inconvenience
gary zenker
“This is a stickup,” she whispered. “Put all of the money in here,” and she dropped the bulging baby tote on the counter. Her thick plaid scarf around her head and wide sunglasses that covered most of her face were unnecessary for 9:30 pm and should have been a clear clue as to her intentions.
“A stick-up?” the teenager repeated loudly in a vain attempt to alert anyone else in the area. There was no one. He had been alone for twenty minutes playing Candy Crush on his phone when she had walked in.
“Shhh, you’ll wake the baby.” The gun showed just below the baby she was lightly rocking in her right arm.
“But,” he started again at full volume and she shushed him again, this time waving the gun a bit for effect.
“I know how bad this looks. It looks like I’m a bad mom. I’m not. I’m a good mom,” she continued in a soft voice. “We had a schedule. Sitter comes at 9, I go and do my business…and this…and I am back by 10:30, 11 at latest. But my sitter cancelled at the last second. She’s unreliable. I have a schedule. What was I supposed to do?”
The clerk just nodded and glanced toward his phone which started to buzz. “Maybe I should get that. It could be my mom.”
“Just let it ring. We’ll only be a few minutes. Open the register.” She shook the gun lightly. “Just because I have the baby doesn’t mean I won’t shoot you if I have to…it just means that I’ll aim for the boy parts. You understand?”
“Yes….sure…” He shook visibly and fumbled with the register, thinking about what a bullet might do to him.
“Open it.” Her whisper was more forceful.
“I’m trying. I’m nervous, This is my first robbery.”
“Well, let’s see a little more opening and a little less shaking. I’ve got other stops to make. The supermarket, gas station…”
“You’re robbing them, too?”
“No,” she said as if it were obvious. “I have to pick up food for a dinner party I’m having this weekend. I’m not an animal, I don’t rob every place I go.”
“So why rob me?” He was still fumbling with the register.
“Good god, let me do it,” and she moved behind the counter. “Hold him,” and she handed the teenager the baby. She watched him cradle the baby in his arm for several moments, then scanned a pack of gum to open the register and scooped its contents into the bag. “How much you get paid for working in this dump?”
“$7.25 an hour.” She smiled at him in a way that suddenly made him feel pathetic. “And all the fountain soda and day-old donuts I want. Sometimes I sneak a hot dog, too. That’s gotta be worth another six bucks, right?”
She smiled again but in a nicer way this time, holding out her hands for the baby. “You’re pretty good with the kid, despite being nervous for your first robbery.” she said.
“I have a sister. She’s eight now. But mom had a job so I took care of her a lot.”
“Ever thought of sitting? Mine is useless and I could use someone reliable.”
He started in the direction of the gun and then back to her face. “What’s it pay?”
“More than this dump. Start you at ten an hour. You can eat anything from the fridge. And if I go on an excursion like tonight, I give you a bonus and bring home some extra fine snacks.”
He didn’t say anything, staring lower on her.
“What?” She asked.
“Your boobs, they’re leaking through your top. I’ve never seen that.”
She stared down at herself. “Crap, that’ll ruin this blouse. Now I can’t make my other stops.”
Her face turned desperate as she stared him in the eyes as she waved the gun again. “I’m a woman, I have needs.” He took a step back from her. She quickly ran into the aisles with her baby still in the teenager’s hands.
“Right now, I need diapers and tampons.” She dropped them onto the counter. He didn’t move. “They’re just tampons. Grow a pair, will you?” They both looked down at the items that clearly wouldn’t fit in the diaper tote. The desperation in her eyes turned to anger. “And condoms. Three packs.” she pointed and mumbled “damn if I am ever going let this happen again.” He grabbed them from the space behind him and dropped them on the counter.
She stared at the counter and without lifting her head mumbled, “No… the ribbed ones.”
His faced turned red as he reached behind the counter to fill her request and turned back to face her. “Paper or plastic?”
“Plastic.” Her demeanor changed quickly as he stuffed the items in the bag and handed over the bags and finally her child. “I have to run. Think about the sitter job.” She scooped up her bag and started to turn.
“How do I get in contact with you?”
She stared him in the eye, then grabbed a pen off the counter. “Here’s an email address. If you tell your boss or police about me or it, I’ll claim you tried to hit on me and file assault charges. No one will believe YOU.” She was almost out the door when she turned to him again. “I need a reliable regular sitter for three nights a week. It’s very unprofessional to show up late or cancel at the last second. I don’t stand for that shit. …You let me know.” And she was gone.
He stared down at the open, empty register. What would he tell the boss? The last two nights his register was short over $40 each time which he falsely blamed on the previous clerk. Tonight it’s empty from actually being robbed. That sitter thing was sounding pretty good.
Gary Zenker is a marketing strategist who creates flash fiction tales that cross genre and focus on revealing facets of human nature. His stories have been selected for various anthologies, including Chicken Soup For The Soul: Laughter. He founded and continues to lead two writers groups in southeastern PA, assisting writers to develop their skills and achieve their writing goals. He is also the creator of Writers Bloxx, a storytelling game.