Goods Taken

Swept up in the corner with the broom.

Waiting for the day to end.

Watching the shadows of the lonely tree outside the doors,

Dancing on the mucky tiled floor.

Interrupted by a swarm of faceless buyers.

A body with a stamp.

On display for all to see.

Auditing your evidence.

Ensuring you have a receipt.

Eliza stood silently swaying on her grey scuffed mat.

Her arms resting by her sides, staring into space.

She looked over at the stamp that was resting upon the lip of a camera cabinet.

Her eyes scanned the sales floor.

“Goods taken, such bureaucratic nonsense” she thought to herself.

Hidden underneath the camera stands that no one seems to buy,

She took out a pen, and a blank piece of paper.

“I’m here as a statement.

Polarizing the value of their plastic and metal things.

Objects revered as more important than kindness, understanding, and human feelings”

she wrote, a pain in her throat,

as if she were about the throw up the words she wrote.

“CHECK HER BAG!!” violently penetrates her ears.

Her eyes dart to the security doors.

The red light still flashing.

An elderly woman.

Grandma’s age.

With a cane.

Craig strides past, almost knocking Eliza off her feet.

“Lady, come back here.”

The woman is shakes.

Stuttering; “I’m….I….I…didn’t…”

His grubby hands grab her arm.

Eliza winces,

As the Lady’s purse is dumped upon a table.

Maintaining eye contact,

He scrounges around,

a feeling of sickness,

Shoulders taught.

No remorse. ’

“Anyone can be a criminal, Eliza” one of few pearls,

management has given to her.

She grimaces as the Lady’s walking stick shakes.

Finding nothing, he soon absconds.

Back to his desk.

The Lady scrapes her possessions off the table,

Ashamed.

Weary.

Her expression saying she won’t be back.

“I feel the sourness and disdain as I brush past the myriad of sales people,

Who haven’t bothered to learn my name.

Broken sentences of numerous sales pitches,

A new Dad back on the job the day after his son is born,

Lenore trying to quit smoking,

As Darren attempts to quietly sell the last of his dope to Sanders.”

Eliza escapes to the only place she feels safe.

With her notebook.

The distant pop music ricochets off the ceramic tiles in the Lady’s bathroom.

The plastic toilet seat creaking as she sits,

Catching her breath.

Pressing her palms against her eyes,

Seeking an answer of an unspoken question.

“Why am I even here? I feel like a joke”

“Fuck it, fuck them” she thinks to herself.

“I am more than this job, I am more than a stamp, if they can’t see that, they’re stupid as hell”

She closes her eyes once more.

Breathing easily now.

“Just one more hour.

Just one more day.

To pay the rent.

Everything will be okay”

The day gets busier, as the sun goes down,

White collar, blue collar, and school kids flock through the doors.

The energy of the sales floor begins to flourish,

The managers stake out the periphery,

Ensuring their staff are asking all the right questions.

An older fellow walks towards Eliza.

He smiles, as a chuckle brews under his breath.

“What did ya do to land ya self with the shit job?” he asks opening his DVD filled plastic bag.

Eliza politely smiles back, “Nothing. I’m the contracted security” replying flatly.

“Really? Little thing like you? Thought ya Dad must’ve given you a job here for the holidays. Y’know for some experience. Ah well, better give me a stamp love, so the boss doesn’t give you clip ‘round the ears”

As it draws closer and closer to the end,

The shuffling feet of strangers diminishes

The sales people begin to cluster around a desk,

Talking and laughing,

One sneaking a pack a beer in.

Once five o’clock hits,

The street is dead,

Sporadic passer-by’s gawk inside,

Some asking for the time,

Others asking when a new game will arrive.

Six O’clock,

Sales people stand around in a circle,

Eliza observes from a far.

Waiting for the managers okay to go from her place.

As the sales people begin to leave,

Eliza stretches her feet,

Between checking their bags on managements request.

A grunt in her direction, they all disappear,

Some sitting and drinking on the bench out the front.

“They’re so chummy, sitting, drinking, laughing together,

There is a part of me that wants to be included,

Maybe if I put myself out there more,

Stopped being so introverted,

I could have some friends at work”.

Eliza settled in to bed that night,

Dreaming of new found friendships,

Confidence,

And better work.