by Melody

When I opened the fridge to find something to eat, it was empty. Just a couple of drops of old Pepsi in a two-liter container and some lunchmeat which looked pretty green. I threw the lunchmeat away in the trash bag and yelled at my 17-year-old son Jeremy to take out the garbage because it was overflowing. "Oh yeah, and watch your little sister Megan!" Megan is my eight-year-old daughter who was playing outside on her bike.

"I'm going to the store to get some food -- be back soon!" I shouted as I grabbed my wallet and jumped into my car. I blew a kiss at Megan who stood in the grass on her pink and sky blue bike, along with a couple of other kids. I drove around the potholes and down the gravel driveway which led to the run down duplexes where we lived in Porterville, a weird dusty town somewhere between Fresno and Bakersfield.

As I drove to SaveMart, the biggest grocery store in Porterville, wishing there was a Safeway, but knowing there wasn't, I remembered that I was flat broke and wasn't getting paid until the next day.

That's okay, I thought as I pulled into the driveway of SaveMart. I'll just write a check!

I grabbed a shopping cart and pushed it down the colorful aisles, smelling the sweet fruits and vegetables in the produce section, trying to figure out what we really needed to last us until I got paid. They always had good produce there at SaveMart. I guess that’s one of the only good things about living in a town such as Porterville. You’re actually surrounded by agriculture and produce.

I grabbed a few grocery items, a large box of Kellog’s corn flakes, a gallon of 2 percent milk in a plastic container, one loaf of wheat bread on sale for 99 cents, turkey ham and processed cheese, one two liter of Pepsi (the “splurge”) a jar of mayonnaise, one small bag of apples and one small bag of oranges. As I stood in the checkout line waiting for the young guy with the crew cut and the blue apron on to feed our groceries through the conveyor belt, I thought – Okay, this will get us by until I get paid tomorrow afternoon.

My groceries jostled and moved about, while I was absorbed in magazines strategically placed at the checkout stand along with rows of candy right within vision range of children who scream to get a candy bar.

Next thing I know, the clean cut young man at the checkout stand said, “That will be $30.55. Did you find everything you need today?”

He smiled a perfect smile with perfect teeth. I realized that I could never picture my son Jeremy working at a place like this. He’d have to cut his hair and quit wearing those tie-dye shirts. I sighed…

“Yes, I’m fine. I’ll write a check for that.”

I pulled out my checkbook, wrote the check out and handed it to the young checkout guy. He punched some buttons on his complicated-looking computer like cash register and slid the check through this little slot.

The bagger, a young-looking girl who also wore a blue apron that said SaveMart on it, had already bagged my groceries and put them into the shopping cart. We were ready to go.

It seemed to take forever, as the checkout guy put the check through three more times. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry. We can’t take this check. It’s been rejected.”

“What?” I asked. “But – but, why? I’ve written checks here plenty of times before!”

The checkout guy shrugged. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. I just don’t know why – the computer says we can’t take your check. Do you have a debit card or cash?”

I could feel my face begin to flush. How could I tell him that I actually didn’t have any money in my checking account, so a debit card wouldn’t work. I had no credit cards or cash on me at all.

I thought about my kids at home and remembered there was no food in the house at all.

“But – but you’ve got to take my check! Let me talk to your manager.”

People were lining up behind me with their grocery carts. None of them looked thrilled that I was holding up the line.

The young, clean-cut checker pulled a phone receiver out and talked into an amplified system. “We need a manager at Checkout Three!”

We stood there for a couple of uncomfortable moments until a beady-eyed, older guy wearing a white shirt and a tie, walked over. “What seems to be the problem?”

“The system won’t take the check,” the checkout guy said.

The beady-eyed manager tried to put the check through a couple more times, and apparently received the same message.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We have a phone number you can call to inquire as to why your check was denied.” He handed me a little piece of paper that said, “Telecheck Systems” on it and gave out a one 800 number. My heart sank. All I wanted was my groceries.

“But, I need these groceries!!! I’ve got to have these groceries!” I swallowed hard. My throat felt parched and my head and stomach ached. “How am I supposed to feed my kids?!”

“I’m sorry ma’am,” said the beady eyed manager. “There’s nothing we can do for you.”

The young girl who had bagged my groceries began to wheel my shopping cart away. I felt this wave of panic and fear rush over me, as if she was taking my child away. “You can’t take those groceries!” I shouted.

By now, people had even gathered around to stare.

The checker and the beady-eyed manager stared at me as if I was some sort of basket case. I could tell they thought I was crazy.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. You’ll have to leave the store. If you don’t…”

I never heard the rest of what the beady eyed manager said. I ran over to the grocery cart and began pushing it out of the store. “I don’t care what you say! I need these groceries! You can shove it where the sun don’t shine!”

I even surprised myself. What was I thinking? What was I doing?

“You can’t take those groceries!” someone shouted. I’m not sure who. I kept walking and pushing the grocery cart until I was accosted by four or five checkers with blue aprons and a couple of guys with white shirts and ties. They grabbed me and took my shopping cart away.

“I need those groceries!” I shouted. Now I was crying. “They’re for my kids! Let me have my groceries!!!!” I pulled away from the checkers and ran towards the grocery cart that this young woman was pushing.

“Okay, ma’am I’m calling the police!”

“I don’t care what you do! I want my groceries!” I shouted. As I pulled away from the store people again feeling dizzy and sick, I saw a police officer with no hair walking into the store – with the blue uniform. He walked towards us.

“Ma’am, you’ll have to leave the store or I’m taking you in.”

I finally walked out of the store, feeling defeated and lost. The afternoon sun was too bright and blazing hot. I could feel hot tears rolling down my face as I stood next to a bunch of shopping carts lined up for people to use, glints of cars of all colors parked in rows in the parking lot.

A lady with a couple of kids walked towards the shopping carts, making it a point to walk around me – afraid to get close to me with her kids.

This is the end, I thought. There is nothing more. I started walking towards my car when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped, thinking perhaps it was the police officer who would take me away to jail. It was a lady with short blonde hair, about my age, with a kind face.

“I just wanted to let you know – I bought your groceries for you. I hope you don’t mind. I saw the commotion…”

“Umm…” I wasn’t sure what to say. “Thank you. But, I can’t go back in there.”

“It’s okay!” said the nice, kind lady. “I’ll go in and get them! Wait here.”

I felt like an idiot as I stood out there in the hot sun. I guess there are some nice people in Porterville after all. In a few moments, the lady walked out with my shopping cart. I could see the large box of corn flakes. It was all there.

“Look, I’ll write you the check – it’ll be good by tomorrow, honest!” I said to the lady.

“No, that’s okay, really.”

I had to write the lady a check. I wasn’t a beggar in the streets – yet. I still had a glimmer of pride left, after all. I had always been able to support the kids on my own. “Here.”

I handed the lady a check and she said thanks.

As I pushed my groceries towards my Toyota Corolla, I saw the police officer walk by. I smiled, and he just stared at me.

Always,

Melody
New email address: melodywrites@comcast.net
http://www.deadjournal.com/users/melodywrites/