Bodega

Elliot’s alarm rang out as a digitized, awful rooster noise—4:20 AM. His shift at the convenience store started at six to prepare for opening at seven. So far, the day was just as bad as every morning that starts that early—kind of rotten, with the potential to go either way. Once he was on the right bus, on time and prepared, the ball passed to everyone else. What would it be today? He was ambivalent about the whole place today.

The job was a bit like being a beat cop. Long stretches of almost nobody and nothing going on, to speak of, with unexpected episodes of bizarre drama. He’d had to call police numerous times to shoo away the same few drug dealers and hookers. That could bring drama. They sometimes had their families along. Still, occasionally people just plain wandered in confused, ultimately made no purchase, and wandered away looking dissatisfied. He really hated that.

On this day, everything was as routine as his job ever was for most of the morning. It was almost noon, and the store phone got a ridiculous call.

“There’s a bomb in the store…” said a middle-aged-sounding woman with a firm but uncertain tone.

“Yeah, right, why? Who would bomb a bodega? I cleaned up in here this morning, and nothing is out of place,” said Elliot.

“You need to evacuate the store immediately before everybody dies!” she said.

“Evacuate who? I’m the only person here, and I will take my chances,” said Elliot, at which point he hung up the phone with rude force.

He could not imagine the point of threatening a tiny corner store with a bomb, and he quickly resumed his normal day until around one. When he received another phone call, this time from the police, they told him he needed to allow a bomb squad to investigate. They demanded that he close the store and go home. He was fine with this in spirit, but this was five and a half hours of pay to give up. He felt like somebody playing a part in a true story about a missing person or an unsolved murder. It made him unhappy and deeply uneasy. Police presence made him nauseous.

“We need to take every reported bomb threat seriously. It’s a reported bomb sighting from the supposed source. We all have no choice — it’s our policy and the law,” explained the officer.

He sat in his car just staring at the steering wheel in the McDonald’s parking lot for almost an hour. They did not find a bomb, but the FBI found Kratom supplements that had recently become illegal and had expired. They closed the store to sort it out, and he was without work until further notice. He had less than 4 figures to his name. This was a crisis that required action, but he was spacing out. Mind blown, he had to give up for a bit.

He took a deep breath and decided to shake it right off. He was entitled to some unemployment, so he would start looking. The store may reopen and take him back, sans creepy herbal drugs. Going home was a sad option; avoiding going home was a bit childish. There was no one there to answer to but himself, regardless. He decided to go to the bar. Going to the bar was certainly an action to take.

The bar was quiet; nobody he knew was there. He didn’t even recognize the bartender. He realized that he hadn’t been around for a few months, since he had more seriously started seeing Kate. This was as good a place as any to try to figure out how to explain it to her. He had asked her to meet him here, but he came an hour early to get a couple of drinks in first.

“SO wait, you’ve been dealing drugs at work? Is this what the hell you are telling me right now?!” asked Kate.

“Listen, they're around real drugs; they aren’t my drugs, and the stuff was legal to sell over the counter six months ago when the owner ordered it. Nobody is churning out crackheads and junkies at the bodega. I tried the stuff a while ago; I felt nothing but gas and cramps,” said Elliot. “I’m sure it will get settled.”

“No, Elliot, I’m done with this stuff with you…” she said.

“Stuff! Stuff is plural; this is one thing. What else am I doing?”

“Maybe I just don’t feel it anymore, then. If you are so sure there isn’t anything wrong with you in this situation, then maybe I need a change. I don’t feel the way I used to.”

“I get fired, and now you want to break up with me? Is this about money?”

Kate exclaimed, “Honestly, yes. I need somebody successful. It’s about the ambition more than the money. You just don’t try hard enough.”

“This bomb threat has nothing to do with how lazy I am or am not, Kate. The only reason I’m missing work is that the police won’t let me. You are just being a cold, selfish bitch. Good luck, Kate. Good luck finding somebody to care for and treat you better, as if you deserve it. This may be news to you, too, but ambitious, successful people consider you a lazy, third-rate citizen. You only have an associate's because you flunked out of your major! Who said advanced physics was difficult? Everyone,” ranted Elliot.

“Oh God, whatever…” said Kate.

“I could use some kind of drugs today, seriously. This is going to hurt my pay.”

She said, “Drugs would just cost you more money.”

“That’s true. You know me; I run my mouth for no good reason.”

Elliot never really found out who called in the bomb threat. Maybe it was just the mother of some kid who had gotten sick from that stuff. The day passed slowly, with no more word from Kate. By ten PM, he found himself drinking on the beach, alone. One of the same officers from earlier approached him near the end of the surf.

“You alright?” the cop asked.

“I’m fine, just stuck a bit, really. I feel stuck in life,” said Elliot.

“Okay, well, what I mean is, do you have a way home? Stay around here? I cannot leave you unsafe if you have been drinking. How much have you had?”

“Just a couple, really,” he answered. “I’m walking; I live a quarter mile away.”