by Mik Bennett

I'm writing this down while I can. I feel that I must, that it is my sacred duty to tell this story. Though the story affects many, it is fleeting, rushing from my mind even as I try to grasp the nebulous fragments of memory. It must be known to all, before I forget everything. Its power could shock and astound, but the enchantment which affects me drags its memory away, a piece at a time . . . .

Um...I forgot what I wanted to say.

Oh, well, I'll tell you my other story, then.

You can't always save yourself. Hollywood movies will tell you you can, but you can't. So there.

This happened back when I worked in produce at a major supermarket. I won't say which one, but our slogan used to be "We're bringing food to life." Yuck! Who wants to eat live food? Does that slogan even sell?

#

"Is it fresh?"

The woman waved a sausage she'd grabbed from the deli department under my nose. Plastic sealed the meat tight, and I didn't know how to answer.

I'd dealt with the lady before, her loud voice and untraceable accent. A few inches taller, she loomed over me, and her high heels, her high white hair, and the piles of fat around her neck that made her head a big triangle turned her into some sort of snow-topped mountain. "Is it fresh?"

"I dunno. Maybe you should ask at the deli." This job would be so much easier without customers, especially ones like this old woman in all her make-up and that unfortunate mini-skirt. She must've underestimated her age by about a hundred years.

"Is it fresh?" So many customers wouldn't listen. Like the three words customers can't understand: "I don't know." Sigh.

"Wrong department. Try the deli." I spoke slowly, and pointed at the deli, right next to fruit and veg. Mountain Lady had just come from the other produce guy anyway. He must've told her the same thing.

Then I saw her: a beautiful vision from the East standing behind the deli counter, a new girl for the deli night shift.

Mountain Lady tried to pat my arm, but I "happened" to reach for a melon from my box and escaped before she moved on. The sweet deli girl had to serve the old woman, which almost made me mad at myself.

I worked most evening shifts with a guy named Noah – or Timberlake, as I preferred to call him. He stood close by, filling the cabinet with Chinese vegetables, singing Boy Band hits to himself.

My parents used to have some friends who owned a budgie that spent all its days in its cage, chattering and whistling and singing nonsense to itself. I often thought of that bird when I saw Timberlake. I didn't know why.

He came over to me as soon as Mountain Lady left. "Give it up. She's too good for you."

"Aww, really? Ya think so?" I filled the melons, keeping them well-faced, in accordance with the rules.

The sleazy grin stayed on Timberlake's big Samoan face. "You want to meet her, don't you? I can tell."

Well, duh. "Apparently. That's the rumour."

"I can introduce you. Her name's Sue Lin."

"Aren't you interested?" I wondered why Timberlake didn't keep her to himself.
He waved over my shoulder, and I looked around to see a svelte aboriginal chick watching us from the express lane. Jenni, Timberlake's girlfriend this week, had a way of making him do what she wanted, a way that involved the word "celibacy," and he was too into her, for now, to dump her for it.

Flipper came from the back. "Noah, Steve, out the back now! Department meeting."

"Yes, Flipper." Our latest boss, Gareth Meadows, got the name Flipper for expecting us to be faster than lightning. We used any name but your real one around there; they called me Irwin, after another Steve, and Noah "Timberlake," because he listened to a certain singer, thus sealing his sexuality for all time. Even if he went out with every girl in the store – and sometimes it seemed like he did – it couldn't save his reputation after that.

Flip took us to the prep area, an open room with sinks along one wall, shelves on the opposite; the big cool room doors faced the open entry. He had a tirade ready for us. "I tell you to do something simple..." I'll skip the next five minutes of his rant. I know you think I'm exaggerating, but I checked by the wall phone. "... and it takes hours. Why do you take so long? Either of you?" He pursed his lips with his mouth open, his habit when he thought he'd made a good point.

I couldn't believe he had to ask. All week he gives us time-wasting OH & S Rules, written by people who spell mother with a silent 's', and now this? "Rules. You keep throwing all these stupid rules at us..." Okay, I didn't really say that, but I wished I did.

#

A couple of hours later, Timberlake loaded old lettuce leaves into Mountain Lady's trolley for some pet of hers, while her dead eyes stared too closely at him. I pitied him. Her mouth hung open, giving the impression that she drooled even when she didn't. She put her fat hand on his arm. "Thank you. Thank you very much, m'deary." She blew him a kiss and walked towards the deli, past me, with a big grin and a smell of onions and hot chocolate. So that's what lipstick on the teeth looks like.

I watched her pass, and a hand on my shoulder made me jump. Timberlake towered over me, grinning, eyes bright. "I talked to her during my break. She likes you."

"Mountain Lady?" I could've vomited.

"No. Sue Lin." He jerked his head towards the deli. At first, I only saw Mountain Lady, but then Sue Lin came 'round the mountain, and I felt relieved.

"Does she? Really?" I hid my hopes behind sarcasm.

"Oh Happy Day! Irwin gets laid!"

I hated when Timberlake sang. "Stop lying."