Sucked Dry

                                                                                                 1

The Hanford Market parking lot was almost completely deserted when Randy pulled his 1972 Chevy Luv, with the flame paintjob, into his accustomed space. He looked out through his tinted windows and ran a hand through his short frizzy hair. The small family-owned market had been in a decline ever since the Basket Market chain had moved into town and set up shop. Customers had sworn their allegiance to the small business at first, proclaiming no corporate behemoth could dethrone the familiar and wholesome establishment in their hearts, but in time almost all of them had been swayed by the lower prices and larger selection. The vehicle of his career had run out of gas, and it was only a matter of time before it lost all inertia and he would have to abandon it.

He retrieved his nametag from the cup holder in his center console and stared at it a few moments, reading the words aloud but softly. "Randy Courtman, Assistant Manager".

It had taken him years to earn the position. He had started as a sixteen year old bag boy and he would have been a shoe in for general manager if he weren't essentially working in a grave waiting to be filled in. In a moment of weakness Randy had gone and applied for a job at the chain, but during the interview he was informed that only entry level jobs were being offered and if he were interested in a managerial opportunity, he'd have to move through the ranks with no less than a year's time spent in each successive position. Another year as a bag boy, then as a stock clerk, then a cashier, then a team lead, and to Randy it was climbing down the mountain he was almost at the top of, to dig a hole at the foot of another to sit in for a full twelve months. He shook his head trying to cast off all the thoughts of the future and pinned his nametag to his company issued polo shirt.

The automatic doors parted before him with a slight chuffing sound and as he stepped into the store he was greeted by the familiar scents of the produce department mixed the aroma of fresh bread being made in the bakery. The overhead speakers played an inoffensive mix of pop songs from the 70's and 80's, re-imagined for use in elevators and devoid of lyrics. Currently the strains of Elton John's Philadelphia Freedom, as played by a sedated string quartet and saxophonist, was the only thing breaking the silence in the building. All five checkout lanes were empty, save for one. Randy looked over and saw Helen; a middle aged woman, with chestnut hair that was slowly giving way to grey, was standing behind the register on lane two, casually flipping through an issue of The Midnight Star.

"Hi Helen," Randy called out.

The woman lifted her blue eyes from the newsprint and her lips spread in a wide smile that accentuated the almost imperceptible age lines around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. "Hi Randy!" She called out in a cheery voice. "Are you closing tonight?"

At this Randy shrugged his shoulders and held up his hands in an exaggerated gesture and said, "If no one else decides they'd like to, I guess I'm stuck with it." At this Helen chuckled a bit but Randy continued. "Has it been this slow all day?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Helen said with a nod, and then her face brightened as if she remembered something very important. "After I got in at around eight, all the firefighters from the station up the street stopped in and they were driving the fire truck!"

"Sounds like you must have been in heaven," Randy shot back with a sly grin.

"A bunch of strapping men running around the store in suspenders?" she asked rhetorically. "Yeah, you could say I had a pretty good morning."

Randy shook his head with a laugh. "Alright, I gotta go get clocked in but I'll come back around before you leave for the day."

"Ok hun," she said before returning her attention to the rag from the newsstand.