.
He stared back, confused. "What?"
"Have you tried slipping on the milk and dying?"
"Tried it, didn't work. Listen, I gotta talk to the boss. Can you do it?"
"Ugh," I groaned and stalked away. " Sure, whatever."
Honestly, the joke was on Troy: I could take my time mopping it up and avoid talking to customers, while he'd basically just volunteered to have a meme from 2007 explained to him for twenty minutes. All according to keikaku.
...Oh, no. He's got me doing it.
I sighed and left the aisle. "I gotta quit this fucking place..."
now we're done.
chapter 1 a while ago, if you missed it.)
-
Zettamall will return with Volume 2 in a couple months or so. I've got things to do! (For example, did you know I make TTRPGs and I'm currently crowdfunding one called Hard Wired Island: Second Gig? Look it up!)
- I'll start posting chapters to early. When it returns here, I'll drop a bunch of chapters at once and then settle into a weekly update schedule. (This year will be too bsuy to maintain the current pace.)
- Later this year I'll also give Volume 1 another editing pass, so if anything big changes I'll let you know. Mostly I'm hoping to trim the word count and make some minor tweaks—for example, Sidus gets mentioned in chapter 6 but doesn't turn up when Will first encounters Buy-Lo, which in hindsight I'm not a fan of!
tutorial mall map! This is based on an actual mall I am familiar with, which I liked because it's mostly linear but has a few places where things can connect weirdly. Not to scale.
Wii Sports?), drop a comment and let me know. Either way, see you later!