Team Fortress 2 - The Mercs Get REAL Jobs

Heavy - Cashier

“Sir? Hello, sir? Sir!”

Heavy shook out of his daydream and glared down at the man and his family that were trying to speak to him. “What you want, little man?” the Russian rumbled, peering down at him.

“We’re trying to check out,” the man answered, frowning.

“I am not stopping you,” Heavy answered.

“Um…but you’re the cashier,” the man said, blinking. “You’re supposed to work.”

Heavy growled at him, then slowly began running one product after another over the scanner.

After the closing of Mann Co, the heavy-weapons guy had gotten a job. Heavy didn’t know what had happened to the others, but he was too busy to care. Being a cashier at Mini-Mart was hard enough as it was. And Heavy was never big on thinking of others in the first place.

“That will be a hundred dollars,” he rumbled, frowning as the man counted out the money and handed it to him. Heavy took the money and turned to the cash register, glaring down at the small object.

He moved his hand out and pushed a button, pouting when nothing happened.

He tried again, and again, until he finally lost his temper and punched it. The drawer popped open and Heavy carefully filed away the money, then turned back to the man and his family and said “Have nice day, or Heavy will punch little ugly man-baby face in.”

Looking alarmed, the man quickly ushered his family out of the store.

Heavy watched them go, then turned to the next in line and began running their items through the scanner. It was a robust older woman with at least a hundred cans of cat food in her cart.

“Do hurry, young man,” she said, smiling as she watched him work. “I must get home to my precious kitties.”

“Da,” Heavy said, by way of agreement, and continued running items past the scanner. Once the final sum was tallied, he read the amount and told her what she owed. Then he was forced to wait as she slowly began digging through her purse. She kept picking up the wrong items and getting sidetracked.

Heavy quickly grew exasperated. “Enough with stupid distractions!” he shouted, banging his fist on the counter. “Give Heavy money and go home!”

“Right away, young man, just hold on a moment,” she said, still smiling away. She finally located the money and slowly counted out the bills. He got the money and turned to the register again, slamming on the buttons until it opened. He put the money inside, then stared when she said “Will you help me carry these things out to my car? I’ll be glad to give you a tip.”

With the vision of money dancing in his bald head, Heavy grinned and nodded, saying “I will show how real man puts grocery bags into car!” He grabbed the bags and raced out the door, shouting “INCOMING!” at the top of his lungs. He raced at the old woman’s car, with cans of cat food flying, and slammed into the back with a loud thud.

“Ha! Puny car is no match for me!” he shouted, busting the back window and beginning to throw the cans inside. Unfortunately, the old woman had brought several of her cats with her on her trip to the store. They were waiting for her return in the car, and the smell of the cat food had driven them into a frenzy.

They leapt onto Heavy’s face without a second thought.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” he screamed as the cats screeched and meowed and dug their claws in. He grabbed several cats and threw them off, knocking over the old lady, who had come out to start her car and drive home. Heavy ran screaming back into Mini-Mart, dove behind the register, and grabbed his gun, which was hidden under the counter.

As it turned out, most of the mercenaries had evidentially kept their beloved weapons close.

Laughing manically, Heavy fired up his gun (lovingly named Sasha) and started firing at random throughout the store. Cats flew through the air, people screamed and ducked, children clapped and whistled. “IS GOOD TIME TO RUN, COWARDS!” Heavy roared, plunging down one of the grocery store isles.

He passed an isle filled with sandwiches, slowed, stopped, then reversed until he could face the section again.

He stared for several moments with his mouth open, then he threw his arms up and shouted “I LIVE FOR SANDVICH!” and dug in. When he was found later, he was laying in the middle of the isle, unconscious, with bits of sandwich all over his front and hanging out of his mouth, at least fifty open packages laying around him.

Needless to say, he no longer had a job in Mini-Mart.

As he walked off with Sasha held tight in his hands, he pondered his situation. He had just been fired. His only choice now, he decided, would be to go back to Mann Co and see how well the others had done.

He headed off with a skip in his step and sandwiches in his belly, humming a light tune that showed he had no idea how serious being fired from something was. He had gotten sandwiches; that was as good as life got for Heavy.