Surveillance at the Grocery Store
The grocery store opened early and Terry wanted to be there right away. She knew that the best fruits and vegetables were set out in the night. If she logged on at the store early enough, it would make it possible for her to get her allotment before they had been picked over.
The sign flashed that she must park in A-2. That was a great sign that not many shoppers were ahead of her. She jumped out, the empty cart headed right into her hands from the cart distribution machine.
The grocery door swished open for her to enter.
“Welcome, Terry. You have not shopped since last Wednesday. Welcome back,” the loudspeaker boomed. Did she pick that horrible male voice? She thought she picked a woman with a nice New Zealand accent.
The timer started for her shopping experience. Twenty minutes never was enough, she couldn’t make all the decisions that fast, but that was the time allotment and the store wouldn’t budge on it. Her cart jerked forward as the belt began to move her toward the vegetables. She had to make these twenty minutes count. She had little to eat at home.
Terry grabbed her laser pointer from her purse, “Your batteries are at 30%, be sure to pick up new batteries in that section, Terry.” The loudspeaker again.
In front of her juicy heirloom tomatoes gleamed. She aimed at the barcode stuck on its flesh. God, they looked good. A mechanical arm plopped hers in the vegetable side of her car. She aimed the red light at another one and the alarm went off. “Terry, you know, only one heirloom tomato per customer.” the speaker shouted.
The shoppers behind her glared at her. “I didn’t know there was a limit!” she lied defensively.
She had just missed her chance at a green pepper, she needed to pay attention.
Now the carrots, but the damned bar code sticker was wrinkled into the bag and the pointer didn’t pick it up. She tried to step back and get another shot at it, but, “You have already passed the carrots, Terry! No backward shopping”
The loudspeaker’s yelling startled her so much that she dropped her laser. It rolled between the ridges of the moving belt and grab as she might, she couldn’t get it free. As she struggled, the lettuce, the cucumbers, the radishes, floated by. She got it free in time to frantically aim at anything available. She got a rutabaga she didn’t even want.
“Damn it!” Terry was frustrated.
“Please keep a polite atmosphere!” the speaker said.
Okay, she was in the fruit section now, she managed to get an orange and one box of strawberries before the belt moved her on past the meat, which she didn’t even eat as she was a vegetarian.
One box of cereal, a loaf of bread, and six eggs, and batteries later, her time came to a jolting end at the cash register.
“One hundred, fifty-three dollars and twenty-two cents,” said the loud, loudspeaker. A laser scanned the QR code embroidered on her shopping jacket.
“Thank you, Terry,” it yelled. “Remember, your next shopping day isn’t until next week. Enjoy your meals!”
Terry trudged back to the car, the cart tipped and emptied itself into the back, then hurtled away.
“You seem down, Terry, perhaps you should stop in our outdoor restaurant for a quick cup of coffee!” the loudspeaker offered.
“No thanks,” Terry said quietly, “I am going home.”
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Carrie Danielson is a retired public school teacher who turned her interest to writing. She runs San Diego DimeStories, a monthly writing open mic. You can read her blog at: www.justcarrie.blog