Polymath

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Skid didn't show up for work that morning so I was there with the new boy, Sullivan. Apparently his first day was Saturday, but he wasn't here yesterday. Honestly, I really didn't care, but Sullivan was a mess and he really needed help. I thought I had bad luck, but Sully couldn't even stack the tomato soup cans without them toppling over. I already had to place seven in the damaged bin and it wasn't even seven in the morning yet.

There was another crash and I heard Sully curse. The boy had barely turned fifteen and he had a mouth like a sailor. I huffed and locked the cash register before making my way to the canned goods aisle. Sully was sitting on the floor, surrounded by a sea of red cans. I imagined all the cans were split and Sully was rowing a grilled cheese boat around with a chicken cracker.

"How the *bad word* are these supposed to be stacked, RF?" he asked, handing me three dented cans. I set them on the counter behind me. "They don't *bad word* stay."

I reached my hand down and pulled him off the floor. "Okay, Sullivan, it's really easy."

My hands were like a blur as I stacked the cans around the display. Set two beside each other close enough they almost touched, and set one balanced in between. Simple. I finished the first three rows and pushed the cans towards Sully with my foot. He would have to do the rest. I couldn't reach any higher without the step ladder.

"So I just set one row on each tier?" he asked, staring up at my handiwork. That was the only thing that never faltered with my bad luck streak, and I hoped it would stay that way.

"Yes," I reached down again and placed a can in his hands. "And if you can reach, straighten the sign. It's crooked."

Skid finally showed up in the middle of the lunch rush, and I was grateful. I had to work the deli counter with Sully because she wasn't here, and he was hopeless.

Couldn't slice the meat, couldn't figure out how to turn on the board lights, and couldn't remember the customer's order right after they told him.

"Skid, please help," I called out to her, handing another package of meat to an impatient customer.

"Go fill the cookie tray," she called back, pulling a hair net over her silky black hair, a skill I could never master with my own. "I got this."

I yanked my own net off and bolted from behind the counter. Sullivan was working on the pasta boxes now, and thanks to the Lord they could be stacked like bricks. I went to the back room and grabbed two little boxes of cookies: one with colored candies and one with raisins. I knew the raisins wouldn't get eaten, but I was required to put them out anyway.

The cookies poured out onto the plate, and I forgot to sort them out. I didn't care. Cookies were cookies. The younger kids accompanied by their parents would dig around to find the candied ones nevertheless.

That was part of my job, I guess. Dominance to the children with their daggum snotty hands on the cookies that would be dropped on the store floor in a back corner only to be discovered by the ants, which would be discovered by us weeks later. Tomorrow, I wouldn't put out any cookies. There was no point.

I went home three hours earlier than I was supposed to, but who cared anyway? As I drove down the road, it started to rain. It came so fast and unexpected; the sky was still bright as the sun beat defiantly through the white clouds. This was undoubtedly rainbow weather. I slowed to a stop at a red light and looked up.