Internet 24

Missing Aisle (Part 1)

My name is Rye Garcia, and this is my story.

You ever leave a plastic cutting board on a frying pan, not knowing you accidentally turned on the stove? A specific situation, sure, but let me let you in on a little secret. You won't smell the plastic burning until it is already melted into the pan, and smoke fills the apartment. You better open those windows so you don't breathe that in.

That's why I'm walking into this Silver Steve's today. I have an extra cutting board at home, but no extra frying pan. I need it because I'm craving either egg tacos, steak, eggs, or risotto. I haven't decided yet. Depending on how long this takes and how drained I am, after talking to all these people will decide what the meal is.

I walk through the sliding doors, and a blast of cold AC hits my face. Funny, I couldn't decide between a long sleeve shirt or a jacket. I went with the shirt as I was already wearing it. Call it lazy or genius, maybe both.

I look around the store. The floors are always clean, and the store is bright. The kind of bright that doesn't hurt your eyes and makes the room feel bigger. There isn't really anyone here. Makes sense as it's 1pm on a Tuesday. The perks of working freelance, I work when I want. The negative is the low pay or health insurance. Ehh, you pick and choose your battle. I didn't pick this career, more as I fell in.

My eyes scan the aisle sign to see which one would have it. I notice a worker mopping the floor. He looks like a college student and probably doesn't have class today. I miss college. My counselor would pick my classes, show up, and get on my laptop with my earbuds in. I go up to the worker.

RYE

Oh, sir, sir!

 Do you work here?

He glances at his vest and looks back at me.

WORKER

Yeah.

I already knew. Why did I ask?

RYE

Cool, where are the frying pans? 

The kind with removable handles? 

Though... I don't know if those are the best. 

I have a small apartment, which would help, 

but not if I want to hang them.

The worker stares at me. He doesn't look angry, but I can see his eyes start to glaze over. I'm losing him.

RYE

Right; sorry, sir.

I tried looking at the signs,

 but I couldn't find them.

His eyes return to life as he registers what I say. He looks behind him at the aisles, running through the store in his mind. Finally, stop at the aisle where the kitchenware is. He raises his limp finger and points to the other side of the store.