Closing Time

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Around eight-thirty was the time I went to the supermarket and had the worst night of my life. I didn't mean to go so late, nor spend so much time in the store, but the simple matter was that I had already had such a bad day at work and, coupled with the stress that it was a long day, it was not adding up to much good.

First, I should tell you a bit about myself. I am in my thirties, not much to look at, blond hair, stubble. I work as a technician, which is more interesting than it sounds. The benefit of this job is that it is very friendly and casual, and mostly everyone knows each other. But the downside, unfortunately, is such long hours. The boss keeps us in the office until something goes wrong, then we are called on to fix it. I suppose this job has kept me more up to date with computers and my personal laptop at home. But there are, I suppose, there are still some things we will never know, even in the end - and I have had my fair share of experience with those now.

Like I said, the downside of the job was that it only let me out at around six-thirty in the evening, and until then it had sounded too good to be true - casual dress, double pay and smoking tolerant. But everything has its downside.

The result, anyway, was that I got home at about seven-thirty, and then spent a good half hour ruffling through my cupboards and pantries. Finding that there was nothing to eat apart from a fridge full of beer (and beer is not a food, is it?) I realized that there was nothing else I could do- I had to go down to the supermarket. The bad thing was that it closed at nine thirty sharp, and they did their best to push you on your way. But it was only five items I needed, and I could deal with them in like five minutes.

It was as soon as I went into the store twenty minutes later that things took a turn for the worse. It was almost pitch black outside. This night looked worse than ever due to the lack of moonlight, and all the street lamps were on, but they had a dark, eerie feeling. I couldn't stop shivering as I crossed the threshold - and it seemed like I was crossing over into Limbo or somewhere. The temperature immediately dropped.

It was back then I remembered that awful July where the store was closed because of vandals and we all had to use the other, ridiculously overpriced store across the street, which ate into my wages.

The store was normal, despite the feeling I got at the door. The people were normal too, some last-minute shoppers, some dejected-looking staff, the usual.

I went up through the aisles, hurrying past the meat section - oh yes, I remembered now. The "vandals" had actually been protesters about the high amount of unethical meat the store had held. The meat had been taken from animals which had been mutilated and - OK, you don't want to know. You never do. But that is a lesson I would soon learn was more essential than it seemed. We never do want to know.

I was right up by the bread aisle and it was almost nine p.m., and I wanted to hurry because I knew the store would soon close, and now the time was moving on. Suddenly the worst thing happened - my phone rang.

I fished it out and looked suspiciously at it, but seeing it was my boss, I immediately answered it.

"Hey boss, what is it, I can't talk long, I'm in a shop-"

"Hey, I wanted to tell you how ridiculously stupid your last submission was. You totally blew a gift. You not only submitted stupidly false links, you completely destroyed any hope of being taken seriously."

I was so confused, I felt the time moving on, and my legs were getting wobbly. I felt like going to sit down for a bit, but fortunately I remembered I was, in fact, in a shop.

"Sir, I am in a sho -"

"I don't care if you're in a show, you can go and work in the show business if that really is so important to you, you're just a loser, and I am going to tell you to not even bother coming into work tomorrow. YOU'RE FIRED."

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