Phantom Syndrome
“I can help you right over here sir,” says a young man brandishing
a name tag titled “Telly”.
A middle aged man, balding slightly and protruding horizontally around the
waist, steers his cart towards lane 12, where Telly is confined uncomfortably.
He begins to remove items from his offensively red cart in a specific order.
He creates an invisible partition between two piles on the checkout counter.
“This stuff is mine,” he states pointing to the front clutter
of miscellaneous items; a pair of size 38x32 jeans, a shirt with some ridiculous
saying, Old Spice deodorant, a Led Zeppelin CD and socks, “and the rest
is my wife’s. It makes it easier to unload if they’re separate.”
Telly nods, removes plastic restraints from cotton victims, scans and places
the man’s wares in his bag, then promptly does the same to the man’s
wife’s pile of goods. He hits the total button and with as little strength
as possible spews out the total, “Sixty-three eighty-eight.”
The man hands Telly a store credit slip from a returned purchase. Telly scans
the slip and the difference appears on the screen. The credit card machine
viciously eats the man’s plastic card and beeps. He signs, and just
as quickly as the machine ate his credit it spits it out. Telly hands the
man his receipt and gives him a monotonous farewell line. The man nods, grabs
his bags and makes his way towards the door. Telly turns back to his register
only to see an hundred and fifty year old lady with 3 carts of “sale
items” and a fistful of coupons making her way towards his lane.
“I hope she dies before she makes it here,” Telly mumbles under
his breath.
* * *
Alan Strutmore throws his keys down on the table in his kitchen and sets his two large bags of recently purchased wares on the floor. Stacked at the far end of the table are two mounds of mail; One pile addressed to Mr. Alan Strutmore and the other, a much larger pile, to Mrs. Emily Strutmore. He begins to unload one of the bags at the close end of the table; deodorant, jeans, a shirt, socks and a cd. He pushes the items to the far end of the table next to the mail and starts in on the next bag. On the edge of the table he places a bottle of Herbal Essence shampoo and a matching bottle of conditioner, Secret deodorant, Tampax Tampons, a Joni Mitchell CD and a bottle of red nail polish. He takes a seat at the end chair and stares at the items lined like suicide victims at the edge of the table. After a moment of blank thoughts, Alan opens one of the empty bags and returns the line of goods at the edge of the table to their place of origin. He then picks up his keys and departs from his house, bag in hand.
* * *
Under a bright sign declaring “Customer Service”, Telly sits
with his head in his hands and his elbows on the counter–Secretary style.
Hearing the rustle of a plastic bag close to his face, Telly raises his head.
There, standing in front of him is the man, who just an hour ago, he had rung
up and placed his and his wife’s items in separate bags.
“How can I help you sir,” Telly said robotically, feigning stupidity.
“I’d like to return these items.”
The man places a bag on the counter. Telly peers inside and sees what he now
knows as the man’s wife’s items. Telly pulls them out one by one
and rings them into the “Return Computer”. After totaling the
items a Store Credit receipt prints out along with a form for the customer
to fill out.
Telly pushes the form towards the man and murmurs, “You need to fill
this out.”
The man picks up a pen and quickly scribbles down his vitals: name, address,
phone number, height, weight, sexual orientation, social security number and
soul. He then slides the paper back to Telly. The man nods and turns away.
“Wait sir, you forgot to fill in the reason for your return,”
Telly hastily blabs.
The man about-faces and hangs his head, looking at his left hand.
“She’s dead.”
The man looks up and Telly stares him in the eyes. The man then turns back
towards the interior of the store and begins walking towards the make-up aisle.
Telly is incredibly confused and begins pondering the man’s situation,
but his thinking is immediately interrupted by the ring of his cell phone.
He pulls it from his pocket and glances at the front screen. It reads “Stella
Cell”. Telly flips it open and says hello.