Edward Bloor - A Plague Year

The Food Giant only has three registers (so it isn’t all that giant). Two older ladies named Del and Marsha run registers one and two during the day. They get replaced by high school kids at around 4:00 p.m.

I walked into the anteroom outside the men’s room, where all the brooms are stashed and the green slickers are hanging. As soon as I did, I heard voices on the other side of the door. I recognized Reg’s wise-guy drawl. I recognized Bobby’s voice, too. Hearing those two together was never good.

Reg went out of his way to bust Bobby’s balls wherever and whenever he could. As a result, Bobby truly despised Reg.

I opened the door and stepped into the actual men’s room, with the toilets and all. Bobby and Reg were both standing in front of the sinks, talking to each other’s mirror images.

Reg immediately included me in whatever he was up to. “Here’s Tom. If you don’t believe me, ask Tom.”

Bobby, still in his green slicker, shook his head adamantly. “I ain’t asking nobody.”

The door pushed open behind me, bumping me aside. Uno walked in and continued on to the urinal. He called over his shoulder, “Ask what?”

Uno always went along with Reg when it came to pranking Bobby. (I didn’t. Well, except when it was something really funny.) Reg replied as if he were Coach Malloy handing out an answer sheet. “I am trying to explain to Bobby that the produce department is having a promotion—Chiquita Banana Week.”

Uno confirmed that right away. “Oh yeah, Bobby. It’s Chiquita Banana Week.”

Reg continued: “As part of the promotion, we are asking each bag boy to carry a Chiquita banana in his pocket and to ask each customer if she would like a Chiquita banana.”

Uno sputtered. He flushed the urinal to cover up the sound of his laughter. I started laughing, too, so I turned away from the mirror.

When I looked back, Bobby’s round face was scrunched up.

Uno joined them at the sink. Bobby said warily, “Come on. Is that true?”

Uno assured him, “That is one hundred percent true, Bobby.”

“So, is Tom going to do that tonight?”

Reg answered quickly. “The promotion doesn’t start until tomorrow, Bobby. Tomorrow morning at seven. Tom will have a banana in his pocket tomorrow afternoon. And if I know Tom, it will be a sizable one.”

Uno laughed so hard that he had to plunge his face into the sink and splash water on it.

I had to turn away again, too. But I also started to feel uneasy. There were rules about bustin’ them on Bobby. Rule one was that you couldn’t do anything to hurt Bobby. Rule two was that you couldn’t do anything to hurt the store. I was pretty sure this violated rule two.

I made a mental note to tell Dad about it. He would talk to Bobby in the morning. He’d talk to Uno, too. He probably wouldn’t bother with Reg, though. They didn’t call him “the Veg” for nothing.

I stepped back into the anteroom and grabbed a broom. My first job was usually to take one lap around the store with a wide push broom.

At broom level, the Food Giant is one large square divided into seven aisles. The floor is red-and-white linoleum. It is old, and cracked in places, and faded from thousands of moppings (many of those by me).

The ceiling is actually very high, probably twenty-five feet, but you can only see that if you are back in the storeroom. Out front, it is covered by a white drop ceiling, which, unfortunately, shows water stains from roof leaks.

Seven lines of fluorescent lights extend from the dairy and meat cases in the back to the registers in the front. The left wall is all frozen foods, so the floor there is the most messed up, again from leaks. The right wall contains the bakery and the produce department, which can also be messy.

Aside from the registers, the front part of the store has a customer-service desk, a line of soda, candy, and ice machines, and a corral area for the shopping carts.

When I finished my sweeping pass, I went outside to take Bobby’s place in the parking lot. He was standing next to a white metal cage that holds propane tanks for grills. (His mother always picks him up there.) When Bobby saw me, he pointed out two carts left out near Route 16.

Reg emerged, fumbling with his truck keys. He called over, “Don’t forget about that promotion tomorrow, Bobby. I’m countin’ on you.”

By the time I had walked all the way out to the road and back, both Bobby and Reg were gone. I wheeled the carts inside and crammed them into a lineup along the front wall. The Food Giant has fifty carts. But at any time, a dozen or so might be scattered across the parking lot (or stolen, or borrowed and abandoned, like this morning).

Dad was now running register two, so I went over to bag for him. Uno came up and stood next to me, apparently to bag for Lilly, although there was no one in her line. Uno got his nickname around sixth grade, or whenever puberty was, because only one of his testicles had descended. I’m not sure I would have bragged about that, but he apparently did. He still answers to the nickname, but lately I have heard him introduce himself as John. I guess if you live in Blackwater, anything that makes you stand out in any way is considered good.

Now, like most guys, I don’t really think of my sister as a girl. I mention this because so far I have described her pretty much as an angry, snarling monster. And she can be that. But other guys, who are not her brother, seem to find her attractive. And she can act attractive around them.

Uno had asked Lilly to her junior prom last year (or, more likely, Lilly had asked him , but she won’t admit it). He had just turned twenty-one and was legally an adult. Lilly, at seventeen, was legally a child.

Mom was horrified.

Dad said yes at first, but then Mom freaked out, and he had to change his vote to no. So Lilly didn’t go to the prom.

Mom returned to the store at 6:30 to pick us up. She does that every school day so we can go home, eat dinner, and do homework. Dad used to go home then, too, but lately he misses dinner more often than he makes it.

Today it would just be Lilly leaving, though. I had to stay and work. The produce truck had arrived late, due to a flat tire. Reg was gone for the day, and Dad couldn’t reach him, so I had to stay and unload it.

They didn’t call him “the Veg” for nothing.

I stacked produce crates until closing time, which is 9:00 p.m. Dad took two bakery rolls and filled them with lunch meat for our dinner. We ate them as we worked for another half hour, cleaning up, straightening up, locking up.

It was nearly ten when we finally got home. Fortunately, there was a big open space on Sunbury Street not far from our door. Dad parallel-parked the van into it.

The front doors on our street sit almost on the sidewalk, and the houses extend almost to the alleyway behind. This leaves very little room for backyards. Ours is taken up by a carport, a metal shed, and a cement slab that holds a gas grill (a Coleman, like us).

Since the houses are so close to the sidewalk, lots of people have turned their ground floors into some kind of business. On our block alone, we have a beauty parlor, a pet groomer, and a travel agency.

So far, our house is still just a house.

Dad opened the front door, and I followed him into the parlor. It’s basically a living room, with a couch, a TV (which always has my Nintendo 64 plugged into it), and our computer. Mom insists on calling it “the parlor,” though.

After the parlor comes the dining room, dominated by a large wooden table and four chairs. That’s where I have sat and done my homework since kindergarten (and Lilly has sat and avoided doing her homework since kindergarten). Beyond that are a big kitchen, the back stairs, and the back door.