Matt Cowper - The Clerk

The deli worker, Eddie, was a buffoon. Like Vernon, Eddie told dirty jokes, but unlike Vernon, he delivered them with manic energy and demanded that you laugh at them: “That was a good one, won’t it? Eh? Won’t it?” Despite his buffoonery, he was an excellent deli man. He would be blaring at Thomas while he was slicing meat, barely looking at what he was doing, and Thomas would apprehensively watch as his fingers flashed within millimeters of the whirling blade. Thomas always expected spurting blood and digits sliced to the bone, but Eddie never cut himself. Miraculously, he had a college degree (in mathematics, which was even more miraculous — though if a customer asked what a half-pound of $8.99 a pound ham cost, Eddie was stumped), and had moved back in with his parents while he “saved up some Benjamins.” (He claimed the job market for mathematics majors was poor.)

Noah was lazy. Ostensibly a clerk, he did little work during his shift. Since Carly had been working last night (as she usually was when Noah was on duty, since Vernon scheduled them together for some unfathomable reason), it meant he would be up front, bagging for her and staring at her ass. He was sixteen, in the same grade as Carly, and he gloated to his buddies that he got to stare at that juicy ass all night at work, while they only got a few glimpses during the school day. Carly, being the tease she was, talked to him in such a way that Noah firmly believed he had a chance with her. He just had to be persistent, and wait for her to dump her current boyfriend(s). That he was short and round, with greasy skin and mossy teeth, didn’t seem to register.

Thomas had hinted that Noah’s pining was futile, and Vernon had been blunt: “She’d sooner sleep with a flea-bitten dog than you.” But Noah just laughed his huh-huh-huh laugh: “Ya’ll just jealous. I’ll be gettin’ that one day.”

Noah’s laziness was a concern this morning. Nothing would have been done last night, so Thomas would have more stocking to do than normal. Luckily, it was winter, the slowest time of the year. Oxendine’s Grocery, thanks to its prime location in Atlantic Beach, made most of its money during the summer by snagging beach-goers before they went down the road to Food Lion, or across the Morehead City bridge to Lowes Foods, Harris Teeter, and the other Big Box stores. For the other three seasons, it was mostly a slow, steady procession of customers: beach fishermen, day-trippers, and a handful of locals.

“Well, with Noah as clerk last night, guess the shelves are pretty much empty,” Thomas groused.

“He’s a rascal, for sure,” Vernon said, nodding.

“So it’s about time for him to get fired?” Thomas replied. “He’s been here about a month, right?”

At Oxendine’s Grocery, new employees were usually given two months to “get into the flow.” Vernon thought it was a more than fair acclimation period. Thomas disagreed: he thought it should be far shorter. Give them two weeks, and if it’s obvious they’re worthless, boot them out. Vernon had been burned too many times by lackluster employees, in Thomas’s opinion: they stole merchandise, toked up in the bathroom, arrived late to work, insulted customers, or were simply inept dullards whom no one liked. But Vernon had his ways, and he wouldn’t change them.

Then again, maybe it was all for the best. Thomas thought back to the long-ago conversation they’d had when Thomas wanted to quit after his break-up with Danielle Shaw. Vernon had stuck with him back then, hadn’t he? Yes, Thomas had been — and still was — a good employee, not like Noah or some of the other idlers, but other bosses would have said “Godspeed, son” and sent him off with a handshake. Not Vernon.

“No, it’s not quite time,” Vernon said. “I’ll give him another month or so. But I agree, he’s not good quality. And I swear, if he stares at Carly’s derriere any harder, he’ll burn a hole through her britches.”

“Yeah, Carly is certainly a distraction,” Thomas said, though thinking about the past had made him waver on the justice of firing both Carly and Noah.

Vernon smiled mischievously, revealing he caught the hint. “You’d like to see her gone, too, I guess? Well, she does her work, and the men-folk love her — for obvious reasons. I swear, last night there were four people lined up at her register — three men and one woman; guess the woman was a lesbian — and little old Maureen only had one . You know, one of those hangdog folks that always shambles to her line. After she rang that one up, she hollered out ‘I can help the next person!’ and you shoulda seen the face on that last man in Carly’s line. It turned as sour as vinegar. He knew he should go to that other lane — it was open, and he only had a six pack of beer! But he wanted to be checked out by that hot young thing, not an old woman. You could see the struggle. If he said no, he’d look like a fool — not that he didn’t already! You don’t think it was obvious to everyone what was going on? Four in one line, zero in the other! Come on!”

He took a sip of coffee and chuckled. Thomas smiled, waiting for the story to continue.

“And finally — finally! — he dragged himself over to Maureen, and she was sweet as can be, like she always is. But this guy is pure gloom by this point. After she rung him up, he took one last look behind him, to that hot piece working the next register, then he walked outta the store so slow a snail would think he was slow-footed. It was like he’d been thrown outta paradise. And the same thing happened with the next guy! ‘I can help the next person!’ and he looks over at poor Maureen like he’s going to the guillotine.”

“And you’re standing there enjoying it all, aren’t you?”

“Damn right I am! I tell ya, it’s hard to keep a straight face when stuff like that goes on. I want to laugh and poke fun at those salivating boys, but I gotta be careful. Some of ’em may be sensitive.”

“Since when have you cared about peoples’ sensitivities?”

“Oh, I do, I do. I just have to be selective. Some people you can roast for hours, while others’ll collapse if you say word one to them.”

“That’s true, but sometimes I don’t think you can tell the difference,” Thomas said, just to be argumentative.

“Oh, I can always tell the difference,” Vernon said impishly.

“Whatever you say, boss.”

“That’s right, I am the boss, and no one better forget it,” Vernon said sarcastically. His eyes suddenly lit up and he abruptly reached into his pocket. “Speaking of forgetting… let me give you this before I forget. It’s your B-Day present.” He pulled out a plain white envelope and handed it to Thomas.

“Thanks, Vernon,” Thomas said as he opened it. Inside was one of Yolanda’s hand-made cards. On the front, small white and black beads formed the Cape Lookout lighthouse, and blue watercolor paint depicted the ocean. Seagulls were made from small pieces of cloth, the dune grass from some sort of bright-green fiber. Thomas opened the card, and Yolanda’s script hollered from the inside, saying “Happy Birthday to our awesome employee!!!!” Other people would not have been able to decipher the message, but Thomas had been reading Yolanda’s handwriting for years, and he could understand all of it. A check was also nestled inside. Thomas flipped it over and read the amount: $200, the usual amount the Oxendines gave him on his birthday. On the memo field of the check, it said “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” followed by three smiley faces.

“A nice gift, like always,” Thomas said, nodding sincerely. He folded the check and put it in his pocket, but he held the card gingerly. “Tell Yolanda I save all these cards.” It wasn’t a throwaway line to make the boss’s wife feel good; he really did have a shoebox filled with every card he’d gotten from her. He’d dated each one on the back with a black pen. Occasionally he rummaged through the box, and it was interesting to see how consistent Yolanda’s craftwork was. She didn’t experiment; she always crafted beach scenes using the same materials and technique.