Check in, check. Doors slide open, as I slide in.
Do I get a basket or just pile it on my tray? Screw it, knowing my skills I’ll drop everything if I don’t get a basket.
Bananas first, four green and three ripe.
Onions next. Brown skin crinkles as I grip one in a spasm. Another one needed, the nicer ones are all up the back. A woman passes, a child strapped in the trolley is being pushed.
“Do you need a hand?”
“No, I’m right. Thanks.”
“But, are you sure?” Breathe.
“Yeah, thank you though.”
Don’t drop it.
I find a somewhat unblemished onion. It’s almost at the top, I stretch to grab it. In my periphery I notice the woman hasn’t moved on.
Do not drop it.
I manoeuvre my fingers into position. They have slightly better dexterity than a claw machine. I see the child is holding a toy.
Do Not Drop It.
I grasp the prize, as I watch the same woman watching me.
That would have been a lot less stressful if I didn’t have an audience, stage fright gets me almost every time.
Milk next.
****
They put men in space but can’t automate fridge doors. This’ll be fun. Let’s try not to break another door, shall we?
Go to the right, swing to the left. Wedge a foot in the gap and ease myself forward as it widens. The opening cools down my footplate as I make sure my feet are where I’ve told them to be; they’re not the best listeners.
Couple things ticked off, a couple dozen to go. Remind me why do we need six litres of milk again?
The first bottle’s date isn’t too bad. I can feel eyes on me. “Hey, need any help?”
Someone on my left stands there waiting. “I’m right.”
They remain standing there. The second bottle makes a satisfying thud as it lands in my basket. I move backwards, the opening grows smaller until it disappears.
“You’re rather good at driving that thing, aren’t you?”
The person on my left has seemingly finished watching and dismisses themselves as my supervisor.
You would hope so. I have gotten better since I broke the fridge handles at home.
****
Bread next.
If I don’t check the bread tag, mum may just kill me.
A child passes, clearly bored. Attention is diverted to the first thing on wheels that isn’t a trolley. I am the thing on wheels.
He blinks. Once. Twice. And smiles, eyes full of curiosity. Bee-lining between my chair and myself. Questioning a newly discovered existence.
I smile back, as his intrigued self is dragged around the corner by his older counterpart.
Who am I kidding? Mum would definitely kill me if I don’t check the bread tags.
****
Sweet potato soup is still on the list.
Great, they’ve changed it around again.
Where once there was soup, there’s now pasta sauce. A staff member is almost finished restocking shelves near the end of the aisle.
“Excuse me, which aisle’s the soup in?” No response. He hasn’t heard.
Maybe he didn’t understand me. Take 2.
“Hey, mate. What aisle is the soup in?”
Eye contact is made and swiftly broken as he finishes stacking the shelf, exiting the aisle with a mumbled “good thanks”.
Ah, he didn’t want to understand me. Another member of staff appears. Take 3.
“Hey, can you tell me where the soup is?”
****
She is definitely cute. And out of my league.
I enter at the opposite end of the aisle to where she stands. Half looking for soup and half taming my hair. Okay, mostly just taming my hair.
The soup is halfway down the aisle. We make eye contact as we pass, she smiles as she pauses to speak. I can feel my palms start to sweat.
Definitely out of my league.
“Excuse me, where’s your carer?”
We’re the same age.
My palms clench into fists.
Who needs a cold shower, when you can simply be doused with ignorance instead?
A reply escapes me. She’s still standing there expecting one. I sit there in a cold sweat, searching for words.
Glad I already had deodorant on the list.
****
Deodorant is last.
Why does it have to be on the top shelf?
My chair rises on hydraulics. A ruler’s length. Half a metre. Seriously, no-one is watching this! I’m rising taller than I can stand. A metre, almost there. I stretch, reaching out. My fingers search and –
CRASH.
The thunk of plastic clattering to the ground can be heard down the aisle. The deodorant rolls under shelving, disappearing out of reach.
Thank god no-one was watching.
Checkout.
This is an extract from Between Two Worlds - an anthology of the 2021 SBS Emerging Writers' Competition. Source: Hardie Grant
There’s no way I’m wasting time at the self-checkout. I still need to type up the report from the meeting.
“Hey, just these thanks.”
“Want me to grab them from you?”
“If you don’t mind, and the bags are on the back.”
“Of course, busy day so far?”
“Fairly, half-day of work so far. Can’t complain.”
“Sorry, didn’t catch that.”
“Was working earlier today. Keeps me busy enough.”
“Oh, right. Cash or card?”
“Card. Tap and go is a lifesaver when your hand control is like mine.”
“Huh, hadn’t thought of that before. Here you go.”
“Can you put the bags on the back?”
I was right, I did need that basket.
****
Report writing, here I come.
Groceries stashed safely behind me, just need to swap my wallet for my keys. I turn, yanking my bag off the back. It catches. A person appears.
“Do you want me to help you?”
“Yes, please. Can you grab my bag for me? It’s stuck.”
It’s like looking at a neurosurgeon trying to solve the mathematical equation for jet propulsion. A seemingly smart person, just not the field that they normally work in.
They haven’t understood me and as hard as they try to decipher my unfamiliar speech pattern, they can’t.
Better help them.
I repeat myself automatically, this time pointing to my bag. “Can you pass me my bag?”
It clicks. We have lift-off.
The keys emerge, swapped for my wallet. With the help of this stranger, my bag is once again secured on my back. I think I might take the long way home, it’s a nice day.
The stranger puts a hand on my shoulder.
Oh god, here goes.
“I think it’s brave of you to be out here on your own like this. You’re just so strong living like you are.”
Breathe in.
****
Breathe out.
I’m home, Mum meets me in the kitchen.
“Hey, oh good, you managed to get the six litres I asked for. How’d you go?”
“Yeah, fine.”
