Itty Bitty Stories

Third Times A Car

Third Times A Car

My mother, bless her heart, is sometimes a pain in my ass. She’s getting older now, and can’t do as much as she could. Now that I’m out of college and living with her again, I’m doing most of her chores. Not that I mind, but this certain one is getting on my nerves.

She sends me out to get groceries. Fine with me. But she sends me to a certain store, refusing to let me go to any other one. I know why, too. She said she saw a ‘nice young man around my age that goes by the name of Phil’. Yeah, well, I saw Phil. He’s my age. But doesn’t dress like it. He dresses like my great grandfather, has big clunky glasses, and a bad breathing problem.

But looks don’t matter. I guess my mother has talked to him before (like, a lot) and he noticed me the first time I walked into the store when I first arrived back in town. He literally only talks about different types of cheeses and where they come from. I’ve tried steering him away from the cheese talk, but nope, everything I try talking to him about it ends up being about cheese.

He also stares at my boobs. Way too much. So now, all thanks to my mother, every damn time I walk into that store, Phil is there, waiting for me with an open mouth. And I can’t stand it. He pretty much stalks me through out the store, and by the time I’m checking out, he finally brings up enough nerve to come and talk to me.

So, like any normal human being, I try to get out of the hellhole store as fast as humanly possible.

He works as a cart bringer, or whatever those people are called. He collects the carts around the parking lot that are left unattended, and puts them back in their place. I don’t have the heart to tell him to leave me alone. I’ve seriously debated whether or not I should tell my mother that he died in some freak accident so I don’t have to go back to the store ever again.

Today, I have a large food order, so there’s no way I’m getting out alive by myself. I try to hide when I roll up to the cash register, but he’s there, like a hawk waiting for his prey. With his open mouth and short body, he all but runs over to me. I try to turn around so he doesn’t see me, but nothing ever works. “Hey, Tess.”

I sigh flatly, slowly turning around. “Hi, Phil.”

“Did you go by the cheese department today?”

“No, I didn’t, Phil.”

“Oh.” He pauses to breath in from his mouth. “They have a new selection.”

“That’s lovely, Phil.” I try to send a mental message to my cashier to hurry the hell up, but she’s oblivious to my agony. I’m never choosing this cashier ever again. So I’m stranded by myself here to talk about cheeses with my dear friend Phil.

“There’s a new type of cheddar…I think it has jalapeños…you know, to spice up life…oh, and there‘s a new gouda - ”

I tune out there. I can’t stand one more second of it.