Pick Up on Aisle Speed

I ignore the three green bags that seemingly appear out of nowhere in the hallway.

Mom asked me to come home early since she won't be getting back until late. It's a big concern of hers, wanting someone to watch the apartment at night. Hey, no protest from me. I unlock the apartment door at dinnertime, eager to lay down after a long day.

And immediately trip over a green bag that mysteriously appears at my feet.

"Are you serious?" I groan. I nearly kick the stupid bag into oblivion when I notice 6-year-old Trinity Phillips standing behind me in the hallway.

"Excuse me, Miss Charlotte," Trinity says shyly, pulling at her fingers. "My mommy accidentally put in your address instead of ours. Can we please have our bag?"  

I would be lying if I said her innocence dampens my frustration, but I hand Trinity the bag anyway.

"Just tell your mommy to double-check next time, okay?" I say wearily. Trinity nods, grabs the bag, and dashes into her apartment.

I breathe a sigh of relief once I'm inside. I peel off my jacket and throw myself onto the sofa, ready to sink into its plushy embrace.

The sofa is twenty years old. It does not sink; it breaks.

Wonderful.

Ten minutes and many colorful words later, I anoint the bathroom stool as my channel surfing throne. Nothing good is on the news. Politicians are corrupt; climate change is worsening; and...wait, who's going to space now? I watch the news for a good half hour, but everything the reporters say goes in one ear and comes out the other. 

Reporters. It must be nice to be employed.

I move to turn the TV off when one of the news anchors grabs my attention.

"They've been improving our lives for six months now in ways we never imagined. Their company, The Speed of Sound, has taken the world—and our food—by storm. Tonight, we have the privilege of speaking to two very super people indeed, Salvador Arechavaleta and Janice Doyle. Good evening to the both of you..."

You know that feeling you get in your gut when you see something that makes you feel angry and helpless all at the same time, but you just can't look away? Like, if your crush sent you a text saying how much they hate you. It would be devastating to read, but you would read the entire message anyway.

Well, that's how it feels when two of "the 13" pop up on my television.

They're wearing those stupid green polos and khaki pants too. I swear I have never seen "the 13" wear anything else besides their matching outfits.

"You're millionaires!" I scream at the TV. "Wear something else!"

Is shouting at them pointless and petty? A little. 

Therapeutic? Big time.

"I was at the food store with my mom," Doyle narrates to the interviewer, eyes wide. 

Oh God, she's giving the whole origin story speel again. 

"And she says to me, 'Janice, can you grab me a carton of milk?' And, well, I say 'of course!' So I grab her the milk, but," Doyle leans in like she's about to tell the interviewer a big secret. "My mom looks at me shocked and asks, 'Janice, where did you get that from?'" Doyle moves back and makes an exaggerated confused expression. "So I go, 'the milk aisle?' And my mom goes, 'but that's on the other side of the store.' And I go, 'yeah, that's where I got it from.' And my mom," Doyle's eyes widen, "goes, 'Janice, I just handed you the list a second ago. That's not possible.'"

I'm not going to bother finishing her origin story. Besides, you've probably heard it on fifty other news channels anyways. 

At least Arechavaleta's story is a little more interesting (and shorter than Doyle's). The guy needed to buy some dulce de leche right as businesses were closing for the night. It was only when he checked his watch that he realized that he had made it to the grocers and back home again with his dulce de leche in under five seconds.

I'm not sure how the rest of "the 13" discovered their ability to grocery shop at superhuman speeds. But frankly, I couldn't care less.

***

I first heard about "the 13" last year. Treyton—my fellow cashier at Gran's Goods—and I had been sitting outside enjoying the autumn weather during our lunch break. Treyton, bless his Gen Z soul, was scrolling on his phone while I savored the peace and quiet after the chaos from the night before. What had begun as an hour-long gig walking Mrs. Pond's dogs had turned into a three-hour saga of dog sitting when the woman remembered at the last minute that she had a Bingo night to host. 

At least I got paid extra.

"Hey Charlotte," Treyton nudged me out of my stupor. "Check this out." He pointed to an article he had pulled up on his phone.

"17-Year-Old Claims to Grocery Shop at Superhuman Speeds?" I skeptically read. Treyton hummed in agreement.

"See, that's what I was thinking too. But look at the video!" He clicked a link, pulling up a short film of some teenager from the Midwest talking to a news team inside a food store. One of the reporters unexpectedly handed the boy a list of random items, started a timer, and shouted, "go!"

The teenager was back with a cart full of ingredients in less than two seconds.

My jaw dropped. The boy hadn't even looked like a blur of speed. One moment, he was there; the next, he had enough items to cook a Thanksgiving dinner.

"What the hell," I ogled. "That's got to be fake." Treyton grinned.

"Tell that to John Hopkins; they have a team checking this out."

"What!?" I yelped incredulously, snatching his phone to look for myself. Sure enough, the scientific community was beginning to take this super-shopper seriously.

"Freaking weird, right?" Treyton remarked mid-chew as I handed him back his phone in disbelief. "He might have our jobs." I snorted.

"He is more than welcome to take my job in a year. No sooner, though." Treyton's eyes widened.

"No way, you just need one more year?" I had told him a while ago about my plan to save up to pursue a history degree. Treyton had always been sweet enough to check on how my dream was faring. I grinned.

"Yes, sirree. One more year, and I will be set!" He whooped out loud and held up his sandwich.

"To one more year!" I grinned and raised my water bottle.

"To one more year!"

***

By the time New Year's Day rolled around, 42 people were believed to have the super-shopping ability. By February, a team of scientists from around the world officially narrowed the pool down to 14. 

14 people with the power to buy and deliver groceries faster than you can say "food." 

The scientists still have no idea how this ability came about—or why those 14 specific people have it. All they could do was conclude that the ability was not genetic and that it must have been spurred by an unknown phenomenon.

Some of the more popular explanations have been undetectable solar flares, aliens, and Satan.

Every continent but Antarctica has at least one of these superhuman grocers. 5000 miles away from where we were setting up Valentine's Day decorations at Gran's, world leaders, scientists, and the 14 super-grocers were attending an international summit on world hunger. 

"That's good," I told Treyton, nodding in the direction of the live stream.

"You say that now," our 68-year-old shelf-stocker—Ron—touted, hauling a large cardboard cutout of a heart. "I got social security to take care of me for the rest of my life. You youngins though," he pointed at us, "you better start looking for other work before they catch you by surprise!" Everyone at Gran's had been joking that the super-grocers would replace us, but no one seriously thought so. Well, except Ron. I politely grimaced at his comment. He had no way of knowing how long I had been job hunting for.

I always either had too little education, not enough professional experience or just wasn't "the right fit" for any of the positions I applied.

For now, Gran's and whatever part-time work I could scavenge was what I had. 

Eight more months, I told myself, just eight more months.

***

The Speed of Sound announced its existence the week Ron left for a cruise to Florida with his "fellow old people." I stepped into Gran's that morning and offered a prayer of thanksgiving to the air-conditioning gods. The June heat was already unbearable. The moment Treyton saw me walk through the door, he abandoned his canned goods display and raced over.

"What's up, Big T?" I asked, tilting my head.

"Armageddon, that's what," he declared, shoving his phone in my face. "'The 13' are starting their own business!" The last I had heard of the super-grocers, one of them had struck out on their own to host a reality TV show. A show to do with groceries, of course. Since then, everyone's just referred to the rest of the super-grocers as "the 13."

"Oh boy, I'm assuming it's food-related?" I asked dryly, scanning the article in my face. "The 13" were indeed creating a business, working with and delivering for grocery stores. "Hang on," I squinted my eyes, "they already have 4 million customers? When did they start their company?" 

"That's the thing!" Treyton gawked. "They haven't even started yet—they begin operating next month! And 4 million people have already sworn their allegiance to them!" Customers shot us confused glances.

"Calm down," I whispered to Treyton, shooting the shoppers reassuring smiles. "They'll probably end up as a glorified delivery service. Besides," I pointed out, "Gran's has been here for 75 years. I highly doubt 'the 13' will be able to take it down."

***

"You're what?!"

Dan, the manager at Gran's, grimaced and rubbed his forehead.

"I'm sorry. I truly, deeply am. But our current business model is no longer..." he searched the air before settling on "feasible." The rest of the employees looked as dumbfounded as me. When The Speed of Sound took off two months ago, it really took off. You couldn't walk down the street without seeing a bright green grocery bag arrive on someone's porch.

All you had to do was order online, wait for a maximum of ten minutes, and presto.

As The Speed of Sound's customers piled up, business at Gran's began to trickle down. Dan had called all the employees together for a meeting a week ago. He let us know sales were slowing but reassured us Gran's had every intention of preserving its small business structure. 

I held my breath and checked my calendar that night.

Three more months, I pleaded. Just don't let me go for three more months. We all knew Gran's would begin laying off employees very soon. 

We just didn't expect that the majority of us would be laid off exactly one week later.

"They just move so much faster—physically and business-wise," Dan pleaded with us to understand. "I tried talking to the union, but there's nothing they could do either. It's either partner with The Speed of Sound or go out of business. We just...can't support many employees now."

We knew Dan had done his best to keep Gran's going as it had been, but I couldn't help but feel betrayed as he began his speech on the store and its family.

I just needed three more months. Just three.

I felt Treyton repeatedly look at me, but I refused to acknowledge him. He'd be alright; the kid was working to save up for the Chevrolet Silverado HD his parents would buy him anyway.

But for me...things would have to be put on hold.

***

"...And that is why we will be opening our own grocery chain. The Speed of Sound will operate 50 warehouses all over the world that will provide only the finest and freshest groceries to its customers," Salvador Arechavaleta finishes explaining. The news anchor's eyes widen. 

"Wow," he exclaims, shuffling his papers. "In just a year, you have gone from late-night grocery trips for dulce de leche to leading one of the most successful corporations in the entire world. And this is just the beginning. What an incredible rise, congratu—"

I turn off the TV and stew in the silence and darkness that now pervades the room. The bathroom stool creaks under me, so I get up with a sigh.

"Incredible rise, huh," I scoff, leaning my head against the wall. It only took three months for everything to crash and burn for me. The Speed of Sound changed a lot of things. Unfortunately, their success has not yet altered the flow of rejection letters I keep receiving.

My mom doesn't mind me staying with her until I "get back on my feet"—in fact, she loves the company. And my apartment night watch services. But each month I help pay rent or fix the broken washing machine, my dream moves farther and farther away. 

I know it's only a small dream. It's not revolutionizing how people shop. But it is mine.

I take a deep breath and walk over to the computer to complete yet another job application. 

I have to watch a fifteen-second The Speed of Sound ad before I can submit it.