“Just grab a bunch of chips and candy, he’ll probably take two years to scan ‘em.”
“Jesus, Chris. This is...this is terrible, the guy’s like eighty-nine years old.”
“Yeah, that’s sorta the point here, genius. So if we have to book it, Mr. Ching Chong will have to grab his walker first.”
The bell jingles as the two boys push through the glass doors. “Grab me a kit kat will ya’?” Chris calls to Sammy as he saunters to the back aisles of the store.
While pacing down the snack aisle, Sammy glances at the clerk through the corner of his eye.
He’s bent over the counter, his glasses on the tip of his nose as he delicately picks up coins, one by one off a skyscraper-like stack beside him and plops it into the cash register.
Distracted by the clerk, Sammy walks straight into a wall, but looks up to see to a giant samoan janitor mopping the tiled floor.
The samoan takes a step to the side, clutching the noodle-thin mop in his meaty hands closer to his body, letting Sammy barely squeeze by. “Please sir,” he nods curtly, “watch your step.
” He doesn't grab everything at once though, he has to naturally peruse around like how a real customer would.
Picking up an almond joy then tossing it back into the butterfinger box, weighing a kit kat in one hand and a crunch bar in the other as if the choice was difficult.
Anything to be the ignorant teen, too stupid and too cowardly to ever even think of pulling off a heist.
Sammy drops all of the snacks onto the counter and the clerk slides them across the scanner, flashing him a crooked smile with the few teeth he has left.
After the clerk places the last item neatly into the bag, Sammy flips open the wallet to take out his card, but he waves him off.
“You still have one more item to go.”
“Oh no, sir, I’ve got what I wanted.”
“Not what you got, what your friend has over there,” he nods in the direction of Chris, who’s seen peeping at the clerk through the cans of Lysol spray on the top shelf.
He quickly averts his eyes away as he notices he’s being watched. “If he wants that case of beer he’s hiding behind his back, he better bring his ass over here so I can scan it.”
“Oh no-no, we’re not here to buy beer,” Sammy lets out a laugh that’s too loud, too nervous. “We’re just here for-”
“Or you can just try walking out with it, that’s fine too.” The Clerk gives a shrug, “plenty of people have tried that before, and I’ve never stopped them.
” He bends down, grunting as he puts pressure on his weak knees, fishing around for something. He comes back up with a bruised baseball bat and gently places it on the counter.
“That’s because I don’t have to.”
A shadow is casted over Sammy as the meaty hand of the samoan reaches easily over his head and picks up the bat like a toothpick off the ground.
The other hand enwraps around Sammy’s shoulder as he feels the heat of the breath from the beast behind him scorch his neck.
“I told you sir,” the samoan mutters boredly. “You should have watched your step.” A loud thud is heard in the back, aluminum cans roll across the tiled floor.
Rapid footsteps and then door blows open with the bell rattling violently. The clerk follows someone fleeing outside.
“Aaaaaaaand there goes your friend,” The clerk begins to chuckle, stroking his whiskered mustache then sighs satisfyingly. He plucks the debit card out of Sammy’s trembling hand.
“So, will that be all for you tonight?”