Goddam Milk

As I lay on the floor with a knee on my back getting handcuffed by the police, all I can think of is. Why did I drink the goddam, milk? It started in the middle of the night. I was hungry, so I rummaged through the cabinets and found the prize, a box of chocolate chip cookies. I was elated until I stepped on my son's toy. The pain shot through my foot and up my leg. It was chilly in the house, so after quietly cursing the entire alphabet, I put it in my hoodie pocket and forgot about it. I ate the whole box of cookies. Of course, after inhaling a box of dry discs, your throat tends to get a little parched, so I raided the fridge. The warm glow of the fridge's light illuminated two choices. The half-empty soda or the half-empty milk carton. I like soda, it tastes good and sweet, but I wanted to sleep in, and I knew the caffeine would keep me up. I briefly removed my head from the fridge and contemplated the water faucet. Nah. I snatched the milk and drank out of the carton. Droplets of two percent landed on my shirt. I crushed the carton and hooked it into the garbage bin.

I did not get to sleep in. I was awoken by a screaming baby and the insistence of my wife to help her in the kitchen. I donned my day off uniform, a hoodie, and sweatpants, and went into battle. My son, ever the early, energetic riser, was running around the kitchen as my wife was cleaning some fresh goop of my daughter's face. She looked at me with loving, angry eyes. “Did you drink all the milk last night?” I wanted to answer her most charmingly, but my brain was still half asleep, so all I could do was grunt out. “Uh-huh.” She frowned. “Well, thanks to you, we don’t have milk for breakfast. I was going to make pancakes.” I leaned in and kissed her. “Pardon me, your grace, I shall travel to the corner store and pick up some bovine juice.” She cracked a smile. “You’re such a dork.” I grabbed my weapons. Keys, wallet, and phone. As I opened the door to step out into the world, she yelled her farewell by way of “Make sure it's two percent milk.” I nodded and shut the door.

The corner store was filled with magazines, snacks, candy, and a wall of refrigerated drinks. I nodded to the clerk behind the counter who bearly gave me a second thought. Some vague cover of a nineties classic song was playing. The air smelled like incense as a dead-eyed patron with a bunch of scratchers passed me by. I made my way to the milk at the back of the store. I found my prize, then snatched some gummy bears from the candy aisle. As the disinterested clerk scanned my items, I pulled out my wallet. The clerk gave me the total, and I went to pay with my card. The reader gave a negative beep. CARD READ ERROR. I tried again. CARD READ ERROR. The clerk sighed, “Do you have cash, Sir?” I looked in my wallet and a moth practically flew out of it. Embarrassed and frustrated, I jammed my wallet back into my pocket. I apologized and left the store.

Across the street was a bank. I headed their intent on using the ATM. While crossing, I wasn’t paying attention. A car stopped suddenly. The angry motorist laid on the horn and showcased his middle finger. I ignored him. I had my card out, ready to insert it into the ATM, when I read the screen. Out Of Order. Sorry for the inconvenience. I jammed my card and my wallet deeper into my hoodie pocket. I shudder as a breeze blew across my neck. I lifted my hood to warm it. I grabbed the door to the bank and walked briskly inside. The bank was spit and polished. It smelled like the floors were recently buffed, and there wasn’t a single spot on any of the glass surfaces. It looked like there were two tellers behind the counter and a security guard sitting near the entrance. He eyed me suspiciously. The line wasn’t that long, however, the man in front of me was arguing about a transaction he did not authorize. While that happened, an old lady stepped in line behind me. I looked at her, flashed her a smile, and rolled my eyes in a This guy look to hopefully make a small bond with a fellow waiting customer. She looked at me like I had insulted her. I turned my head back to mind my business. I was relieved when the second teller opened up and called next. I stepped forward and tried to pull my wallet out to get my card and ID. It was stuck on something. I pulled hard. Whatever it was stuck on fell out and clattered to the floor. I stuffed my wallet again, bent over, and picked it up. It was my son’s toy. My son’s toy gun. Not thinking, I lifted it up and examined it to make sure it wasn’t broken. The old woman screamed, “He has a gun!”

Before I could even explain, the man who was previously arguing with the other teller tackled me. The toy skidded across the floor. The tellers ducked behind the counter. The Security guard pointed a real gun at me and told me not to move. I shouted, “It's just a toy! It's just a toy!” The old woman started telling people she knew I was up to no good. She said I threatened her by making a scary face. The cops must have been close because it felt like seconds when they came in. My face was smushed to the ground. They put their knee on my back and handcuffed me. All I could think was, why did I drink the goddam milk?