The Queen of the Supermarket

Curd lay in bed wondering if he had just dreamt about her. His rubbed his left arm gently – it was still asleep – and tried to recall why the rest of him had awoken with a start. He looked at his watch, and let out a sharp yelp. It was six and the joggers would soon be in. Ah well, he’d dream about her again and he was almost certain it’d be the same dream. If only he remembered his dreams, he’d know for sure.

He folded his bed sheet, flattened it out and put it back on the display shelf. A little toothpaste on his fore-finger and phoos-phoos of the tester deodorant and he was all set. The system was booted and that annoying Springsteen song kicked in just as the first customer jogged into his shop.

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Curd was born, fittingly enough, in the neighbourhood gym. Mommy was in the sauna when her water broke. She didn’t even notice it. They both got free lifetime memberships to the gym, which pissed Mom off because she knew she’d never go now that she wasn’t paying for it.

When Curd was sixteen, he got the job at the supermarket. For two weeks he hated it: the long hours, the shitty pay, the saxophone record that the agency said would boost customer loyalty, up employee morale and appeal to the middle-aged horny housewife demographic. He was paid in Fruit n’ Nuts and had to smile quite a lot and all the aunties called him ‘Deekra’.

And then she joined.

Ulka was hired to woman the Cosmetics aisle. Towards the end of her first day on the job she pocketed nine bottles of sun-block, slipped some money into the cash register and went home. The next morning, she was given a joining bonus and a new uniform.

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Curd knew things were going wonky when he started saying things like “DinDins? Oh groovy that’d be so like fabuloso hehehe.” when asked if he’d like to order pizza. He’d insist on paying, of course, and would end up tipping the delivery guy in chewing gum. Pizzas were expensive and Ulka was… um, a large girl.

It wasn’t like he was being taken advantage of. Curd was, like all men, his own man. He was being chivalrous, that’s all. It was an investment towards a happier future for them both – a future that involved a house with a lawn, a red Japanese car and a low-carb diet. Curd would come back home from work to a hot meal and a foot massage. He’d sink into bed, and give her the look. She’d toss back her hair, lean in real close and whisper gently in his ear –

“You fucking idiot! This isn’t pepperoni. I know I didn’t write it down this time, but surely you can’t be that stupid.”

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It was tough, this unrequited love thing. One day Curd just decided not to go home. The shop was comfortable enough. He slept in Aisle 2 because it smelt like her. He’d write her little notes on the floor with hand lotion, but would always wipe it off before she came in. (He now had really soft hands, if only she’d bother to check.) Some days he offered to run her shift while she went to the movies or the beach. He rehearsed his lines long after he had said them, and would inevitably come up with the perfect joke or witty retort by the third attempt.

So Ulka had a short fuse. That’s not a deal-breaker, is it? Curd had his flaws too – his second toe, for instance, was longer than his first. Why do you think he wore socks with his floaters?

She swore a lot for one so pretty. She said she had once eaten peacock, and he didn’t know if it was a joke. He laughed anyway, but that just got her mad.

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On Saturday, two weeks after she was recruited, Ulka was asked to leave. She seemed genuinely pleased to be fired. She threw a pressure cooker at Curd on her way out and blew him a mocking kiss. It was the first time he had seen her smile and it made him smile too.

 

Bruce Springsteen – The Queen of the Supermarket [mp3]

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