The Loner Line

1. Other People

Three summers ago, when Bobby Jones first started his job, he used to play a game. He would play alone in secret for hours and hours, and there would be no winner in the traditional sense. The main goal of the game was to make time move faster than normal, and he did this by slipping into the lives of those he met.

Bobby would sit on his small chair at checkout number six in Small Bay Foods and let his imagination lift him into customers' lives as he scanned their purchases. That first summer had been one of the hottest in recent times, and Bobby let his mind wander to barbeques where burgers and hot dogs were served and cool beers hissed as their bottle caps were prised from their necks. He went on dates also, imagining the soft green grass that he and someone else's girlfriend sat on whilst they sipped wine and ate strawberries as they looked out over the shimmering bay at sunset. These passages were like the highlight plays from a late night sports show, winning plays that sped the hands of clockfaces.

The barbeques, dates, dinner parties and birthdays all ended in the same way, the way the game ended, with the clock striking five and the store manager nodding to Bobby. Bobby would then stand up and flick the little switch that changed his checkout light from green to red. He'd remove his Small Bay Foods vest and place it on the back of his chair before saying goodbye to the manager and leaving through the automatic doors to live his own life.

Now, however, the appeal to play had faded, and the items passed anonymously through his hands to a cheerful beep whilst the clock opposite him ticked at its normal speed.

"Excuse me," said a voice. Bobby blinked and looked at the owner of the voice, a small woman with a round face and short dark hair.

"Yes?" He said.

"I said those eggs are broken," the woman said, pointing a short finger at the box in Bobby's hands. Bobby looked down at the cardboard carton, the corner of which was darkened and wet.

"Oh, sorry about that," Bobby began, "I'll get you some new ones."

"Don't bother," the woman said, "they're for my husband anyway."

"Ok," Bobby said slowly and put the eggs to one side before continuing to scan the woman's last few items.

"Say," the woman went on as Bobby was handling a loaf of bread, "why is it that gluten-free products are so expensive?"

Bobby paused. "I don't know," he said.

The woman tutted. "Fancy not knowing. You ought to know about the things you're selling. It isn't right, that people with medical conditions should have to pay more for the only foods they can eat." Bobby shrugged and mumbled an apology before the woman continued. "If I were you, I'd think about what I wanted to get out of a job like this."

"What do you mean?" Bobby asked, looking at the woman as she loaded her bags into her shopping cart.

"I mean," she said, heaving a particularly large brown paper bag into the cart, "you should start to think about others a bit more. A job like this puts you in touch with so many other people's lives, and you should appreciate that."

Bobby's forehead creased slightly and for a moment he felt himself slipping into his game. Her husband would be angry that he had no eggs to make his omelette this weekend and would have to make do with gluten-free toast and low-cholesterol margarine.

"Excuse me?" Bobby blinked again and looked once more at the woman's round face. "Unbelievable," she said, and Bobby could not be certain, but it seemed that past her disbelief was the slightest hint of admiration in her voice. "I asked how much I owe."