Yeses and Toes

The Scheme

"So do you think they'll sell?" Rick asked me as we stood in one of the vast china isles ten minutes before opening.

The rest of the staff were sitting on the checkout desk, talking about how smashed they got over the weekend. Since I had a grand total of one and a half friends who never had time to go drinking outside of their performance-based schedule, - and I obviously couldn't go alone because only people with a problem do that, - and Rick, who probably had even fewer friends than I did, anyway, was allergic to alcohol, we couldn't really join in on their conversation. Not that I wanted to. They were all self-obsessed sixteen year olds. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying all sixteen year olds are self-obsessed. Debby's just managed to reel in all of the fun, cheerleading/jock, glued-to-Instagram kids.

So Rick and I had distanced ourselves and were contemplating one of the fabulous new products the company buyers had bestowed upon our store.

I shrugged at his question. "Well. Barbie is a widely popular plaything for young girls. Apart from the ones whose parents are worried about them comparing themselves to a doll. And also the girls who prefer animal toys to human toys. It's all down to preference, really. So I guess that dwindles the likely customers down to..."

"To no one. The little girls who do like the brand don't have money to buy an entire set of pink, Barbie-endorsed, fine china. And I'm sure their parents wouldn't want to put a two-hundred dollar collection of childish plates on display in their china cupboard."

"Well, they're nice to look at in the store."

Rick laughed. "A company can't survive on people looking at things, Tish."

We were quiet for a bit, simply staring at the hot-pink box. On the side was a giant picture of Barbie's beautiful face. She had a fringe and sparkly sunshades on which were, you guessed it, pink. The longer I looked at it, the less ironic charm there was. It was just this explosion of... Commercial brand placement. My eyes were starting to hurt a bit.

"Maybe I could buy them for the break room or something," Rick pondered.

"I take it back. They're hideous."

It was finally time to open the doors and so I went and got on with packing out the spoons that just came in.

When the day finally finished, they were for whatever reason getting slower and slower over the past month or so, and I got home, it was silent. Like, public transport at lunch-time silent. It was always like that now.

I didn't know whether I liked it better that way or when people were at each other's throats. Things had sure changed since our uninvited house guest took residence on our three-seater.

Luke and I hadn't spoken during the two weeks that followed his motivational speech in the graveyard. I wanted to be happy about that. But deep down, and I mean really deep down, I kind of missed talking to him. That was something I knew I needed to get over. Though, each time I told myself that, I just... Couldn't. Get over him, I mean.

Fleur and Alvin weren't speaking to him either. Not for the reason I wasn't, they didn't know anything about that, thank goodness, but for the same reason they would scream at him before - they wanted him to get the hell out of "their" house. I guessed they just changed tactics to spice things up a little. Or maybe they just gave up. Like he seemed to have. All I ever saw him do was eat pop-tarts while watching shitty Netflix exclusives.

It sort of reminded me of myself.

Like each time I got home, I started to make a beeline for my room, ready to put on my point shoes and mirror the positions and mimick the chaîné turns of the principal dancer on the screen. It was the highlight of my day, really. But before I could get upstairs I was stopped.