Mini-Marts
Adventure in Pickle Land
I hate mini-marts. More then anything in the world. Who wants cashiers leering at you as you attempt to check the disposal dates of products? Especially when those disposal dates are years late? Not I. No no, not I. So what am I doing standing here in a mini-mart? At 2:47 A.M. on a Sunday no less.
Blame it on my brother. He gets these weird cravings. I personally think he is a mutated pregnant transvestite. He gets mad when I call him that, though. Anyway, that is besides the point. Tonight (or should I say this morning?) he asked for some milk drenched pickles. I didn't get it. Do pickles actually absorb the milk?
Anyway, that is besides the point. He asked me to please please please (with a cherry and a fifty on top) to go get him those pickles. Sweet pickles. Nothing but sweet pickles. I refused like any sane person would seeing as our car is in the shop. He hands me another fifty and I'm out the door like a rocket.
So that, my friends, is why I'm standing here like a moron. The old cashier is staring at me as I search for sweet pickles. Nothing but sweet pickles. Might I add it's freezing? But that's besides the point.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Just go. Dude, we need the money," the boy whispered to his companion. The two had been sitting in their car for over a half hour.
"But that girl is still in there. I thought we weren't allowed to have witnesses," the other boy replied. His voice was low as he stared through the glass walls to the girl. She had been standing at the pickle section for what seemed like eternity.
"No sane person spends that much time in a mini-mart. Just kill her."
"....."
"Or not. That's fine with me.."
"Wait, wait, she's heading for the cash register," the second boy grinned. "I'll be back."
"Good luck," the first boy encouraged as his friend slithered from the car.
"Robbery accepted," he spoke before swinging open the glass doors. He whistled as he strolled in, drawing attention from the cashier and the girl. Quickly, he checked to see what had taken the girl so long. 'Sweet pickles. What in the world? The sweet pickles have a whole display,' thought the robber. He shook his head.
"Oh, my. I'm terribly sorry. I've got nothing less then a fifty," the girl suddenly spoke. She couldn't lie and say that telling the cashier that didn't make her feel just a little bit better then him.
"A fifty, you say? Aww, you little punk, this here mart ain't got nuthin higher then fifty!" the cashier cursed. He had seen the gun on the robber. It was better the girls skin then his.
The robber froze. A fifty and nothing higher then a fifty. The girl would be a better rob. Slowly, the boy stepped behind her. She didn't even turn to face him, not even when he set the loaded gun to the back of her head.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now, my friends, I'm sure you're wondering why I'm not even flinching. Well, it's because.. Hold please while I think of a good sane reason.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Hey, little girl, hand me that fifty and any other riches you have on you," the robber spoke, his voice deep and silky.
"Aren't you even going to call the police?!" the girl bellowed at the cashier.
"Oh.. that's right. It's the Alzheimer's," the cashier muttered before hitting 'the big red button'. "They're on their way."
"Hey, are you ignoring me?"
The girl grumbled as the robber spoke to her again. Sighing in distaste, she replied, "Listen, I've got nothing. I was just trying to sound cool."
"Stop trying to stall, moron."
"Don't call me a moron," the girl growled. She whipped around to come face to face with the barrel of a gun. Her eyes met with the robbers and she barely had time to gasp at the depth of those sapphire orbs before she went crashing down.
The robber shook his fist. He never liked punching people. Quickly, he glanced to the unfazed cashier. Then to the register. With a grunt, he grabbed the girl and slung her over his shoulder. Nodding to the cashier he slapped down the 3.50 needed to pay for the sweet pickles.
"Thanks. Her and her damn fifties," the cashier growled as the boy picked the pickle jar up with one hand. They exchanged another nod and the boy dashed to his car. "Another dull night," the cashier growled before flicked the big red Jell-O mold off the register.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At least he took the pickles. Hm, friends, let's point out of the pros and cons of this situation, shall we?
Pros
1. You have to admit.. that boy was cute.
2. I know I'll have something to eat.
3. Adventure adventure!
4. I don't have to walk home.
Cons
1. That little thing called death.
Hm, what do you think, my friends? Four against one.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"What the hell?! What were you thinking in there?! And why did you bring the girl? Oh, sweet pickles! My favorite!" the robbers accomplish shouted at his friend as he got into the car.
"She has fifties," the robber replied as though that were a good enough answer. 'Now, drive before that cashier gets a conscience."
"Remind me to beat you when we get back," cursed the driver before speeding out of the parking lot.
The robber then removed his mask, letting tendrils of dark brown fall all around. He slung the mask behind him before moving the girl around until he was comfortable. A little moan from the girl assured him she wouldn't be caring about her position for quite some time. The girls head then lolled forward, revealing the back of her hair. The robber played around with those silken strands of honey dew before commenting gruffly, "Look, Duo, she stole your braids."
"That damn bitch."
Adventure in Pickle Land
I hate mini-marts. More then anything in the world. Who wants cashiers leering at you as you attempt to check the disposal dates of products? Especially when those disposal dates are years late? Not I. No no, not I. So what am I doing standing here in a mini-mart? At 2:47 A.M. on a Sunday no less.
Blame it on my brother. He gets these weird cravings. I personally think he is a mutated pregnant transvestite. He gets mad when I call him that, though. Anyway, that is besides the point. Tonight (or should I say this morning?) he asked for some milk drenched pickles. I didn't get it. Do pickles actually absorb the milk?
Anyway, that is besides the point. He asked me to please please please (with a cherry and a fifty on top) to go get him those pickles. Sweet pickles. Nothing but sweet pickles. I refused like any sane person would seeing as our car is in the shop. He hands me another fifty and I'm out the door like a rocket.
So that, my friends, is why I'm standing here like a moron. The old cashier is staring at me as I search for sweet pickles. Nothing but sweet pickles. Might I add it's freezing? But that's besides the point.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Just go. Dude, we need the money," the boy whispered to his companion. The two had been sitting in their car for over a half hour.
"But that girl is still in there. I thought we weren't allowed to have witnesses," the other boy replied. His voice was low as he stared through the glass walls to the girl. She had been standing at the pickle section for what seemed like eternity.
"No sane person spends that much time in a mini-mart. Just kill her."
"....."
"Or not. That's fine with me.."
"Wait, wait, she's heading for the cash register," the second boy grinned. "I'll be back."
"Good luck," the first boy encouraged as his friend slithered from the car.
"Robbery accepted," he spoke before swinging open the glass doors. He whistled as he strolled in, drawing attention from the cashier and the girl. Quickly, he checked to see what had taken the girl so long. 'Sweet pickles. What in the world? The sweet pickles have a whole display,' thought the robber. He shook his head.
"Oh, my. I'm terribly sorry. I've got nothing less then a fifty," the girl suddenly spoke. She couldn't lie and say that telling the cashier that didn't make her feel just a little bit better then him.
"A fifty, you say? Aww, you little punk, this here mart ain't got nuthin higher then fifty!" the cashier cursed. He had seen the gun on the robber. It was better the girls skin then his.
The robber froze. A fifty and nothing higher then a fifty. The girl would be a better rob. Slowly, the boy stepped behind her. She didn't even turn to face him, not even when he set the loaded gun to the back of her head.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now, my friends, I'm sure you're wondering why I'm not even flinching. Well, it's because.. Hold please while I think of a good sane reason.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Hey, little girl, hand me that fifty and any other riches you have on you," the robber spoke, his voice deep and silky.
"Aren't you even going to call the police?!" the girl bellowed at the cashier.
"Oh.. that's right. It's the Alzheimer's," the cashier muttered before hitting 'the big red button'. "They're on their way."
"Hey, are you ignoring me?"
The girl grumbled as the robber spoke to her again. Sighing in distaste, she replied, "Listen, I've got nothing. I was just trying to sound cool."
"Stop trying to stall, moron."
"Don't call me a moron," the girl growled. She whipped around to come face to face with the barrel of a gun. Her eyes met with the robbers and she barely had time to gasp at the depth of those sapphire orbs before she went crashing down.
The robber shook his fist. He never liked punching people. Quickly, he glanced to the unfazed cashier. Then to the register. With a grunt, he grabbed the girl and slung her over his shoulder. Nodding to the cashier he slapped down the 3.50 needed to pay for the sweet pickles.
"Thanks. Her and her damn fifties," the cashier growled as the boy picked the pickle jar up with one hand. They exchanged another nod and the boy dashed to his car. "Another dull night," the cashier growled before flicked the big red Jell-O mold off the register.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At least he took the pickles. Hm, friends, let's point out of the pros and cons of this situation, shall we?
Pros
1. You have to admit.. that boy was cute.
2. I know I'll have something to eat.
3. Adventure adventure!
4. I don't have to walk home.
Cons
1. That little thing called death.
Hm, what do you think, my friends? Four against one.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"What the hell?! What were you thinking in there?! And why did you bring the girl? Oh, sweet pickles! My favorite!" the robbers accomplish shouted at his friend as he got into the car.
"She has fifties," the robber replied as though that were a good enough answer. 'Now, drive before that cashier gets a conscience."
"Remind me to beat you when we get back," cursed the driver before speeding out of the parking lot.
The robber then removed his mask, letting tendrils of dark brown fall all around. He slung the mask behind him before moving the girl around until he was comfortable. A little moan from the girl assured him she wouldn't be caring about her position for quite some time. The girls head then lolled forward, revealing the back of her hair. The robber played around with those silken strands of honey dew before commenting gruffly, "Look, Duo, she stole your braids."
"That damn bitch."