Broke-Ish [Completed]

Chapter 1

"Whatever you do, don't use the end toilet!" I did not know this women or have any intentions of getting to know her outside of this interaction but I took her warning seriously.

Her one arm was outstretched pointing to the toilets location like an air hostess signalling where the emergency exit in the just in case you happen to miss the door that has a big neon glow in the dark sign saying 'emergency exit'. Her head was turned away from the toilet and towards me while her face crumpled the way faces crumple when someone shines a bright light directly at them and I can only assume she was temporarily mute from shock or disgust (probably both) as she didn't speak after her award nominee performance, she just left. Whatever it was she had witnessed in that end toilet had scarred us both, as that was day one. It is now 600 hundred and too many days later and I have not stepped foot in the end toilet. It's just not a risk I will ever be willing to take.

I come out of the second to end toilet and bend down to wash my hands and as usual, there isn't any soap. The water always stays just below whatever level water gets to before it freezes and it sends sharp shooting pains through my fingers into my wrists. There is a purposeless dryer hanging onto the wall for dear life and everything about it says that it has existed in this world before the thought of me was even conceived. And there are no paper towels, there are never any paper towels because 'paper towels are a convenience this world cannot afford'. So typical of multi-million dollar companies to use climate change as an excuse to cut their own personal expenses like hello, give us an alternative. I wipe my icicles on my two sizes too big tatty fleece, head back to the shop floor with my stiff damp hands then sit at the checkout and watch him.

Toothless with significantly more hair than I'd expect for a man his age he drags his wonky wheeled, tartan patterned, two wheeled trolley down the aisle. I hear him cough a cough that sounds as if he's been smoking unfiltered roll ups back to back for decades. It's always the same selection of items that he buys but he picks them up and examines the packet like he hasn't seen them before. A microwave meal for one, a four pack of old man ale and a packet of jam tarts, yes people still buy jam tarts. Everything he puts in his basket screams dinner alone in front of the television before falling asleep during the 6 o'clock news. I don't know if it's pity I feel for him or something else. Despite my dedication to watching him walk around the shop I try to avoid eye contact when he approaches the tills hoping, praying and wishing on a star that he won't come to my checkout and burden me with his small talk but he does, he always does.

No. I can't believe this weather

Yes. It is busy today

How long do I have left on shift? Six long dreary hours of people who don't understand the beauty of silence.

Yes. Unless I'm fortunate enough to be run over by a bus tonight I will be back in tomorrow

I wait patiently as he searches his pockets for his debit card which he puts into the card reader the wrong way, then the wrong way again. He won't use contactless because he doesn't understand it, what's there to understand? You tap your card and hope for the best right? I don't tell him this though, I have no desire to extend our interaction. I force an understanding smile when he can't remember his pin number and for the life of me I cannot understand why people think that old people are cute. He puts his items into his wheelie tartan pattered trolley, leaving the basket behind as he waves me goodbye with his veiny hands and I have a brief moment of relief but it's not over because then she comes.

She walks over to the aisle dragging the weight of her world behind her – Jayden, Hayden, Sienna and baby Mike. She spills the contents of her basket onto the conveyer belt and it is as expected. Deep pan frozen pizzas, potato smileys, thick white bread, full fat milk and whatever sweets her vile children throw on after she effortlessly tells them not to. The baby cries and one of the children wipes the snot from his nose with the sleeve of his too-big coat. She shakes her head and packs everything into one carrier bag which will definitely break on the way home. As I hand her the change she jokingly tells me to never to have kids and I do laugh because there is absolutely no danger of that happening anytime soon or anytime at all.