Here's more to the adventures of Ricky and Jamal. This one isn't as geek-friendly though and might get a revision... maybe. Enjoy!
Me and Ricky didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into the day we answered the call to fill some bagging positions over at Derusha’s Grocery. School had been in full swing for about three months and we were sure that we had a handle on things. The two guys that had left were pretty much the town punks, so Madame Derusha was glad to get rid of them. Pigley Lake is a pretty small town, as far as towns go, so there wasn’t much around for guys like them. Ricky’s brother Cyrus said they packed their bags and went towards the city; that left two spots open for us to get our very first jobs.
Derusha’s Grocery isn’t a very big place, but it has a lot of stuff. Madame Derusha herself started out as a cashier back when she was my age and now owns the store. She gets all sorts of things you wouldn’t expect: high-class fish, fancy import cheese and artisan bread. I’ve been told that her range of stock is one of the reasons rich people from the city like to come and vacation in and around Pigley Lake, so as they always know if they run out of pita chips and hummus, they have a place close by to stop at.
“Now I need you two to understand the importance of your jobs,” Madame Derusha frowned the morning of our first day. It was Sunday, the day when many people come to the store out of the gleeful habit formed once the store started being open on Sundays. “Stores in the city don’t have baggers anymore. I could very easily replace you two with a pair of merry-go-rounds and have it done and over with, but having baggers is part of the store’s charm. Those pompous weasels don’t come here for nothing you know.”
She looked us over judgmentally. We were still half asleep, as it was coming on nine in the morning and nine in the morning on a Sunday is still too early for teenagers like Ricky and me. Ricky’s hair was sticking out in awkward ways, while my good white polo was wrinkled from lying on the floor of my room since Friday when we were hired. We weren’t really presentable, but we had to do. The store was going to open in ten minutes.
“Eric, I thought your father taught you how to use a comb,” Madame Derusha hissed as she tried to flatten Ricky’s hair with her hands. Ricky looked horrified, but I knew he wasn’t going to shove her off. Madame Derusha knew everyone in town, the local folk that is. Ricky and I knew she’d tell his dad and my aunt the second we slip up or go against her, so neither of us said a word.
“Oi, Nadia, stop playing with the kid’s hair,” sighed Mickey, the sophomore who worked in the deli. She was rummaging through her purse and pulled out a comb to hand to Ricky.
“Fine. You get them presentable then.” Madame Derusha frowned and went off to make sure the foyer was swept. We were speechless.
“I suggest you two get your act together this instant,” Mickey sighed, leaning up against the wall. “Nadia doesn’t like slackers.”
“You call her Nadia?” I asked.
“Yeah. This is work, and you need to call your coworkers by their first names. You’re Jamal and Eric, right?”
“Ricky, please,” Ricky replied as he handed back the comb. Mickey smiled.
“Then don’t call me Michelina like she does,” Mickey smiled, jerking her head over in the direction of Madame Derusha. “Just a word of advice: watch yourselves today. We’ve got tourists coming in today for food on their trip home. Many of them will be cranky. The worst thing you can do is piss one of them off; don’t do it with all your might, even if they’re total losers.”
“Right,” I replied.
Sure enough, Mickey was right. People started to come slow at first, but it wasn’t until about just before lunchtime did people start swarming in. Ricky and I were trying to bag groceries as fast as we could, but some of the customers weren’t very happy with us. Ricky got snapped at for trying to fit too many groceries in one bag and one customer kept glaring at me like I had a giant popped zit on my nose. Once it was after lunchtime, we were all able to take a breath.
“How’re you holding up?” chuckled Harv, the cashier I was bagging for. He’s a year older than Cyrus, so he really should be going off to college, but wants to take a year off of school to make some money.
“Horrible,” I said. I’m sure I was out of breath. “I know work isn’t always easy, but this is ridiculous.”
“Get used to it,” said Leslie, Ricky’s cashier. She’s top of the junior class in more than just smarts; she’s a real looker. “It’s like this every Sunday. Just be glad that there’s two checkouts, or we’d never get out of here.”
“I don’t even want to think about it,” Ricky whined. Leslie just laughed.
“Reinforcements have arrived!” Mickey announced as she brought over a plate of sandwiches. We all took one and began to eat. I had garlic bologna and swiss, which blew me as to who Mickey knew it was my favorite.
“Did you get a piece of Old Man Stevens too?” Harv asked. Mickey rolled her eyes.
“Yeah; he almost ripped me a new one about still working in the deli. The man says I should be eighteen to work the slicer, but Nadia said it’s alright as long as my grandma’s okay with it.”
“Didn’t Nadia and your grandma work here together?” Leslie asked.
“Yeah, Grandma was a cashier when Nadia just started. You’ve got to remember Nadia’s only forty-eight; my grandma’s got a twenty year advance on her. Why’d you get shelled out Harv?”
“He didn’t scold me, but I thought he seemed a bit angry,” Harv replied. “I thought he was going to bite off poor Jamal’s arm for touching his groceries.”
“Mr. Stevens doesn’t like my aunt,” I said. “I think he’s just being a cranky old man.”
“My dad says Vietnam made him bitter,” Ricky piped in.
“My parents told me the same thing,” Leslie sighed. “He doesn’t trust many people.”
“Speaking of bitter people, look who’s coming,” Harv said through a clenched smile. I turned around and saw the fattest man I’ve ever seen lumber through the front door. He just barely squeezed through the doorframe, obviously determined to buy his food. I heard footsteps and looked to catch Mickey as she ran behind her counter. I wasn’t sure if she was preparing or hiding.
“See you got some new baggers today,” the man said, his voice even sounding sickly fat. “Let’s hope they’re better than the last ones.” He walked by with his cart and began browsing through the produce.
“Who’s he?” Ricky asked. Leslie bent down and whispered, so we had to crouch to hear.
“That’s Clive Morinda, the guy who owns Morinda Manor on the lake. He’s a very picky customer and is about ten times worse than Mr. Stevens can ever dream to be.”
“How’s that?” I asked. Sure I had heard of Morinda Manor, the country club designed to attract the well-to-do visiting from the city, but why he was such a threat wasn’t clicking.
“He talks to everyone that goes in and out of the Manor,” Leslie whispered. “He can easily tell everyone there that we’ve sunk to the bottom of the barrel in quality. Do you want Nadia to talk to you after you’ve caused that?”
Uh, Hell no. Tourism is really big here in Pigley Lake, so much so that we have a tourism committee that routinely checks on hot-spots to make sure everything’s up to code and people-friendly; Derusha’s Grocery is one of these places.
Carefully, I watched Morinda as he walked through the store. He gave Mickey a hard time for about ten minutes, but then wobbled over towards the canned goods. Finally, he came to the checkout Harv and I were at.
“Did you find everything alright, sir?” Harv asked with a fake smile. The fat man puffed something I couldn’t understand.
“Paper or plastic, sir?” I asked. He glared at me and snapped back.
“I just said ‘paper’, you brat!” I jumped at the outburst and quickly began stuffing his groceries inside some bags. He glared at me, then Harv, paid for his food and left.
“That’s not good, is it?” I asked to no one in particular. Leslie giggled.
“He likes you; he didn’t cuss.”
“I’d hate to see him angry if that was approval,” Ricky said, watching as the man loaded the bags into his car.