Today’s flash fiction prompt: Set your story in a very common place.
Aisle 3 At 5
I am not a coffee person. I’m barely a people person. I freeze up at Starbucks, shopping malls give me heart palpitations, and the crowds at all the grocery stores lately have been insane. But, it’s my turn to bring coffee to work – coffee I don’t drink, mind you – because I hate confrontations more than I hate crowds.
It’s five am in aisle three at Walmart. I’ve got cream pies and Little Debbies at my back, cocoa and tea down the way, and I don’t know, maybe twelve brands of coffee in front of me. I would have just grabbed one and left, but the price of coffee has gone up more than my weight. Though I will say, thanks to a nifty trick, I’m down to just twenty pounds overweight instead of twenty five. Checking the scale nude has done wonders for my self-esteem.
Anyway, the prices are all over the place, and my snobby, at times inhuman, office mates won’t accept cheap coffee. I’m not willing to hawk more than twenty bucks for a week’s worth of coffee I don’t drink, I do have some standards, so middle grade will have to do. But price isn’t the only issue. There’s medium roast, light roast, French roast, flavored roast. It’s a bit much, and I must look as panicked as I feel in this moment, because some stranger walks over and starts talking to me.
“Uh, Miss? Do you need some help?”
A good Samaritan! I give my hero a once-over, noting his half-zipped hoodie, slight paunch, and stubbled chin. But he’s got all his teeth inside a square jaw and his eyes are kind. I grab a box of Colombian roast and hand it to him. “Does this taste good?” I ask. In my flirty voice. Oh no.
“Not sure.” He laughs, and it’s tiny and adorable. “I’m more of a tea person.”
Those must be the magic words, because this ‘barely a people person’ starts rambling, in the middle of aisle three, about the nuanced flavors of Chai. All the while I’m still checking him out and trying to deduce, without actually asking, why he’s in Walmart at five in the morning. Maybe he’s also recently divorced with kids who need to be dropped off at school five minutes before work officially starts. Maybe he also forgot he was supposed to bring coffee to work, or donuts or whatever, and he also knows that there are no crowds at five am. Because he also hates crowds.
Maybe. Or maybe he just finished an early morning run. Ech.
“You know, I’ve never tried Chai before,” he interjects. “Sounds amazing, though. Which do you recommend?”
He’s perfect. And I don’t even care if he’s one of those guys that races the sun to the west side of the planet. He just continued this rambling conversation. On purpose. I abandon the coffee for a new mission: Get this guy’s number. Oh, and also his name.
“Twinings is decent, but if you want to go full flavor, I recommend visiting the Asian store up the street.”
He grabs a box, per my recommendation, and cradles it in his hand. “Hey, I’m Trevor, by the way.”
One down, one to go. “I’m Grace.”
“Grace. I’d love to keep talking, but I actually have to get going. I came in a mad dash for milk before my kids wake up.”
“Ah, so you’re single with kids?” Real smooth, Grace.
He shifts a bit. “Divorced, actually.”
Ask him! Ask him right now!
His phone buzzes, and he frowns. “Oh, my oldest just woke up, so I really gotta go. I’m sorry, Grace.”
I plaster on a smile in an attempt to hide my disappointment. “Oh no, it’s fine! A minute longer, and I would have had our whole wedding planned.” I laugh.
Trevor doesn’t. He tilts his head to one side. “What?”
“What?” I mimic him, as if I didn’t just blurt the quiet parts out loud.
Trevor still has the box of Colombian roast in his hand, and the silence between us has stretched several millennia past awkward, so I do what any sane person would.
I snatch the coffee and run.
Be First to Comment