Partials

J'adore, pardon moi, j'aime les pommes de terre

I am stacking boxes in a neat row on a shelf in the cosmetic isle. I love this task because I get to look at all the different products and determine which ones are the best for their prices. After a year of working at this store, I know way more about makeup than any of my friends, and they all ask for my advice on the subject. It's ironic because I don't wear makeup often. I am content with how my face normally looks, and if I do want to dress up I'll just put on some mascara, do my eyebrows, and maybe use a bit of lipstick.

Suddenly Melvyn, my manager, walks up and asks if I will fix a mess in the produce isle. Gary, the guy who normally stocks and organizes produce called out. I promise I will.

As soon as I finish stocking the self I head over to produce, cutting through the men's clothing section, trying to think of a good gift for my boyfriend's and my two year anniversary. I smile when I see a graphic tee I'm sure he'll love. I'll need to get him more than just that.

When I get to produce I find that a huge cardboard box of potatoes has spilled all over the floor. Some have been killed by ignorant, worthless shoppers and some are hiding underneath shelves.

This was supposed to be our 100 potato display. I feel tears brim my eyes. Holy crap, how am I supposed to clean this up? I see Melvyn in an adjacent section and yell for him to come over. He jogs over and gives me a cheeky smile. "Well", he said, "I know you like potatoes, and the store has a policy saying we can't sell any produce that touches the floor. You can take all the "contaminated" ones home and wash 'em real good instead of throwing 'em out. But the good ones need to go back in a box. We can sell those. Obviously trash the squished ones"

He jogs away and I let an enormous toothy grin spread across my face from ear to ear.

Fantastic, 80-ish more potatoes I can add to my shrine for the Tuber God. I'll be making sacrifices tonight, baby.