Shift change happened at two a.m. Anyone in town who was feeling feisty, who’d heard “last call” and had a little pepper left in their grinder, seemed to be unable to resist the gravitational pull to the all-night Walmart during this chaos window.
Working the night shift was mostly a breeze compared to days, when people had higher expectations and the gumption to express them. Lori rarely fought with customers at night. Usually the people who wandered in were loners, who despised jostling with the daytime crowds, and the weary employees just getting off from third shift at the distribution warehouse down the road.
Still, Lori had to stay vigilant during shift change. “Between two and three in the morning is when we have our biggest asset losses,” her boss Larry had told her, aping Corporate’s fancy way of saying “shoplifting.” And Larry’s subtle way of delivering his message. It’s happening on your watch.
She’d taken the role of overnight team lead for the two-dollar-an-hour raise. That, and because nothing going on in her life—no relationship, children, pets—made working nights an inconvenience. Plus, Larry couldn’t find anyone else to do it.
Lori believed she was doing a favor for Store #443, where she’d worked loyally for ten years, since her senior year in high school. She hadn’t counted on becoming the company’s problem child.
Tonight, the first Friday in May, exemplified the mid-shift complications. Barb, the part-time cashier from ten to two had to jam a few minutes early to take over watching her grandkids from her daughter, who needed to leave for her waitressing job at the all-night donut shop. Johnny was scheduled to take over Barb’s lane, but he texted Lori just before two: Car trouble. Running late. Lori had worked with Johnny long enough to know with certainty that he’d neglected to fill up his tank and now sat stranded in his truck, out of gas, on one of the deserted country roads he drove to town.
At 2:03, Zach, who stocked shelves, hadn’t clocked in yet. Lori could smell cigarette smoke wafting under the back door of the break room. She lingered, reluctant to prod him, then poked her head out the door.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he murmured back, and exhaled a stream of smoke over his shoulder.
“I need to head up front to take over lane six. Can you get out on the floor?”
Zach jutted his chin upward, nodding assent in his surly way. Lori took him in. She knew they were the same age, but next to him she felt matronly and frumpy, a resented and uncool authority figure. In high school she would have drooled over Zach, with his vintage Western shirts and worn, tight-fitting jeans.
As she slid into Barb’s station at the front of the store, she saw the four kids enter through the west doors. They charged in fast, cracking up, pushing and falling over each other, obviously on a mission.
Lori internally groaned. What were sixteen-year-olds doing out after two in the morning? Still, it wasn’t that long again that she’d been a kid in this town. There was nothing else to do for anyone who wasn’t of drinking age after nine p.m. No all-night diners, no bowling alleys or skating rinks or arcades like when she was a teenager. If kids were going to gallivant, this was the only place to do it.
She watched them until they disappeared into the back of the store. The store shone with maniacal white light, refusing to concede to the nocturnal hour of rest and dreams. A pop song from her childhood played over the sound system, pushing a peppy, high-tempo energy. When she was alone, sometimes Lori caught herself bopping along to the piped-in, market-tested tunes, then checked to see if anyone had seen.
There were no other customers in the store at the moment, and four employees, Zach and three grocery stockers working on produce. She locked her terminal and stalked the aisles until she found the kids in the toy section.
She’d seen this crew in the store before. Three girls and a boy: one girl, heavyset with bright pink hair, a wiry one with a head of black curls and a septum ring, and a more normal-looking girl with dark blond hair that seemed tangled, as if she hadn’t brushed it for days. The boy wore his hair long, past his shoulders; his braces flashed on his teeth as he grinned broadly.
The kids were doubled-over with laughter. The boy had lowered himself down onto a toddler-sized rideable pony and, in spite of his spindly legs, zoomed up and down the aisle on it. On top of his head sat a minuscule cowgirl hat, lavender with a bright green band.
His three friends were stabbing and slapping at the boy with pieces of merchandise: the pink-haired girl twirled an on-clearance jump rope, the curly-haired girly brushing him with a tiny broom, the blonde waving an inflated pool noodle. The boy swerved the tiny horse around the aisle to duck away from each strike from the gauntlet.
The sight of their pure joy tickled her. Obviously her job was to kick them out, but they weren’t hurting anything at the moment, and the cleverness of their ridiculous game amused her. Joy was so rarely an emotion Lori experienced at her job. She stood watching for a few moments, trying to think of something funny to say, when the pink-haired girl noticed her and dropped her rope.
“Oh, and here’s the fascist,” the girl hissed.
The kids turned toward Lori. Their expressions turned to jeers. “Booooo,” the kids began to roar at her. “Boooooo.”
Lori’s face turned hot. She began to move in reverse. Her brain was a jumble. She wanted to explain herself, that she got what they were doing, that she thought they were sweet and wonderful, that not that long ago, she’d been these awkward, strange kids who were just trying to express themselves.
She backed into someone and swung around to find Zach standing behind her. One side of his mouth was turned up into a half-grin, apprising the teens.
“Yo, nice horse,” he muttered.
The kids laughed with delight, then turned their faces to Lori and raised their eyebrows, waiting. Sides had been chosen.
“Get out or I’m calling the cops,” she snapped at them.
They all followed her back to the front of the store, Zach bringing up the rear. She stood with her arms crossed until they slumped out of the store, calling her names under their breath.
Lori turned to see Zach squinting at her with his sleepy brown eyes.
“Harsh, Lori,” he said. “Majorly harsh”
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