Complicated relationships with food

This was not how you had wanted today to go. Your job was bad enough in and of itself, and now this. Customer service jobs, am I right? But this took the cake. This being a teenager waving a knife in your face. You'd like to tell yourself it didn't make adrenaline shoot through your veins and your fingers fumble.

And then, before you managed to do anything whatsoever, the next person in the queue stepped up, grabbing the robber's hand before he had time to turn to tell them to back off, and just like that, the knife clattered to the counter.

The robber, a kid really, crumbled into a snivelling heap holding his hand, and you stared stupidly as your knight in shining armor placed a carton of coconut water on the counter.

"I left the washing machine on", he said, ignoring the kid making his way to the door.

You blinked slowly.

He dug a bunch of coins from his pocket and dumped them on the counter in the time it took you to catch up.

"I don't want my clothes sitting in there getting musty", he said.

You managed to scan the barcode despite your still-shaking hands, parrot the cost, generally play the role of a good cashier.

He picked up his carton. What left your mouth next, you'd forever blame on being rattled.

"Those taste like shit, you know", you said.

"I know", he said, and heedless of your warning, opened the carton and drank the contents right there, tossing the empty carton in the bin. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve with a pinched expression and headed for the door.

"Uh, th-thank you!" you called after him.

He stopped. "I don't want my laundry getting musty." With that, he continued out of the door.

Wow. Talk about antisocial students. With the bags under his eyes looking fit for luggage and how ashen his skin was, he had to be one. Well. You stared at the knife left on the counter. You should probably do something about that.

***

You hadn't thought you'd get reason to notice him again.

Then your body had betrayed you. You'd been moving a box in the back when pain shot through your back. It took all your willpower to place the box on the nearest shelf and not drop it on the floor.

You tried to twist your back, to find an angle that would correct whatever had gone wrong, but nothing helped. So you swallowed your pride and walked over to your supervisor like an old man who sorely needed a cane.

You got to go home in the hopes that an aspirin and a day's rest would be all it took. When you rummaged through your medicine cupboard you realised you were all out on aspirin.

Cursing everything from the earth to the heavens you dragged yourself to the blessedly nearby pharmacy. You went to pay for the painkillers, and realised that the cashier behind the counter was who else but your rude saviour. Oh, how the tables had turned, you thought with a grim sort of glee.

"I guess you don't get much, er, greedy customers", you commented as he scanned the painkillers.

He looked up, actually looked at you, and then nodded. "Little corner stores must be more intuitive targets", he replied, and told you the price. You paid and fidgeted a little with your box of painkillers.

"Thank you, really. You helped me dodge a bullet. Figuratively."

He cringed. "No problem. Sorry I was such an ass", he said, rubbing his neck. "Wasn't the best of days."