Matt Cowper - The Clerk

Confused but still wanting to prove he had courage, Thomas manfully tried to return the glare, but couldn’t hold out for more than a few seconds. He looked at the rust-brown filing cabinet in the corner, the pile of invoices on the desk, the coffee mug that said “The Ol’ North State,” the pink- and purple-colored paper clips that Yolanda foisted on her husband — anywhere except into that face. He had said all that he planned to say; now it was Vernon’s turn. But Vernon said nothing. The chair squeaked. A fly buzzed.

“Thomas, have I done right by you?” Vernon finally asked.

“Yes,” Thomas replied, though the question momentarily bewildered him.

“I mean really , son. Don’t bullshit me. I’m gonna give you a good reference no matter what, I want you to know that. So don’t bullshit me. Tell me straight.”

“Yes, you have. I’ve gotten a few raises. The job’s been fun. Good people here.” He felt he should say more, but he didn’t know what Vernon expected.

The chair squeaked.

“You’ve worked here, what?” Vernon said. “About three years, right?”

“Something like that.”

“You make, what, $5.50 an hour? You started out at minimum wage, but you’ve done good work, so I bumped you up. If you keep it up, I’ll bump you up again.”

Thomas nodded. It seemed appropriate enough.

“I’m just confused, buddyrow. You don’t have another job lined up, right?”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“So you want to quit a good job — and those are your words, not mine — and run off into the unknown. And now I’ve got to find another person to replace you, since it’s summer and we’re busy. And this person may or may not be a rascal. Now, lemme tell ya something…”

The chair squeaked dangerously as Vernon leaned forwards and planted his arms on the desk. His glare was even more intense at this closer distance. It was like someone had thrown a few extra logs on an already-raging fire.

“…many of the people I hire, they turn out to be… not of good quality. You’ve worked here three years, you’ve seen ’em come and go. Work one, two, three months, poof, they quit. They go off to college or find some other job — a job more in line with their abilities . You know the type of people I’m talking about. Working at Oxendine’s Grocery, well, that’s just temporary, they deserve better . Everyone these days is better , Thomas.”

Thomas ventured a look into his boss’s face. To his surprise, the glare was gone; in its place, a kind, almost pleading look, like a grandfather who wanted to read a story to a reluctant grandchild.

“I thought you were different,” Vernon said. “I thought you appreciated this job. You know Miss Early?”

“Yes.”

“She’s worked for me at the cash register for twenty-four years. She’s sixty-five now. What would happen if she went to work at Wal-Mart? Would they give her a day off when her hip starts acting up? Would they schedule her in the morning-time, like she wants? I doubt it. I sincerely doubt it. They would tell her how it would be, and that would be that, take it or leave it.”

Thomas said something confirmatory.

“My point is, and I’m getting to it by the long route, is that you have a home here. I think you know that. I’ve done my best to make it feel that way, at any rate. But something’s happened, and now things are all cattywampus. You ain’t acting right. Maybe it has something to do with a girl?”

Thomas said nothing. Finally he frowned and nodded.

“Well, I thought so,” Vernon said.

The chair squeaked.

“I’m sorry if I’m coming on strong,” Vernon said, “but I take this stuff seriously. You ain’t some part to be replaced whenever I feel like it. You’re a friend. I mean that. Just because some silly girl did you wrong and got you all in a tizzy doesn’t mean you have to quit.”

The way Vernon said “friend” made Thomas uncomfortable. It sounded almost holy.

“And I’m thinking about your future, too. I don’t know what your plan is after high school, but if you’re still working here, you can switch to full-time. I’ll give you a raise, give you the hours you want. And I’ll keep giving you raises as long as you work here — up to a point, of course.”

“Well… uh… couldn’t I come back here? I mean, if I did quit? Wouldn’t you hire me again?”

Vernon sucked his teeth and considered this.

“Yeah, you could — if there was an opening. I may be fully staffed. You never know. I’m not trying to be mean, but that’s how it is.”

“I understand.”

“I tell you what: I’ll give you a few days off. Get your head straight. If you still wanna quit, that’s fine. I won’t say another word. But think hard about what I said.”

Thomas did think hard. He’d never had a conversation quite like that, even with his parents. His mother usually chirped and sang and called him her “sweet little boy” whenever she had something important to tell him, and his father opted for the terse-and-tough route, using phrases like “that’s how the Real World works” and “nobody owes you anything.” Thomas’s conversation with Vernon had been real — perhaps the realest thing he’d ever experienced. Vernon had spoken straight from the heart, outlining honorable principles that he hoped Thomas shared. Thomas felt like he’d been initiated into an elite group of strong, noble men, but instead of embracing his brothers, he was going to reject them because some trifling girl had pissed him off.

But on the other hand — he thought about the word “friend,” about how Vernon had uttered it. Vernon wasn’t really his friend; he was Thomas’s boss. Plus, there was like a twenty-eight-year age difference between them. They weren’t going to hang out after work at the beach, or go on road trips together. They would interact at the grocery store and then go their separate ways. That was not true friendship.

And Thomas sensed a trap. There were thousands of other jobs available in the world, but Vernon didn’t want Thomas to go out and try his hand at any of them. He seemingly wanted Thomas there at Oxendine’s Grocery forever. It was ludicrous. He tried to imagine what it would be like to work at Oxendine’s after high school, but he could only picture endless gray days and a dark, silent, cramped apartment-hovel. He would waste away to nothing, and be forgotten by the world.

But he didn’t have to work here forever. He could quit anytime, but it would be better to do so when he had a legitimate reason. Vernon was right: he was all in a tizzy because Danielle had dumped him, and he wanted to do something drastic to prove he still had “agency,” as Mr. Hinkley, his psychology teacher, would put it. He was treating the grocery store like Danielle had treated him, as if that would even things out. But it wouldn’t.

He didn’t want to act like those “better” people who left Oxendine’s Grocery for supposedly greener pastures, or those International Leaders of Tomorrow super-beings who frowned upon lesser mortals. He wanted to stay at Oxendine’s, where people — Vernon especially — appreciated him for who he was.

After his two-day holiday was up, Thomas walked into Oxendine’s, opened Vernon’s office door, and told him he wasn’t quitting, that he’d stick around for a little bit longer.

Vernon peered up at him through his thick reading glasses. He smiled, stood up, and obliterated Thomas’s hand with his crushing handshake.

“Welcome back,” he said, “though you never really left, did ya?”

Thomas trudged up the concrete steps to his apartment, feeling as if whatever omnipotent force controlled the universe had doubled Earth’s gravity. He’d drank too much on New Year’s Eve, then had tiring sex, then hadn’t gotten enough sleep, then had to slog through an eight-hour day at Oxendine’s. The last two hours at work had been rough. He could’ve cruised through them, but, angry at his fatigue, he worked harder than normal, to prove he still “had it.” His body, which knew he didn’t have it, was now laughing at him, and every slow step was an “I told you so.”