Steal My Stuff: Do aliens dream of space operas? (Episode I)

The dimpled second-hand ticked, and then ticked again, as the minute-hand edged its way closer to the worn XI. The hour hand stayed steady at the IX.

Tick, tick, tick it sounded, quietly, like some countdown.

'Excuse me, where are the eggs?' said a grey business-suit, pushing a full trolley.

'Aisle three,' said Ridley without thinking.

The customer trotted away.

'Erm, I may not be an expert Ridley,' said Joe, 'but I do believe eggs are in aisle four.'

'He'll find 'em,' said Ridley. 'And if he's really stupid, he'll ask someone else. Someone closer. Someone who isn't me.'

'Good point,' said Joe, as he slowly pushed his load cage down the health & beauty aisle. 'Hey, you see that woman there?'

'The scraggly mole?' asked Ridley.

'Not quite the way I'd put it. But yeah, her. If we keep moving the cage along this side of the aisle and creep up on her, there'll be a certain point where she'll feel she's in the way and start to move off, even if she hasn't finished getting what she wants. So I know I have to hold back and not move too close to her. Whereas, do you see that blonde-'

'The D-cup,' interrupted Ridley.

'Yeah, the blonde D-cup-'

'Saw her before we came into the aisle. Smelt her even before that.'

'Good to hear it,' dismissed Joe, letting the cage come to a rest. 'But my point is, we can get a lot closer to her before she'll sprint away. In fact, she's probably had so many guys get out her way that she wouldn't budge.'

'Yeah, she really is lovely,' said Ridley, ignoring Joe's rambling. He breathed in and out deeply, producing a faint sigh. 'I'm in love.' He tilted his head to the side like a puppy dog.

'Oomph.'

Joe pushed the carton into his co-worker's midriff. 'Fill while you feel, Ridley,' he said, quickly regretting his attempted play on words.

Ridley kept his eyes on the D-cup, ignoring the carton of shampoo in his hands.

'It kind of reminds me of evolution,' said Joe.

'She certainly is very...evolved.'

'No, you nonce. What I was saying. I read a book recently that was talking about...well, you know when birds are perched somewhere and it's only when you get a certain distance from them that they'll fly away? It's an evolved balance, because if they fly away too late they might be killed by a predator; but if they fly away too soon, they'd be wasting energy by flying away from something that isn't even a threat. Less energy means more food, which might not be available, which might mean they don't procreate.'

That last word prompted deep thought in Ridley. At length he seemed to come to a decision.

'So what you're saying is,' he said, 'if I try for the D-cup, she'll just be a wet fish. Whereas...' He stroked his finger in the air. 'Whereas, if I go after the scraggly mole, I'll have to hold on tight for the roller-coaster ride.'

'Not quite what I was getting-' started Joe, but he was talking to himself. Ridley was already approaching the scraggly mole. She seemed to sense his approach and started to walk off. Joe smiled at that part. But then Ridley got started, working harder than he had all night. Joe could see where this was going and grabbed another carton to fill.

'You got five minutes to finish that cage,' screamed a clean-cut impeccably-neat I-like-the-cut-of-your-jib blue-eyed Aryan master, appearing from nowhere.

Joe rolled his eyes.

'I mean it!' shouted the alleged fascist Nazi-sympathising elitist. 'Oi! What's he doin'? One filler per cage, awright?'

Ridley gave a few parting words to the scraggly mole and slinked his way past Joe. 'Cleavage shot coming my way,' he said and within a few steps had taken out his phone and was already typing a message as he whistled his way around the corner, out the aisle.

Satisfied that there were no remaining screaming receptacles, the whiter than white nightfill manager took this moment to stomp off: left, right, left, right, left, right. With a faint left thrown in for free.

The D-cup came up to Joe. 'Is there more of this?' she said, indicating an empty spot in the hair colour bay.

Joe sat there stunned for a moment. He followed up on his strange facial expression with a quick 'No, sorry' to the customer.

The D-cup herself was now stunned. Her bottom lip bubbled. 'What do you mean?' she said, genuinely confused.

Joe had already returned to his filling. 'We don't have any more of that, sorry.'

'But...but...can you check?'

'We went through backstock earlier tonight and that one doesn't come in till tomorrow night. I know we don't have any more.'

'But...' she said.

'Sorry.'

The D-cup looked down and around, like she hadn't ever experienced this before, like she hadn't ever had someone tell her no. In one way this heartened Joe with the warmth that only validation can provide. In another way it was unsettling and he didn't know what to do.

'Do you want me to check out back for you?' he said in the end.

'Oh, thanks. That'd be great.'

Joe ventured through the large flaps, past the signs that state clearly: “Only team members beyond this point.” I can't tell you exactly what goes on behind here, or even what it looks like, since you're not a team member. If you are, you've probably already spent some frustrating time gathering evidence and imploring the authorities to fully investigate. It won't happen (sorry about that).

On a breeze, Joe returned to the D-cup and spoke authoritatively: 'We don't have any, sorry.'

'No problem,' said the D-cup, and walked off.

What a delightful interaction, thought Joe. He realised then that she might have thought his moment of stunned silence was due to her beauty. Or her D-cups. Her shrieking voice and horrible accent came back to him now and he shivered.

While he hated the interruption, Joe hated more what he was returning to. He masochistically went back to his primary role of opening a carton, placing the contents on the shelf, crushing the carton, opening a carton, placing the contents on the shelf, crushing the carton. With each carton he counted to himself to test his filling rate and to relieve the boredom. He was only successful at the former. Open a carton, place the contents on the shelf, crush the carton, open a carton, ~~place the contents on the shelf~~...realise the shelf is full, backstock the carton and place it on the cage, open a carton, place the contents on the shelf, crush the carton...

'But which one do you want?'

'I don't care. Whatever's cheapest. Doesn't bother me.'

Joe turned to look at the two middle-aged customers.

'No, of course it doesn't bother you,' said the slightly more feminine one. 'Why can't you be normal and get the same thing every time? Why do you have to be difficult and change each time we come in? Oh, where's the eggs?'

The last part was directed at Joe. 'Aisle three,' he lied. The justification for the response seemed reasonable enough: they'd head down aisle three, find a few items they weren't intending to buy, still buy the eggs, and leave with a larger purchase. He was just helping the store out. Doing his bit. All that crap.

'I just don't care what I get,' said the slightly more masculine one.

'But there are brands for a reason. So we know which one to buy.'

The voices faded down the aisle, away from Joe. He gave them a good look and realised that perhaps the genders were wrong: it was the slightly more feminine one that didn't care about what she bought. Or was it the masculine one after all?

'Joe,' nodded The Tank as he determinedly raced past the aisle with a full cage of pet food. His name was derived from the fact the he, well, looked like a tank. Do I have to draw you a picture? Maybe I should. I'm pretty good, you know.

I really think I've captured his eyes exquisitely.

Figure 1-1: The Tank

Despite his massive muscular bulk, he still groaned as he pushed the heavy cage.

'Orgasm?' said Joe, quietly.

'Come on,' shouted The Tank.

'Yep, definitely orgasm,' mused Joe.

A few moments later a massive mop of blonde hair rushed by. Under the mop ran the perspiring body of the noob. What was his name? It doesn't matter.

They zoomed around the bend, almost tipping the heavy cage, and shot down the next aisle, past a customer, around another, until sliding to a stop. I don't know about you, but I pictured all that like some poorly dubbed anime, with lots of straight lines on a single-coloured background to simulate speed.

The second customer gave them a dirty look. The Tank stared back.

'Aren't we closed yet?' he boomed.

The noob checked his wrist, exposing a strange silver object with moving parts and all manner of complexity.

'It is three minutes to nine,' he said, with an expectant look on his face.

'Three minutes,' repeated The Tank. 'We have to wait three minutes for this place to close and for these idiots to urinate off?'

The second customer again gave him a dirty look, followed closely by a narrowing of the eyes.

'Take a picture,' said The Tank. 'It'd last longer.' He laughed at his own joke in the way that people who aren't funny always do.

The noob smiled politely at this attempted witticism while he picked up the next carton – a small box filled with smaller packets, prepared for the smallest cats. He looked over at The Tank who was carrying four bags of eight kilogram dog food, two in each hand, and flinging them with force into their respective spots. The noob filled as fast as he could. Which wasn't very fast at all. Then his arm shot out involuntarily, as if a jolt of electricity had pulsed against his muscles*, forcing him to knock over some delicate packets of adjacent cat food.

*The use of the term muscles is purely indicative and is not intended to give an implication of actual muscle mass.

He looked down at his wrist, which had become strangely hotter.

'What are you doing?'

The noob quickly grabbed the next carton on the cage.

'That one doesn't go in this aisle,' boomed The Tank authoritatively.

The noob stopped dead and turned around with a fearful expression of fear. He looked down at the box, up to The Tank, down to the box, took one step toward the nearer end of the aisle, then one step back to the cage, then one step toward the other end of the aisle, from which he added a couple more steps.

'No,' said The Tank. 'Leave it till the end. It'll be faster.'

The noob did as instructed. It was hard not to.

A pair of glasses attached to a middle-aged customer approached the noob. The Tank could hear the question and edged closer, knowing he'd have to intervene.

The noob gave The Tank a quick glance, then back to the customer, then to The Tank.

'Oh, umm, The Tank, where do we keep the eggs? Is it aisle four?'

The customer huffed and puffed and mentioned something about how scattered everything was and how he should just go up the street to the competitor, that it was closer anyway, that it had much more variety at much more reasonable prices.

'Aisle three,' lied The Tank, with a smile.

The customer turned indignantly and strutted away.

'Sorry...er The Tank, I thought they were in aisle four.'

'They are,' said The Tank.

The noob looked questioningly at the big man.

'He was bein' rude. Now, back to work. We gotta make up time after that door-handle made us lose it. We gotta move faster.'

As before, the noob did as instructed. As before, it was hard not to.

'So, do you read much...err The Tank?' he asked.

'Do I read?'

'Yes, ess-eff for instance. I was just getting through The Forever War and-'

'Know what else is faster, noob? Not talking.'

'Right, yes,' said the noob.

A warped figure slid past the pet food aisle, its tentacles splaying at all angles. A few shuffles later it had stopped at the back-end of the health & beauty aisle.

Joe was busily engaged in a brand new activity: opening a carton, placing the contents on the shelf, crushing the carton, opening a carton,... You get the point.

A few place/crush/open's later and the ugly, pimply, massive-headed troll was somehow managing to move its own bodyweight up the aisle. 'Joe!' it squeaked, red eyes bulging, chest heaving.

Joe kept working, waiting for fate's humour to bite. The panting beast approached him slowly. He was up against the shelf, resting a carton on his leg, as the green oily skin of the Duty Manager pressed up close.

'That's getting a bit long,' she snarled, brushing his facial hair.

Joe shivered.

'What, you don't think I'm sexy?' he said.

'It's not that,' spoketh the beast, its green face tinged with red. 'All team members are representatives of the company at all times, and must uphold a clean, professional appearance.

'So you do think I'm sexy,' said Joe.

'No. Why do you keep saying-'

'No? You're really giving me mixed signals here.'

'Look, just shave the beard, OK?'

'And I thought you loved me,' pouted Joe.

The Duty Manager's expression changed. 'Now, I want you to stop whatever it is you're doing, since that's clearly not as important as what I'm going to get you to do. The milk front-end is currently empty. Empty! Panic. Panic. Think of all the lost sales.'

'But it's, I dunno, one minute till we clos-'

'You need to fill the milk!'

'What about James? He can tell me what needs to be-'

'I don't care what the nightfill manager says. I'm the store manager-'

'Duty Manager,' whispered Joe.

'-so you'll go fill the milk. Now!'

With that the Duty Manager lumbered away, slumping back to the deep depths of her horrible lair, back to the dark embrace of her encasing abode, where happiness and brightness and cute little butterflies feared to spend even a sunny afternoon.

Joe moped his way to the milk front-end. It was practically full. He tilted his head to one side, then to the other, like a puppy dog that's unsure how to handle a new problem.

'Well shucks, it looks as if our beloved Duty Manager has erred on the side of caution in her appraisal of the milk situation,' he said. It may have been pronounced a little differently, with a few words removed, and a certain few added, but that was the general gist.

He heard a voice and turned. His eyes locked in on Ursula. He stared at her body, which wasn't too fat and wasn't too thin. He stared at her face, which wasn't too ugly and wasn't too attractive. He didn't really focus on her hair which was clearly her best physical attribute.

She was completely unaware of his attention, scanning two packets of Tim Tams, a six pack of in-store baked rolls, Fab laundry detergent, a pack of Tena incontinence pads, the latest issue of People magazine,...

'I only came in here for bread,' laughed the customer.

Ursula turned to give a relaxed half-smile, showing just enough interest in the senile ramblings of the old man.

'So err,' started the customer, bending down a little to give his ageing eyes a chance at reading the name badge. 'Err, Ursula, I don't believe I've ever had you.'

Ursula looked up, startled. 'Sorry?'

'I say,' said the old customer, raising his voice, 'I don't believe I've ever had you before. It's always that delightful Kelly girl. She always smiles. Do you like smiling at customers, Ursula?'

'Do I like smiling at customers?' She knew what he meant. She didn't like what he meant.

'Gosh, you really shouldn't be hard of hearing at your age, grumble grumble. I remember when I was younger, I'd be able to hear people talking thirty, forty yards away. Whispering even. Grumble. I had a good business going, charging my school chums threepence each to listen in on others, let 'em know who they were talking about. The girls loved that, let me tell you. You know how they're always spreading vicious rumours. Girls, I mean. Of course you know, grumble grumble.'

'I don't go to school any more,' said Ursula, as she handed the old man his change.

'Ey? No school? What are you, some truant? A miscreant at that? Ey?'

'I've finished school.'

Anger is like a mud pit. You sink slowly into it until you find you can't get out. Then you flail and flail and nothing really happens.

'No need to get uppity, girl,' said the old man.

'Girl!?' shrieked Ursula.

'Goodness, you do have a temper on you, don't you? I suppose some men would like that. Not for me, though. I much prefer that delightful Kelly girl.'

'Oh for fu-'

'We're just closing now sir, if you'd like to make your way,' interrupted Joe.

'Oh, uh, yes, right,' said the old man, nodding politely, quickly waddling off.

Ursula bit her bottom lip. 'Thanks,' she said.

'It's OK,' said Joe, looking down and around at his feet.

'So how you been?' she said.

'Alright. You know. You?'

'Not bad. I ended up watching that Monty Python thing. I'll give it back to you-'

'No, it's OK. You can keep it.'

'No, I want to return it. You really like it and-'

'What did you think?' asked Joe.

'Of the movie, or about...?'

He gave a little smile. 'Yeah, the movie. I know what you think about that.'

'Sorry. It was OK. I could see how it was your humour.'

'What does that mean?'

She shook her head, dismissing the topic.

'So how's-' '-should really go.'

'Oh,' she said. 'Sure.'

'I'm really busy. And James will be on the lookout for me.'

She only had time to let out an 'OK, well,' before he was gone, racing away with his cage.

Ursula changed lips, giving the top a bite.

When Joe returned to the health & beauty aisle, The Tank was marshalling his subordinate, directing the blonde mop of hair where to fill and how to do it faster.

'Onto another cage already?' said Joe. 'I've finally got some competition.'

'Yeah, right!' said The Tank. 'I'm faster than you'll ever be.'

'In bed, maybe,' said Joe, knowing you didn't have to be particularly funny to make The Tank laugh.

It worked. He laughed.

Joe moved a little quicker, realising he'd started a faux competition. Soon they were criss-crossing paths, pirouetting around each other, dancing their way to filling perfection.

The Tank bent down to pull out some shelf-friendly packaging just as Joe knelt by his side.

'Watch out for my arse,' said The Tank.

'Oh, I'm always doing that. Just don't fart.'

The Tank's expression tightened as he strained and pushed and tried but was ultimately unsuccessful.

Joe ignored him and said, 'Hey, is that what you were doing earlier when you walked past? It wasn't an actual orgasm but a bum orgasm?' He may have used a different word near the end, there.

The Tank laughed. 'Bum orgasm!'

'Or would that be a fart?' said Joe. 'All this time and I didn't know what farts really were.'

'Well, it does feel good coming out,' said The Tank.

'Hmm, probably too much information.'

The noob said 'Buzzzzz,' or something less interesting.

Joe picked up another carton and continued filling quickly, brightly, happily.

A whistling sound grew louder until it turned and came running up the aisle, panting and smiling like a schoolboy. Ridley, the owner of the whistle, shoved his phone in Joe's face.

'She's completely topless,' said Joe's wide opened mouth.

'I know.'

'But didn't you ask for a cleavage shot?'

'Yep.'

'Hmm,' said Joe, 'so we know three things. One, she's stupid. Two, she has nice small-stocky-woodland-birds. And three, she likes to get them out.'

'Not a bad combination,' said Ridley, who went straight into typing another message.

Joe got back to his own work. He unwrapped the plastic around three packets of glow in the dark condoms and looked over at The Tank. 'Hey, didn't you say you wanted these?'

'What? Oh yeah! They'd be so making-love hilarious! Turn the light out and run around the bed.'

'But you wouldn't really see anything in your case, so probably no point,' said Joe.

'Pfft, you can talk.'

'Been looking at my male-domestic-fowl again? It's rude to stare, you know.'

'Least he's got girls looking at his.'

The last bit was said by Ridley, who'd barged his way back into the conversation.

'Right,' said Joe, quietly. That one cut. Deep. He sniffed and kept filling.

'What's your problem?' said Ridley.

'Nothing,' said Joe. 'What's yours?'

'You're the one that's acting weird. Oh, I was gonna ask: are you actually hooking up with-'

The noob gave a screech and flung something against the aisle. He stepped back and rubbed his wrist while the others stood still and stared.

Ridley was the first to react with a laugh. 'What ahhhhh....what are you doing there, noob?' he said.

Joe walked over and looked closer at the watch, now on a shelf, embedded with the pregnancy tests. 'Hmm, I don't think that goes there, noob,' he said.

'It...got hot,' said the noob with a slight tail inflection.

Ridley stood behind them both. 'Who wears a watch these days?' he said.

'I...I received it from my grandfather after he passed away. To be frank, his demise is still a mystery. One day he was out visiting a friend of his when he just disappeared. The friend's granddaughter went missing around the same time.'

'Your grandfather liked the younger ones, then?' said Joe.

'No, it wasn't like that,' said the noob. 'They both really did disappear.'

'Sad, sad,' said Ridley. 'But seriously, who wears a watch these days?'

The noob didn't know how to answer but it didn't matter since Ridley had taken it upon himself to reach in and-

'Argh!' he said, rubbing his sore fingers. 'Consensual-sex, that hurt!'

'Weak,' said The Tank. 'Let me show you how it's done, Rids.'

He did the same thing and said the same thing, give or take a making-love, with the same result: the smell of lightly burnt skin.

They all looked at Joe.

'I'm not doing it. Pretty clear it's way too hot to touch.' He quickly added: 'That'swhatshesaid.'

'It's so weird,' said the noob, raising his voice to almost normal levels.

'Also, unfortunately, what she said,' sighed Joe.

The Tank gave a little chuckle which only Joe received.

'Guys...' said the noob

dinnnng.

ding

Ding

Ridley checked his phone.

Joe said, 'I always found it funny how the pregnancy tests were right next to the condoms, as if they were taunting you: “You could have avoided this problem if you had bought some of these condoms before”...that kind of thing.'

'Unless you were stupid and were actually trying to get pregnant,' dismissed Ridley, who was walking away, typing another message out.

'Huh,' said Joe.

'Guys...' said the noob. 'Don't you find this incredible? What could be causing the watch to become so heated?'

'Superheated,' said The Tank, who must have heard the word at some point in his life and was eager to use it at the first possible moment, even if the usage was incorrect.

That part in fuscia could prompt a “That's what she said” comment too, but I need to learn to leave some of my funny lines for others.

Hehe, fuchsia.

Joe peeled away and went back to filling. He was expressionless and seemed contemplative.

'Joe?' said the noob. 'Isn't this intriguing?'

'I'm sure it is, but we've got work to do,' said Joe.

'Ahh, good point,' said The Tank, following Joe's lead. 'Come on, noob.'

'But-'

'Come on!'

'Still orgasming?' said Joe.

The Tank laughed. 'All the time, mate,' he boomed and picked up a carton, restarting the filling race.

Joe smiled long enough to be seen, and then went expressionless once more. His mind ticked over, contemplating evolution and birds, and then about his own position hiding out at the bottom of the pecking order.

The noob slowly walked back to the cage, dumbfounded. He glanced back at the watch before reluctantly picking up another carton to fill.