The Bread Aisle

“Hi, I’m Taylor. It’s nice to meet you. Too boring. I’m Taylor. It’s nice to meet me. Too cocky.” Taylor turned around and grabbed two more loaves of bread and nestled them in their spots on the shelf. “Hi, I’m Taylor. Are you ready for the best date of your life? Too desperate.” He looked at his watch. His boss said he could leave once he finished stocking the bread. He had two boxes and twenty minutes left. Things were looking good.

“Johnny, will you stop for a second and listen to me?”

“I am listening.”

Taylor looked over his shoulder at the customers standing behind him and then refocused on his loaves. You are stocking. You are invisible. Get done, and get out.

“Johnny, will you please stop and look at me?”

“Really, Jordan? Now?”

“Yes.”

He peeled his eyes from the selection of whole-grain bread and gave her one second of eye contact before turning away again. “Happy?”

“Fuck you, Johnny!”

Taylor shook his head but not enough to be noticed. Berated himself for not leaving the white bread for last. He squatted in front of this quarrel, 23 loaves away from freedom.

“Will you please be quiet?” Johnny muttered to his girlfriend. “People are staring.” Taylor looked left and right and could confirm. The elderly woman grabbing a baguette hadn’t seen such excitement for years.

“Why can’t you love me?” Taylor heard a quiver to her voice. Tears on aisle two.

“I do love you. Stop being so dramatic.”

“But we don’t love each other like we used to. The romance died, Johnny.” The teenage stocker lost hope by the second. Once practicing his opening lines, now having to put the merchandise down and refocus on his mantra. Love is worth it. Love is worth it. Love is worth it.

“Johnny, will you stop looking at the bread?”

“We need bread, don’t we?”

“No, we need to talk.”

“No, we need food!”

“No, we need to have sex again!” With this, the bread aisle patrons let their heads fall for a moment of silence. Taylor faked a cough at an attempt to chip away at the weight of the surrounding air. Unlike the fluffy and soft bread he was shelving, the mood was dense.

“Jordan,” the man started, his voice hushed and forced through closed teeth. “Not now.”

“Then when, Johnny? Huh?” The woman had turned up the volume on the amplifier in her throat. In the far-off produce section, the shoppers huddled over the broccoli on sale had now looked over. It was time to call a manager. With his phone now in hand, Taylor saw the time. 4:58. So much for leaving early. He excuses himself to call in the troops.

“When will you fuck me again? Will you ever go down on me again?” The affection-deprived woman continued, making a scene as her last resort.

“Jordan, you need to stop right now,” her partner scolded her like a child. This was the most attention he’d given her in weeks.

“Janine?” Taylor whispered into his ear piece. “I need your help on aisle two.”

“What’s going on?”

“Uh, we have a couple arguing.”

“You want me to stop, huh?” Jordan interjected. “What if I don’t want to? Huh? What are you gonna do?” Taylor whipped around to assess the gathering audience. Even the deli clerks were peering over their cases to check it out.

“What if I get louder? What are you gonna do, Johnny?” To answer her question, the man of concern grew red in the face and clenched his fists. That was all he did.

“What if I stomp and scream and kick and throw the biggest tantrum this store has ever seen?” She challenged him.

“You already are,” he replied, as the crowd looked to each other as if he was about to be called down to the principal’s office.

“Am I?” The woman stood back, stretched her neck from side to side and shook her arms. Once centered again, she took a moment to breathe in and out. The surrounding shoppers were frozen. No one was blinking. The only thing missing was popcorn. As others couldn’t look away, Taylor’s eyes darted everywhere for his manager. “Come on, Janine.”

“How’s this for a tantrum?” The woman grabbed a loaf of bread and threw it on the ground with a grunt that would rival the tennis greats.

“Oh no,” Taylor added, as the audience gasped. “Janine, Janine.”

“How about now, Johnny?” Jordan started using the loaf as a bat, swinging at her boyfriend’s shoulder and screaming the whole time. “Pay attention to me! Tell me you love me!” Taylor grimaced, grateful for the plastic bread bag and tie keeping the crumbs in.

You’re paying for that.

She got in three more hits before her punching bag spoke up. “Jordan, stop.” He snatched the bread from her and slammed it into their basket. “I’m sorry,” he turned to Taylor. “We’ll pay for this.”

Thank you, but I’m not a part of this.

He responded with a thumbs up, as Janine showed up. “Hey, Taylor. What’s up?”

“They’ve been fighting for a while now. I can’t finish stocking the shelf.” He checked the clock again. 5:03. Damn.

“Damn,” Janine added, with hands on her hips. “Thanks for paging me.” Like a detective waddling into an interrogation, she approached the couple. The surrounding shoppers and Taylor couldn’t hear what was discussed. They watched mouths move and heads nod. Within one minute, the superhero supervisor escorted the couple out of the store.

As everyone returned to their browsing, Taylor dove back into stocking. With supersonic speed, he emptied his final loaves onto the shelf, camouflaging a single-loaf-sized gap in the back. He dashed to the break room, snatched his things, and took off for the exit. Only five yards from the automatic doors, he screeched to a halt.

“Flowers on sale.”

He grabbed a small bouquet for 5.99, proceeded through the check-out, and drove home to get ready for his date.