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Nelgin's Honesty

a fantasy

By ElenaPublished 3 years ago 6 min read
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The doorbells jingle, a woman who looks to be about eight going on nine months pregnant waddles into X$team, a local mini-mart on the corner of North Lewis Drive. Her flip flops drag as she walks into the chip aisle to snag sour cream and onion Pringles. Next is the cold beverage aisle, where she contemplates every flavor of available juice.

"Do you like peach or mango, pumpkin," she says while tenderly rubbing her bulging belly.

She gasps in complete shock while opening the refrigerator door and placing the Pringles can in her sweatpants pocket.

"Long at last, my sweet chicken, you will taste my childhood before yours begins," she says while easing herself into a wide loose squat to grab two bottles of Everfresh, the flavors Strawberry Kiwi and Island Punch.

"Jesus, you guys should make these more accessible to pregnant women," she yells aloud, hoping the cashier man would hear.

She clenches one bottle under her right armpit and the other in her right hand; she groans as she pulls herself up with support from the refrigerator door. She limps over to the checkout counter and sets down her two drinks and a can of Pringles. The cashier bears over her, an old man with permanent dark circles and eye bags.

"$2.85," he says blankly.

"Any chance you can sell me a pack of cigarettes'? It's for a friend."

Nelgin glances over at the "We Do Not Condone Selling Tobacco Products to Pregnant Women" sign, "No, I don't believe I can."

The woman smiles as she slides three dollars under the window slit, "Keep the change. It was nice seeing you again, Nelgin," she says as she puts her Pringles in her hoodie pocket and snatches the bottles by their neck, and waddles out the door.

Nelgin stares at the woman as she exits. He tries to process the memory of the woman's face; she looks familiar but not enough to recall a name, maybe an old family member or friend from his childhood. He looks down at his shirt to see if he chose to wear a nametag; he did not.

The doorbells jingle; another customer enters, this time a wrinkly old man who is shaking in his slippers as he tries to keep himself afloat with his thin wooden cane. He shuffles to the checkout counter to inquire about his needs.

"Hello, do you happen to carry stool softener?" the old man asks.

"Perhaps. Check in the miscellaneous aisle next to the ice box," Nelgin says while pointing, but the old man pays no mind.

"What if I get over there and you don't have any," the old man nags.

"You would have to go elsewhere for stool softener sir."

"Do you know where I can get it?"

"Probably up the street, there's a Walgreens."

The old man stares at Nelgin with dissatisfaction, "Say, gimme a pack of Newports that should steer my bowels clear for the rest of the week."

Nelgin glances over at the "We Do Not Condone Selling Tobacco Products to The Elderly" sign, "I'm sorry sir, but I can't help you with that while pointing to the sign above the man's head."

"I know what it says," he mumbles while angrily shuffling his way out the door.

Nelgin sighs with disbelief as he goes over the interaction in his head. Should I have said no, he thinks to himself? What if I said yes and we didn't have it? Would that have been worse? Nelgin steps out of his cash-out box to check the miscellaneous shelf for a stool softener. There are two boxes of single-dose pills hanging above the condoms and next to eye drops.

"Well, I'll be damned," he says aloud.

Nelgin checks one of the boxes for its expiration date, 05/06/2016, over four years ago. It probably would've hurt the old fart rather than helped him. The doorbells jingle, and this time, a child walks in. He appears lost as he holds a folded piece of paper in his hands. Nelgin turns his attention to the silent presence behind him.

"Can I help you son?"

The little boy stands silent but hands Nelgin the folded piece of paper. It's a list of items written by an assumed adult; there's even a signature at the bottom to prove its "authenticity."

"A bag of Doritos, barbeque crisps, two bottles of Sprite, and a box of Newports," Nelgin recites aloud, "I cannot sell you the cigarettes but if you come back with your parent, they can buy it themselves."

The little boy nods his head, and Nelgin takes a stroll to the chip and drinks aisles to collect the requested items. The little boys' eyes follow Nelgins's head floating above the shelves. He stands still as stone, waiting for a sign of what to do next. Nelgin places the snacks on the checkout counter and goes back into his cash-out box; he notices the boy still standing by the door. He gestures a "come here" gesture with his index finger. He steps up to the counter; his height only allowed his eyes to be visible.

"$7.32," Nelgin says.

The little boy placed a twenty-dollar bill on the counter.

"Can you push it into the little dip for me?"

He stands on his tippy toes and flicks the twenty close enough for Nelgin to reach his hand under the slit and grab it with two fingers. He counts out the change but realizes the boy wouldn't be able to reach for it here," so he walks around to the front to personally hand it to him along with a plastic Thank You bag.

"$12.68," Nelgin says while carefully placing the change in the boy's small pocket. He bags the soda and crisps and hands the bag off to him like a caring father to his son on his first-day of school. The little boy waves goodbye while walking out the door, and Nelgin waves back. As soon as he turns his back to return to the cashbox, the doorbells jingle.

A heavy presence fills the air, "Nelgin Hertz." an ominous voice calls out as if his name was called on the attendance roster. Nelgin hesitates but turns around with the straightest grin on his face.

"That is I," Nelgin says while staring at an empty void that stands in the shape of a human silhouette. It makes a slight humming sound as if the void has its volume on low. It scans Nelgin from head to toe with a dim red laser and announces,

"Congratulations, you've passed your annual Retailers Compliance Test, this includes but is not limited to the selling and distribution of tobacco products to minors, the elderly, and pregnant women. We appreciate your honesty and dedication to keeping our community safe,"

The void spits out a piece of laminated paper from what would've been its stomach area.

"Please frame and hang this certificate for display as confirmation of completion and to reduce the regularity of annual, semiannual, or monthly retest visits. Please contact the following ways of communication at the bottom of the page if you have any further questions. Goodbye."

The void melts onto the floor like ice cream touching hot Arizonian air. What is left on the white speckled tile floor is a full bladder size of dirty black water. Nelgin looks around his shop and out the window to see if there were any possible witnesses to check his reality. He zones out with vacant eyes as he replays the interactions with his three customers, a pregnant woman, the elderly, and a child. He couldn't imagine what could've happened had he allowed himself to sell cigarettes to one of the three. He looks down at the golden laminated certificate with his name in the middle in bold cursive font. He smiles; he goes into his cashbox to grab a nail and a hammer to proudly display his proof of an honest living. He rolls out the mop and bucket to clean the leftover void on the floor before a customer were to walk in and test his facility's cleanliness.

humanity
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About the Creator

Elena

Confused with the practice of trying too hard and trying just enough to get by. I've rattled myself with a drug-ill brain that clouds my ability to express with words and tongue.

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