“What? No eggs? Damn, how the hell am I suppose to make breakfast omelets now? The vegan egg substitute tastes like ass and the beaten eggs in the cartons don’t taste the same.”
I glare at the open slot and try to think about any other things that I could use in the meantime, but nothing comes to mind that could beat the flavor of having a nice, fluffy omelet in the morning. While I’m lost in thought, I could hear something heavy rolling towards me coming from the other end of the aisle. I look up and see one of the store employees, in their signature red apron, pushing a flatbed cart stocked with a least two dozen boxes on it. They stop at the far end of the aisle and start unloading.
They must be restocking this aisle for the day. I wonder if they’re restocking this far down, too.
I walk over the stock person and wave at them to try and get their attention, “Excuse me.”
Even though I can’t see them from behind the boxes, the person responds. It’s a guy, telling from how scratchy and a bit high-pitch his voice is, “What is it?”
“Do you know if you’re going to receive a shipment of eggs sometime today? There’s none over where they usually are and I want to buy a carton or two.”
The guy lets out an obvious sigh before he answers, “I have a few cases on my cart now. Give me a moment and I’ll be able to help you.”
I can hear him taking boxes off of the cart, struggling and grunting the entire time. The number of boxes aren’t even that many; he just stacked them weird so that the pile gets taller at the back. I can even see the three boxes labeled “eggs” right in front of me in their own pile.
Between his grunts from lifting I point out to him that the eggs are in the first pile in the front. He still has a box in his arms when he walks over, but the box blocks his face, so I had to guide him for a bit. I swear, where the hell did they find this guy and why did they hire him?
When he puts the box down, I get a clear look at his face and let out a sigh, both mentally and in reality, when I realize who it is. His shaggy, blonde hair shows that he barely cares about keeping it well groomed and his green eyes reminds me about the shade of green on the house’s front lawn: it’s the guy who tried to hit on me and Alexis last time!
Oh, goddamn it! This guy again!
The memories of our last encounter are the only thing on my mind, how he tried to show off some bullshit and terrible attempts at lifting to try and impress us in the parking lot. Did he really think that being able to lift a bag filled with snacks would be able to steal my girl away from me? Just looking at him makes my blood boil, but in order to prevent myself from ripping him a new one I just glare at him, making sure he could feel my stare through the side of his head.
After he puts down the last box he was holding, he takes a moment to look over the remaining boxes on the cart and scratches his head, probably trying to figure out which things he should stock first. He mumbles something under his breath, but I can’t hear it; it’s most likely him complaining about how he has a boring job as a stock person. He finally looks over at me and is stunned when he sees my face. He obviously remembers me, too.