Throwing the tattered red apron over his shoulder, rough hands quickly punched in an eight digit employee number; the black time in clock beeping as soon as it had processed another clock out. “See you tomorrow, Dave,” Wyatt called out, a half-grin on his face, as he nodded in a goodbye, pushing the back room’s double doors open.
”See you, Wyatt,” Patty, one of the employees who worked on the floor, smiled in his direction as he walked passed. He repeated his half-smile and nod, making his way by, towards the front of the store. It was three thirty in the afternoon, and the twenty-one year old had just gotten off of an eight hour shift at Pete’s Grocery Store.
A few more of his co-workers had said goodbye to him, as he exited the store. It wasn’t until Wyatt had reached the store’s entrance, that he’d realized if he didn’t bring home anything to cook, he’d be eating a cup of Ramen soup for the third night in a row. As much as his tired feet would have appreciated that, his stomach wasn’t too thrilled, and ultimately dictated the 180 degree pivot, leading him right back into the store. Picking up a hand basket on the way towards the produce section, his mind began to race with possible thoughts for dinner.
”I’ll figure out something,” the young man shrugged, bagging a head of lettuce in produce wrap, before placing it in his hand basket. He shuffled between to islands that held fruit, picking up an apple, tossing it over his shoulder, and catching it with the basket. Hearing a series of claps, Wyatt’s head turned to the source, a lopsided, dimpled grin gracing his features. “And to think,” the tall boy began, picking up a carrot and pointing it at the clapper, “I had some privacy with my apple. Society these days,” his tone was light, the carrot now spinning in the air as he tossed it into the black plastic basket, along with his other produce.
