Broken Carts ✔️

Aisle 1: Introductions

For the first time in my life, my charm was failing to impress. With a PBR nestled in my grip and a painted-on smile, I was struggling to get Hot Cashier Girl to indicate she was listening to my hysterical story about Crazy Lady With All The Reusable Bags. Hot Cashier Girl's gaze jumped from my chin to the bedroom door behind my head. She was chewing gum too, even though she had a beer in her hand– I'd never seen her not chewing gum– and she was rubbing her thumb with the pointed nail of her index finger.

"Then she made me bag all ten cans of cat food separately," I said, throwing in a chuckle.

Hot Cashier Girl appeared unfazed. "She does that every time."

"Oh, really? I wouldn't know. Like, since I'm new and all, I've never cashed her out before." There was a pause. Hot Cashier Girl snapped her gum in time with the music. I wracked my brain for another icebreaker. "So, what do you–"

"I gotta go talk to someone," she interjected. I blinked and she was gone, leaving her half-finished beer on the counter.

My grin faded with disappointment. I checked my phone to avoid looking like I couldn't find anyone to talk to, which was absolutely true, but I didn't want to seem like a lost puppy in front of my new co-workers. Not that I knew any of their names. I was terrible with names. I'd only been working at Vita-Mart for a week; consequently, attending the annual "Employee Appreciation Party" earlier that day with minimal knowledge of my fellow employees was agony.

Hot Cashier Girl– whose name was right on the tip of my tongue, I swear– was the sole person who'd talked to me during my seven days of employment, and that was just because I'd been assigned the register next to hers. I figured the also-annual "Employee Appreciation Party After Party"– hosted by Hot Cashier Girl herself– would be a good way to branch out (and/or make out), but I was losing hope by the minute.

I stood alone for ten minutes before admitting to myself that my companion wasn't eager to come back for more riveting anecdotes. I sighed, finished the PBR, and made a pact with myself: I'll stick around for another half of a drink. If I'm still a lonely loser at that point, I'll pocket a few beers and head home.

Small talk was achieved with a muscular night shift manager. A congenial custodian with five piercings in one ear handed me a beer from the fridge. But no matter how hard I smiled, how many questions I asked, how goddamn charismatic I was, no one wanted to invite me to join their conversations. I'd officially achieved "Lost Puppy" status and was barreling head-first into "New Kid Hell."

A hand on my shoulder saved me from more uncomfortable idling. "Wanna help me prank my roommate?" asked Hot Cashier Girl, eyes alight with a smidgeon of enthusiasm. The first smidgeon ever, probably.

I smiled out of relief. "I'm all for pranks. What do you want me to do?"

"Not much." In one fluid movement, she grabbed my shoulders and engulfed my mouth in her own. My brain exploded with sparks of excitement, confusion, and the realization that we weren't making out as much as she was trying to suck my lips off. My chapped, chapped lips. Way to make an impression, Milo, was about all I could think. That and, pleasedon'tletmegetaboner.

Hot Cashier Girl broke away. My hearing, dulled by a sudden rush of blood, returned in time to hear cheers and snickers from surrounding partygoers. For a solid couple of seconds, I felt like the man.

She brushed away a piece of hair sticking to her lipstick. "Thanks."

"No... problem," I spat. A foreign piece of gum rattled on my tongue as I spoke. Pepperminty. "Wh... was that the prank?"