Running Parallel

Part 10 - Connor

Money. I'm doing this for money.

I chant this in my head as I bag a woman's groceries. Her green reusable t-shirt bag reeks of cigarette smoke and wet dog, a combination that does not instill a sense of cleanliness in me. My skin crawls every time I'm forced to add an item to her bag. The urge to scratch my skin off grows with every passing second.

"Now let's see here," she hums after I read her the price. "I have some change I want to get rid of. Hold on."

I glance at the waiting queue. The guy directly behind her is busy on his phone, and the mom and child behind him are distracted by a quietly spoken debate over whether they should buy a pack of M&M's. The mother's argument is valid—nearly three dollars for one small pouch of M&M's is insane—but the child is passionate, going so far as to deploy the sniffles and whines to get their way.

Kids can be little manipulative bastards when they want to be.

"Ah, here we go," the woman at the till says. She holds out her hand tightly closed. I stare at it. She wiggles her fist. "The money?"

I flush hot. Idiot. This is why I don't work upfront.

Reluctantly, I hold out my hand. She passes me a fistful of change, all in silver coins. Her total is over twenty dollars. A glance at the coins confirms it's a mix of nickels, dimes, and quarters. She reaches into her coin pouch and holds out another fistful of change.

"I'm not sure if that'll be enough," she admits, as I take the second handful of coins. I dump both on top of my till and catch the few that try to tumble off. "If you need more, just let me know."

Fucking hell. I'm doing this for the money. I'm doing this for the money.

"Connor," Steven, the front-end manager, calls as he approaches. He smiles politely at the customers before turning to me. "It's after two, aren't you off?"

He should know. He's the one who asked me to cover this shift, since our part-time cashier, Margaret, is out sick. Over sixty years old, Margaret is a retired nurse who uses her time at work as her way of getting out and socializing. For her to call out sick is out of character, meaning it must be pretty bad.

I shift my weight, uncomfortable with being put on the spot. The clock on the POS reads eight minutes past two.

"There was a line," I explain lowly, absently sorting the change into piles by the dollar. Four quarters in one pile, ten dimes in another, so on and so on.

"Well, why don't you finish up with this lady," he tells me, then raises his voice to address the customers still waiting in line. "And I'll take the rest of you over at the customer service desk, if you'll please follow me."

I nod, staring at my piles of change. Out of my peripheral I see the man, mother, and child follow Steven. Once they're gone, the woman clears her throat, breaking me from my thoughts.

I blink. "You're short a dollar and sixty-five cents."

"Oh? Are you sure?" She frowns at the coins I've got sorted on top of my till.

Below the conveyor belt, where she can't see, I clench my hand into a fist, pressing my blunt nails into my palm.

If you were going to doubt me, why didn't you count it yourself first?

I lick the backs of my teeth. Pointing at each pile, I slowly count out the change she's given me already.

Still frowning, she checks her change pouch. While she sifts through her money, I put up the sign stating to use the next lane and flick off the light above my head. Anything to get me out of here faster.