Left Door, Right Door
by Kat Albrecht
Horrific Scribes Extremity Rating:
The Winton Shortstop has two doors. One for people who are from here and one for people making a terrible mistake.
The door for our regulars is objectively pretty normal-looking, but unless you’ve lived here a while, you’re not going to find it. The other door is glass with a metal handle and a slightly crooked sticker that says ‘PULL.’ It seems like a normal door, too, but if you really looked at it, you’d notice that you can’t see anything through the glass.
But something is on the other side. I should know because every night from 11:00 – 7:00 am, it’s me. My desk sits opposite the doors. I can see who comes in. Locals on the left, everyone else on the right. People around here are very particular, so it’s easier this way.
I’d just gotten comfortable behind the counter and checked my phone, 11:05, when the left door opened. Dave Chambliss, the owner of Dave’s Carpet Emporium, walked into the store. He gave me a terse nod, grabbed a basket and got to work.
Our gas station is the small-town kind, not like the ones you find in the suburbs or off the highway. We don’t have a slushie machine, we don’t have roller hotdogs, and we definitely don’t have public bathrooms. What we do have is more like a grocery store with a curated selection of local favorites. We number the aisles 1-4: 1 for food and beverage, 2 for household products, 3 for expired but still good, and everything else goes to aisle 4.
Dave liked to look around more than most of our regulars, so it would probably be a few hours before he got to the desk. I took out my Spanish workbook while I waited. I’m taking an online class at the community college in the cities; we’re learning the future infinitive.
Ding!
My phone beeped politely to announce that it was 11:45 and time for shelf-stocking. I opened the drawer of my desk to grab the small gold bell. If rung, it was the one sound you could hear from anywhere in the store. I put the bell on the desk next to the little “Please ring for service” sign and was on my way.
My first stop was the storage room to get my cart. Dayshift always filled it up for me. Three shelves, always in the same order. The new stuff for aisles 1 and 2 on top, an empty shelf in the middle for things that expired, and on the bottom shelf, a cardboard box destined for aisle 4. It looked like today would be a big day for English muffins, avocado spread, and hand-held power tools.
I pushed my cart to aisle 1, the closest aisle to the doors, and got to it. Everything expired went in the cart; everything new went in its place on the shelves. Usually, we can guess how much we need of everything, but if one of our regulars goes on vacation or dies, then we end up with a surplus. So, if one thing goes on the shelf, then one thing’s got to come off.
Tonight it was clear that Jimmy Alvarez hadn’t been in for a while; our stock of Pepsi Zero and deli ham looked untouched. I added the Pepsi Zero and deli ham to my cart, replacing it with the English muffins and avocado spread.
Next, I went to aisle 2, which was a little more difficult because I had to figure out what to take off the shelf. Household products don’t expire in the same way as food does, but they do outlive their purpose. I opted for a “Jimmy Alvarez” strategy, pulling his usual order of fishing line off the shelf and adding it to my cart. I placed a power drill and a rotating battery-operated screwdriver in its spot.
Onto aisle 3. Aisle 3 was my favorite because it involved no thinking. As I placed the Pepsi Zero, deli ham, and fishing line onto the shelf, I felt my stomach start to churn.
Aisle 4 was my least favorite part of working here. Nothing bad had ever happened to me on it, but I know that the previous night shift clerk wasn’t so lucky. My boss told me what happened was because she didn’t follow company policy, and that if I did, I would always be safe. I stopped at the far end of the aisle and grabbed the rope.
I used to have to hold onto the rope the whole time, but I innovated a new emergency system last spring. I put a carabiner on it. My boss gave me a 50 cent raise per hour for that one. I clicked the carabiner onto my belt loop, attached the safety chain to my cart and started down the aisle.
Aisle 4 wasn’t like the others, even though it was still lined with industrial shelving and illuminated by bright fluorescent lighting. Aisle 4 was empty, and my job was to take my cargo to a specific location and put it on the shelf. My boss told me never to go beyond there, never to go more than one-third of the way down aisle 4. I made it to the drop-off point and leaned down to grab the box from the bottom shelf of my cart.
I heard a squeak of footsteps behind me, and every hair on the back of my neck stood up. After a long second, I snapped my head to the side and prepared for the worst.
I nearly passed out with relief. It was just Gary.
Gary had been living in the gas station since before I started working here two years ago. He told me once that he’d been on a fishing trip and came in here to buy cigarettes but couldn’t find his way out.
That’s the problem with the door on the right. It only opens inward. So, if you can’t find the door our regulars use, nothing to do but stay in the gas station. My Boss told me that if you’ve lived around here long enough, you’ll find the door. Most people don’t last as long as Gary.
“Hi Gary, I’ve got your stuff I think,” I told him, turning back to my box. It was heavy as shit, so I groaned a little as I wedged it onto the shelf.
“I’m hoping it’s rocks, I’m building a fire pit.” Even through his dried out, barely-a-whisper voice, Gary sounded excited.
“I think you’re in luck.”
I straightened up to leave while Gary descended on his box. I heard the gnashing sounds of what sure sounded like rocks behind me as I closed my eyes and began following my rope.
One hand in front of the other, an even pace, never speeding up, never slowing down, never taking my hands off the rope. The most important thing was to think of nothing. Just one hand in front of the other, one foot in front of the other, my cart rolling along beside me on the safety chain. My fingers touched the wall where the rope was cemented into place, and I opened my eyes. My heartrate returned to normal as I coiled up the rope, unhooked the carabiner, and unfastened my security chain. I was just getting done when I heard a noise. The bell.
Someone was at the desk.
I picked up the pace with my cart, sent it back to the storage room and checked the clock. 1:15, a new re-stocking personal best. I hurried up to the counter to see a man banging the gold bell over and over.
He looked around my age, wearing a football jersey and a Miller Lite hat. I didn’t recognize him.
“Dude, what the hell? I’ve been standing here for like 20 minutes.”
I moved around him to take my position behind the desk. He kept talking, but I wasn’t listening. I focused on ringing up his items, two bags of English muffins, avocado spread, deli ham, and a cotton candy flavored energy drink.
“$13.46.”
He shoved a credit card in my face.
“Oh, and put 10 bucks on pump 2.”
“The pumps are out-of-order.”
“What kind of shit-ass gas station doesn’t sell gas?”
I already knew he wasn’t from here, but his question confirmed it. Everyone knows we aren’t that kind of gas station.
“Nothing I can do about it, sir. They’re out of order.”
He rolled his eyes and called me something under his breath, so I didn’t point out that the ham was expired.
“Where’s the bathroom?” he asked.
“We don’t have a public bathroom.”
“Fuck you man, you know what? I’ll just go piss on your car. Which one is it? The mom van or the roached-out Bronco?”
He laughed like an asshole. I knew it was an empty threat, but him talking about mine and Gary’s cars like that made me mad.
The asshole scooped up his stuff and marched toward the door. The door didn’t open. He slammed his shoulder into it, called me a motherfucker, and tried the door again. It didn’t open.
“What the hell is this?”
And that’s when I did something I’d never done before.
“The exit is in the back, all the way at the end of aisle 4. Keep walking. You can’t miss it.”
I started feeling sick before the words left my mouth, but I couldn’t stop them. Now I felt light-headed, like I was going to throw up. He called me a piece of shit and stomped toward aisle 4.
I wasn’t going to get in trouble or anything, at least not in this lifetime. I rationalized it to myself since some people are okay down there, like Gary. That means it wouldn’t be my fault. Besides, he was an asshole. I thought doing some Spanish homework might be a good distraction, so I got back to it.
The next few hours of my shift were pretty uneventful, and my guilt faded into the back of my mind. A stream of regulars broke up the monotony. Mrs. Chester came in for her weekly bottle of lemon pepper seasoning. My friend Mark came to clear out the Pepsi. He hadn’t even started the Spanish homework yet. And then Miriam and Eleanor, two old ladies who ran a charity breakfast, were thrilled to find the rest of English Muffins and avocado spread.
Even as I chatted with Mark and promised to attend the breakfast tomorrow, I kept an eye on my phone. It was already 4:00, and still no sign of Dave. Dave was a browser, sure, but he didn’t usually take this long. We kept a flare gun and a headlamp in the bottom drawer of the desk for these situations, but I’d never had to use them before.
By 4:30 I was trying not to panic. I thought about calling my Boss, but he told us never to do that. For the first time in my life, I was on the verge of breaking company policy when I heard Dave’s footsteps echoing across the store.
He appeared from aisle 3, swinging a shopping basket and cheerfully humming a little tune.
“You had me worried,” I called out to him as he approached the desk. He put his basket on the counter, and I started scanning.
He had his usual food and his usual drinks. Nothing was out of the ordinary until I saw the drill. It was the handheld power drill I stocked earlier, but the bit was cracked and sticky with dried blood. Dave looked chagrined.
“Sorry, I had a little bit of an incident in aisle 4. He was a real jerk about it, too.”
My brain buzzed so hard I could barely think. My karmic retribution: I would have to go all the way down aisle 4 to clean it up. I was going to die.
“Hey kid, snap out of it, I dragged him out to aisle 3 so he’d be easier to find.”
I exhaled and punched some keys on the cash register to give Dave my 15% percent employee discount.
“That’ll be $42.65.”
“Oh wow, thanks. Here, take my card in case the floor gives you trouble. A good steam cleaning on me.”
The tension left my shoulders; my Boss would love that. We hadn’t steam-cleaned the floors in ages. I took the business card from Dave and handed him his receipt.
“Thanks Dave, we appreciate you.”
Dave took his bags and whistled his way to the left door, pushed it open, and disappeared into the night.
I put the gold bell and my little sign back on the desk and headed to the storage room. I grabbed the rolling mop and an extra bucket before I headed to aisle 3. The asshole was right where Dave said he would be. Dave had gotten pretty creative with the drill, but I managed to get most of him into the bucket. The mopping didn’t go as well since the blood had penetrated the epoxy and seemed welded to our vinyl tile. Good thing Dave left his card.
I leaned the mop against the shelf and carried the bucket to aisle 4. I clipped the carabiner to my belt loop and added the safety chain, too, just in case. I shifted the bucket to my other hand. The guy had to have been at least 6 feet 1. My shoulders would hurt tomorrow. I walked down the aisle as quickly as I could manage until I reached the drop off point.
This time Gary was in plain view, sitting cross-legged on the floor and looking disappointed. His eyes landed on my bucket and a smile broke out across his gaunt face.
“Did you bring him back for me?”
I nodded and gathered all my strength. It took me two tries and an undignified grunt, but I got the bucket on the shelf. I took half a second to catch my breath and then made my way out of aisle 4.
One hand in front of the other, an even pace, never speeding up, never slowing down, never taking my hands off the rope. I managed to clear my mind, but it wasn’t easy over the sounds of Gary starting dinner behind me.
When I finally stepped out of aisle 4, I was almost as cheerful as Dave and Gary. It hadn’t been such a bad thing after all.
By the time I got back to my desk, it was already 6:00. I grabbed a pen to leave a sticky note for dayshift. “A customer had a little accident,” I wrote, “but Dave left his card and offered a free cleaning. Give him a call.” Satisfied, I checked my phone. Just enough time to finish my Spanish before the end of my shift.
Ding!
At 7:00 my phone let me know that my shift was over. Day shift would be here in 15 minutes, but I was always supposed to leave before they got here. I never asked why. I shoved all my stuff into my backpack, pushed in my chair, and headed for the left door.
“See you tomorrow, Gary!” I called out.
I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was always there at the end of my shift, always hoping that today would be the day he’d find the door.