Rambler #6: Helen

To the best of my recollection, the following is a true story from my days working at an unnamed bookstore….

Register duty from 4-6 on a weekday is the worst. The afternoon shoplifter is gone so I’m bored. Technically, I’m not supposed to read; I’m supposed to straighten. But I’m done with that so I’m sneaking pages from the latest Grisholm bestseller and scanning for my boss.

Then she shows up. Let’s call her Helen.

Helen plops a book on the counter and ripples run from her arms down out of sight and threaten alerting the local seismic activity center. Her black sweat suit was quite probably from a spray can. Trying not to stare was futile; a car wreck to be sure.

Helen says nothing. Instead, she shifts. Her left foot, unable to withstand the onslaught from above, urges the weight, with monumental effort that comes in times of great duress, off onto the trembling right foot.

This high-stakes game of seesaw makes Helen look like a warning buoy near some dangerous shoals (a large warning buoy covered in black spray paint).

Helen’s eyes shot wildly about. Her brain is unable to focus anywhere longer than the moment it takes to receive the impulse and fire a response to move on. Receive-fire-receive-fire.

I’m still thinking about the afternoon shoplifter, and Helen’s frenetic action could easily be considered suspicious. But I’m totally confident Helen is incapable shoplifting. She cannot focus on a single item long enough to decide if it’s worth the risk of lifting before her brain fires and she moves on to the next item. [Ooh, a cd…ooh, a calendar… ooh chocolate]. It’s a wonder she’s buying anything. Her brain’s synapses are firing at blazing speeds, yet neither considering nor meditating on what is being fired at or the consequences of that firing.

Her brain pauses on a tin of breath mints, an impulse buy. If ever an impulse buyer existed, Helen is one. She grabs the mints and shakes them hard — up, down, up, down — real fast. She sets them back in their place. The synapse has fired.

“$19.85 is your total tonight,” I say.

“Ssssshhhhh!,” she leans in close and continues in a fierce whisper, casting a fearful glance toward a man nearby. He stood with his back to us, oblivious.

The hissing continues. “Don’t let him hear; he’ll have a cow!” Helen even used one hand to cover up her mouth when she said "cow".

I nod. I’m a little nervous now. “you have a great night ma’am”.

Snatching the receipt, Helen wedged it into one of her pants pockets. So it’s not just paint after all, I thought.

Helen need not worry that her husband will ever find that receipt. The great pressing outward against the threads of cloth will forever grip the receipt. She need only to avoid removing her pants and her secret will forever remain kept; Dr. Atkins help us all.