Supermarket Sleeper
Author: Bkwmkiwi
Disclaimer: No one is going to want to sue my story, it's not good enough.
Ignoring the announcement over the speakers, House grabbed an extra bottle of milk. He seemed to go through the stuff like wildfire.
The queue seemed never-ending. Laden down with a few necessities, including his milk, and spare batteries, House was keen to get home.
House looked to the front of the line and saw a brown haired woman, who was cheerfully talking to the man she was serving, while slowly making her way through his items.
House leant heavily on his cane and shut his eyes as a wave of pain surged through his leg. Not thinking twice, he reached for his Vicodin. A lady behind him in the queue jostled him slightly, and as he was swallowing it, he inhaled sharply, causing him to breathe in the pill.
Coughing madly, House opened his milk and took a few mouthfuls in.
"Oi!"
The young woman at the checkout, who House saw was called 'Kate', had flung her arm out at him in protest. House ignored her, and continued drinking until he was sure his throat was working normally again. Kate had gone back to scanning items for the customer two in front of House, but went about it much more quickly than she had before.
"Checking the price of 'Sun Risen' Bread," Kate said into the microphone. Her words sparked memory in House.
"Damn," he muttered. "Forgot the bread."
The woman who had jostled him gave him a reproachful glare.
"What?" House said, before edging his way out of the queue. "Is 'damn' a bad word?"
Grumbling as he saw the amount of people who had queued up behind him, he made his way quickly to the row of shelves which held a few bread loaves. Most were gone, as it was nearing closing time.
Another announcement came through over the speakers, but House was too busy searching for his bread to pay attention to it.
"Aha!" he cried, finally finding the last loaf of bread in the brand he wanted.
Before House could turn around, he found himself in complete blackness.
"What the hell?"
House felt his way around, trying to find a place where a light switch might be.
"Ow!"
He had crashed into a shopping trolley full of large cans, which House remembered as being those of Baked Beans.
"Which aisle was it?" House thought out loud. "3…4…damn it, which aisle?"
House stumbled against a shelf, and brought a large box of something crashing to the floor.
Swearing softly, he left the box and its contents, and tried to walk away but tripped over one of the objects on the floor. Picking it up, he realised it was a torch. House fumbled for the batteries he was going to buy.
Feeling to find the convex piece of metal on each battery, he hoped he had put them in the right way.
Flicking the switch, light seemed to flood the shop, but in reality, had lit up half his aisle.
"Aisle 7?" House queried to himself, looking up and seeing the aisle number on the sign hanging above him.
House settled himself down, leaning against a shelf stacked with white flour. He silently thanked that this was not a weekend, when they close at 5, but a busy weekday, and the time was closer to 11:30.
However, House hadn't eaten since his lunch break, and was beginning to get very hungry.
He began to search through the shelves for something easily opened and eaten, before looking down at the bread in his hands.
"Well, I can't eat it plain," House shrugged, heading over to the cold section.
He examined the contents of each fridge with the torch light, before slowly moving onto the next, until he found what he was looking for.
With no knife handy, House resolved to try to spread the butter with his fingers.
"Yuck," he muttered, licking the excess butter off his forefinger.
House ate the bread slowly, considering what he would do for the night. He needed to sleep somewhere; he was getting tired. And he was bored.
Finishing the bread and butter, he grabbed his cane and stood up. House decided to wonder around a bit.
House strolled into the cereal section, browsing through the selections.
"How do people do this?" House growled, and started looking around for something that might be comfortable to sleep on.
Finally spotting a wooden chair, House limped over to it. It was hardly the most comfortable bed, but House was tired, and it would do.
"Excuse me, sir!"
House woke to a furious man's yelling. He was accompanied by two younger looking boys, both about a head taller than the man who was talking to House, one with a face of freckles, and the other with bad acne.
Opening his eyes slowly, he looked around groggily.
"Didn't order a wake up call," House said, leaning back in his chair, only to recoil as the back of the chair made contact with his spine, which was aching. Instead, House stood up stiffly, and tried to stretch his arms, which were quite tender.
"What the hell are you doing here?" the man burst. He was wearing a tag, which read 'Jack Doyle. Manager'. House assumed he was the manager.
"Shopping?" House tried. The manager glared at him.
"Sleeping," House stated. It was the truth, after all.
"And why," the manager started, his voice dangerously quiet, "are you sleeping in my store?"
"Why was I sleeping," House corrected. "Past tense."
House watched as the manager looked like he was straining a muscle in his neck.
"Why were you sleeping in my store?" the manager repeated.
"Well, some idiot," House said, "managed to lock me in last night."
Freckles looked away. Acne asked eagerly, "You're not hungry, are you, sir?"
"Hungry?" House asked, raising his eyebrows. "Look around."
He did so. Seeing the shelves of food, he withdrew his statement.
"You ate my food?" the manager asked, outraged.
"I was hungry."
"I hope you're paying for any items you've taken or used," the manager said, in a calmer voice.
"And I hope you'll join me in court when I tell them that you locked me in your store," House said, trying to imitate the man's tone.
The manager went slightly red, and mumbled something.
"Sorry, didn't catch that," said House pleasantly.
Instead of replying, the manager turned to the two boys.
"Who locked up last night?" he roared.
"Wasn't me, sir, I left before closing time," Acne said in his defence.
"I might've…" Freckles started.
"Jacob, it's really not good enough," the manager scolded him. "I told you that you need to put through at least two announcements before closing time."
Jacob indignantly opened his mouth, but so did the manager.
"I'm very sorry, sir, we, uh…we apologise profusely."
House considered telling them that Freckles had announced closing time twice, but thought he was better off not saying anything.
"S'all right, no harm done," House said gruffly, wanting to head home. He tried to smile at the three males, but it came out more of a grimace.
As House walked away, he heard the manager yelling at the poor freckled boy.
"Jacob, how many times have I told you, at least twice!"
"I did! I did it twice, I swear!"
"Obviously not, does he look the sort of person who would not hear things?"
House gave a guilty kind of grin, before he took off.
Halfway to his car in the almost empty parking lot, he realised he was missing something.
"Damn, forgot the bread."