Aisle Seven

The short story I wrote for Creative Writing this week:

"Aisle Seven"

            “Clean up on aisle seven!” a voice boomed over the loudspeakers. I sighed, why was it always aisle seven? Why couldn’t it be aisle nine? Aisle seven meant cleaning up soup or tomato sauce or some other such substance. There were cookies and chips on aisle nine.

            “Dani, you got that clean up?” my manager called in my direction as she hurried past me.

            “Sure thing, Mae.” Inwardly, I groaned. I trudged towards the backroom to get a mop and bucket. As I passed aisle seven, I glanced down it to see what the mess was. This time, I groaned out loud. Some idiot had knocked over about ten glass jars of tomato sauce creating a pool of red across the entire width of the aisle.

            As I waited for the bucket to fill up with water, another employee rushed into the backroom. “Dani, are you cleaning up aisle seven?”

            “Yes, I’m waiting for the water to—”

            “You had better hurry. People are trying to shop on that aisle and someone slipped and almost fell.” He ran out of the room again, probably to go spread the news of the disaster to other employees.

            I hauled the full bucket to aisle seven, dragging the mop behind me. “Excuse me,” I murmured to one of the shoppers.

She moved out of my way. “Sorry, dear.”

“It’s quite alright,” I smiled at her, forcing the happiness to bubble out of my reluctant lips. “I just don’t want to get you wet.”

Trying to look pleased about cleaning up tomato slop, I swished the mop back and forth across the linoleum. A strand of brown hair fell out of my pony tail and stuck to my sweaty face. I tried to blow it out of my face, but it failed to move. I decided to forget about it and just finish the job as quickly as possible.

Footsteps came towards me. I saw a pair of brown knee-high boots standing in front of me. I looked up and barely hid the surprise on my face. “Can I help you, sir?”

The man looked like a pirate. He was wearing a baggy white shirt and tight cropped black pants with a red sash tied around his hips. He was deeply tanned and his brown hair was done in dreads. He tipped his tricorn hat to me. “I was actually looking for some beef stew.”

I pointed behind me. “At the end of the aisle.”

“Thank you, madam.” He swaggered by me and dramatically picked up three cans of stew. I shook my head. The things I saw on aisle seven…

I had almost finished mopping up the sauce, when a young girl walked down the aisle. She scanned the shelves, looking for goodness knows what, when she saw the red water in my bucket. “Is that blood?”

“No, it’s—”

She screeched. “I hate blood.”

“Well, that’s alright because this is not blood, it’s just tomato—”

She doubled over and vomited on the floor. Twice. I threw my head back and sighed, then looked at her with a plastered smile.

“Can I help you get to the bathroom?”

She shook her head; the green color rising in her cheeks. She turned and ran the other way down the aisle calling for her mother.

I quickly finished mopping the tomato sauce up and hauled the bucket back to the storeroom to empty it. I dumped it out and re-filled it. One of my co-workers was sitting down on break in the corner, reading a book.

“Hey, Tony, could you do me a favor and bring a caution sign to aisle seven?” I hoped I looked desperate enough that he would consider taking five minutes of his break to help me.

He looked up and grinned. “You look stressed, Dani.”

I just looked at him.

He laughed. “Sure, I can bring you a sign.” He got up and picked up a couple wet floor signs. He followed me back to aisle seven. Instead of just dropping them on the floor, he set them up, one on each end of the aisle—carefully side-stepping the vomit.

“Thanks, Tony.”

“No problem, kid.” He lightly punched my shoulder before going back to the storeroom.

I stoically started cleaning up the girl’s vomit, trying not to inhale too deeply. Just as I was mopping up the last of it, the ground started to shake. People screamed and started running around yelling, “Earthquake!”

Glass jars, cans, packets of seasoning, and other foods tumbled down from the shelves. I darted around, avoiding the falling cans. Several of them fell into the water bucket, splashing the dirty water over the floor. I glared at the bucket, knowing that I would have to clean all this up after the quake stopped. Before I could dwell on this unpleasantness much longer, something hit my head and I fell to the shaking ground.

I woke up to someone gently shaking my shoulder. “Dani? You alright?”

I sat up, groggily. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I shook my head slowly, clearing the fog. “Just hit my head is all I think.” I looked around me at the damage on aisle seven. “I had better start cleaning up.” 

Tony—still standing over me—laughed. “Dani, Dani, only you would want to start cleaning just a few seconds after you wake up from being unconscious.” He helped me to my feet. “I’ll help you.”

I gave him a lopsided grin. Together, we picked up the many squashed cans and broken glass and stuffed them into a large garbage bag. He re-filled the water bucket and I mopped up the tomato sauce. We had just finished cleaning up, when two girls strolled down the aisle.

“That was like, the scariest thing I’ve ever, like, lived through. I can’t like believe that we like didn’t like die.” One dramatically waved her hands as she spoke.         

The other looked around at the wet floor and half empty shelves. “This aisle is like the messiest one.”

I looked at Tony. “What is it with aisle seven? I think it has a curse on it.”

He laughed. The two girls looked at him and immediately began whispering to each other. I rolled my eyes. I mean, yes, Tony was attractive, but really?

The first girl walked up to Tony. “You’re like the cutest grocery worker I’ve ever like seen. Do you want to like go get dinner sometime?”

He stared at her. Before he could respond the other girl came up. “You’re stupid if you think he would want to go out with you. I mean really, look at you.”

They started arguing about who was prettier and more suited to dating a complete stranger like Tony. The fight quickly progressed from heated words to shouting until the second girl punched her friend in the nose. Blood started pouring out of her nose. More shouting ensued and the fight came to more blows.

“Girls, girls,” Tony stepped in and separated them while I stared in amazement at the brawling teenagers. “Really, I’m not worth it. Besides, I’m taken.” He reached over and pulled me to him. I smiled at them.

They burst into tears and limped down the aisle towards the front doors. Tony and I exchanged an incredulous look. We started to carry the mop and bucket back to the storeroom. A woman wearing an elaborate wedding dress appeared at the end of the aisle.

“Oh, wait!”

We turned around and I couldn’t help it—my eyes widened a bit when I saw her garb.

“I need your help, please.” She held out her hands to us in supplication.

“How can we help you, ma’am?” Tony asked courteously.

She clasped her hands together in front of her chest. “My wedding is tomorrow and I am afraid that I will slip and fall while walking down the aisle. I was hoping that you could help me practice walking down the aisle.”

I opened my mouth to emit some excuse why I did not have the time, but Tony beat me to it. “We would be happy to help, ma’am.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you! Will you be my father?” she turned to me. “And will you be the minister at the end of the aisle?”

“Sure,” I stretched my mouth into a smile and then once her back was turned, I glared at Tony for getting us into this predicament.

He leaned over and whispered, “Hey, this beats cleaning.” I had to agree with him there.

I stood at the far end of aisle seven with the mop in my hand. Tony offered his arm to her at the other end. She draped her veil over her face and took his arm; her hand trembling. Tony patted her hand reassuringly. I coughed, trying not to laugh.

She started to glide down the aisle, clinging to Tony’s arm for support. The solemn look on his face almost made me burst into laughter. I coughed again, nearly choking. Tony glared at me, trying to silence me, but it only made me want to laugh more.

They made it to me without any mishaps. She smiled brilliantly and threw back her veil. “I did it!” she turned to Tony and grasped his hands. “Thank you for your help. You are the most compassionate and kindest person I have ever met in my life. I shall have to tell my fiancée that we will only shop here for our groceries.”

Tony smiled back at her. “I am happy to be of service, ma’am.”

She turned and glided back down the aisle, humming as she went. The minute she was out of sight, I started laughing. Tony joined me. He wiped the tears from his face. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“I saw a pirate here earlier.” I said, giggling. This brought on a fresh bout of laughter from Tony.

“We can’t forget the brawling girls,” Tony added. I almost choked on my gum as I doubled over with laughter.

Eventually, I sighed as the laughter died down. “Well, aisle seven has managed to avoid disaster for five minutes; do you think it’s safe for us to leave?”

He nodded. “I would assume it’s safe. When do you get off?”

“Five thirty.”

He offered me his arm. “I get off at six, would you like to go out for dinner?”

I smiled at him, but a crash from behind me interrupted me. I turned around to see a little kid pulling cans and jars off the shelves. I made a face, and then snorted.

“I’d love to—but I think I’ll still be cleaning up aisle seven.”

“So, then, I’ll pick you up at eight.” He winked at me as he handed me the bucket before walking back to the storeroom.

I shook my head in mock anger and turned to the job at hand: cleaning up on aisle seven.

Changed Routines

This is a story I wrote for my Creative Writing class a couple weeks ago. 

Every Saturday morning, Grace Rowan stood at the corner of State and Grand; awaiting the 7:55 bus that would take her east towards the park. She dressed neatly, yet comfortably for the hour long drive. She always sat in the fifth row back in the outside seat on the right side. There were rarely other people on the bus—it was too early on a Saturday for most people to be awake.

One stop later, at the corner of State and Kensing, another regular passenger boarded the bus. He was tall, with dark brown hair and piercing green eyes. Grace always looked out the window as he boarded, pretending not to notice him. He sat on the outside seat, five rows back on the left side. He greeted her with a brief nod every morning; she returned it out of common courtesy.

Silently, Grace and the man rode the bus to the park. They stood up at the same time, but he always let Grace go first. Grace got off the bus and walked north to her favorite hiking trail. The man walked behind her at an acceptable distance after getting a drink at the water fountain by the bus stop. Grace hiked up the Bent Twig trail; the man took the Eastern Cave trail. They met in the middle at the picnic grounds where the trails crossed.

Grace always carried her backpack packed with a picnic lunch, a couple of notebooks, and a book or two. The man had a backpack with lunch and a single book inside. They ate lunch at tables separated by a shadow. Grace finished first. She re-packed her bag and headed up the Bent Twig trail. Both trails ended at the falls. Grace sat on the right side of the falls; she could see the man sitting against a rock on the left.

At half past three, both would get up, dust the leaves off, and walk back to the bus stop. They would catch the 4:00 bus heading west and sit five rows back on the outside seat on the left and right sides of the bus. The man would get off at State and Kensing; Grace would debark at State and Grand and walk the short half a block to her home.

Every Saturday, the same routine repeated itself. Every Saturday for three years, Grace stood at the corner of State and Grand at 7:55; awaiting the bus going east towards the park.

One Saturday, no one got on the bus at the corner of State and Kensing. Grace faintly wondered where he was. The ride to the park was different without the man’s strong presence across the aisle. She walked north, expecting to hear the man’s footsteps behind her. The park felt quiet without him following her. She ate lunch at the picnic area; the only person. When she reached the falls, she glanced across the divide but saw nothing but trees and birds. Grace walked back to the bus stop, so lost in thought that she almost missed the 4:00 bus. As she walked in the front door, she felt as though her Saturday routine had been changed; but nothing had.

The next week, Grace boarded the 7:55 bus heading east, preparing for another strange Saturday. When the bus stopped at the corner of State and Kensing, the tall stranger boarded and nodded at Grace as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. Grace nodded back out of habit. They arrived at the park and the man stopped at the drinking fountain before following Grace down the north path. They took their separate paths and met at the picnic grounds for lunch.

Grace couldn’t focus on her book. She closed it and opened another. When she had gone through all four books in her bag with no luck, she angrily threw them back in her pack.

“My best friend got married last Saturday,” the man commented, just loud enough for her to hear. “I was in the wedding.” He didn’t take his eyes off the pages of his book.

Grace jumped. “Oh,” she managed to say.

The silent lunch continued. Grace wondered why she had never talked to the man she’d shared her Saturdays with for three years before. “My name is Grace,” she said softly, keeping her eyes focused on her lunch.

He looked up and smiled. “I’m Jim.” He gestured to the empty seat across his table. “Would you like to join me for lunch?”

Grace nodded shyly and gathered her belongings to join Jim at his table. They started talking about their shared love of nature and ended up spending longer at lunch. When they finally got up to continue their hike towards the falls, Jim asked Grace if he could accompany her on the Bent Twig trail. She nodded and they continued their conversation up the trail until they reached the falls.

They both sat down with their backs against a large rock and lapsed into a comfortable silence. At half past three, they both stood and headed back down the path towards the bus stop. They boarded the bus and sat in their usual seats. When the bus stopped at State and Kensing, Jim stood up.

“Thank you for the conversation, Grace,” he smiled at her and got off the bus.

Grace rode the bus to her stop and walked to her house thinking about Jim. She realized that over the years, he had become an important part of her life—a key ingredient to her routines and her way of thinking. She savored every minute of their conversation from the park, going over it again and again, memorizing every word. She was looking forward to next Saturday even more than usual.

Grace got on the bus cheerfully that Saturday morning, excited about the chance to talk to Jim again. She had carefully packed a picnic lunch that she could share and her favorite books so she could talk to him about them. She craned her neck out the window on the right side of the bus when it pulled up to Jim’s stop. He didn’t get on.

Grace slumped back into her seat, confused. Where was he? Another wedding to attend? Her Saturday felt ruined. When the bus stopped next, she got off. The driver looked surprised.

“Getting off already?”

“Yes, I changed my mind about going to the park today,” Grace quickly answered him. She walked home, unable to concentrate on anything. It frustrated her that Jim had become such an essential part of her life without her knowing it. She wanted to get to know the man who sat next to her on the bus every week. She determined that the next time she saw him; she would make an effort to ask him about himself. She reminded herself to be open to life and to not retreat into her shell of comfort.

The next morning, Grace shuffled outside in her fuzzy slippers and robe to get the Sunday paper. Yawning, she tucked it under her arm and walked back inside to grab a mug of steaming coffee. She plopped down in her kitchen chair, sloshing the hot liquid in her cup. She opened the paper and casually flipped through it, sipping her coffee. She skimmed through the ads as she always did, looking for a secretarial job or a free kitten.

            Instead, she found an ad in the personals: “Wanted: a woman who likes to go to the city park every Saturday morning. Must like nature and writing and have the name Grace. For more information contact Jim Thorne at 716-879-0428.”

            Grace smiled as she read it and smiled as she picked up her phone to call. 

Starbucks

Starbucks is America's favorite coffee place. Almost everyone gets their weekly, sometimes daily, coffee fix by ordering a specialty drink with a description that takes five minutes to relate. 

"I'll have a skinny, non-fat, cinnamon dolce latte with no whipped cream, half and half cream, and just a sprinkling of sugar. Shaken."

(my aunt actually ordered something along these lines once. I stood there in awe as she listed off the different qualities her drink should possess.) 

or 

"I'll take a vanilla bean frappuccino with caramel, extra caramel and whipped cream with caramel drizzled over the top."

(my friend orders this, and I'll admit it's very delicious.)

It makes me laugh.

I have to confess: I usually order a veinte iced coffee with milk, sweetened. Nothing super special, but it's a little more complicated than just ordering something off the menu. My other favorite is a caramel frappuccino, but I haven't gotten one in a while.

I usually go to Starbucks when I need to get away from campus to do some much-needed studying, or in today's case, do some much needed writing. Besides, coffee makes everything better.

What do you order at Starbucks?