Here’s the next instalment to Checkout Chick. Click the link above to read it from the beginning.
The mystery of the missing cigarette cartons has been revealed, and hasn’t been pleasant. Exciting, yes. Pleasant, no. Mel was behind it all. Not the stealing of the cigarettes, but of discovering the culprit. Suspicious of what had occurred on mornings Monica and I opened. So Mel opened herself one morning, having worked late the previous night. Knew how many cartons there were. Called Dorothy in when there were missing cartons again.
Many, many cartons discovered in the boot of Tony’s car. House searched by police. Terrible, terrible situation. Boozer was all, ‘told you he was an arsehole.’ Not quite correct. Is a thief, not an arsehole. But have realised. Boozer’s opinion of people always correct. May not be good at pulling pants up, Boozer, but good at judging people.
We all feel a bit tainted, really, having someone like that amongst us. Angry calls to head office regarding Tony’s placement. Now head office is busy calling other stores he’s worked for. What worries me is if some poor sod like me has been sacked at other stores because they’ve taken the blame. Very easy to blame lowly checkout chick. Very easy. Is like when $200 was missing from float. First conclusion was that it must have been me, not the superior that had counted wrong. Is very telling, that is.
Bright Eyes. Is so, so gorgeous. Adore him. Think has very well moved on from normal checkout crush – crush due to boredom rather than actual attract-ability – to actual crush. Stomach does weird kind of hollow thing. Feel a little nauseas even.
Bright Eyes always comes in through my checkout. Cannot stop evaluating what he buys. He likes his milk. Cereal big help. Bought nutrigrain. Nutri-Grain masculine breakfast cereal would have been different if he’d bought Cornflakes or Special K. But Nutri-Grain. Tells me most definitely that Bright Eyes lives alone.
Also bought deodorant. Tells me he has good personal hygiene. Bought Nivea for Men. Not sure what that says about him, mind. If he’d bought Brute, could have said he was a bogan. Obviously, is not.
Again no card but cash. Doesn’t Bright Eyes know we’re in a digital age? However, today there was conversation. Not just a hello from him and ‘that’ll be eight dollars ninety’ from me.
‘How’re you doing today?’
‘Yes, um, good.’ Cripes alive. Should be me asking him how he is.
‘So. You have much on this weekend, or do you have to work?’
‘Crikey, I never work weekends.’
‘Lucky you.’ Was no bitterness but decided from polite banter he does work weekends. Ask him what he does. Ask him what he does! Was yelling this to self. Didn’t work. Couldn’t open mouth to utter the words. Is probably am because am not a hairdresser. They’re nosy to all hell. Ask many, many personal questions when in chair. Is like some special course is taken when at hairdressing school. Suspect hairdressers better at interrogation than FBI. Possibly why I stopped going to hairdressers to get colour done (premature greying). Is longer spent in chair and therefore more opportunity to pester you. Also; Paddy been out with many, many hairdressers and inevitably you end up with one who knows he’s your brother and then you get the ‘why didn’t he call?’ speech.
Despite lack of nosiness in self, Bright Eyes nosy man by nature. Or perhaps inquisitive. Or perhaps just being nice and this is normal behaviour and am so un-normal that I don’t even realise it. He said –
‘So you live in town?’
‘Yes, yes. In town. You?’
‘Yes, yes, same. Just moved.’
‘Why?’ Couldn’t help self. Town a shit hole.
Wry smile. ‘Work.’
‘Well. Hope they’re paying you lots of money.’ Transaction finished so handing over change. Bright Eyes has lovely, lovely hands. Have told you am hands obsessed? Am hands obsessed. If man has beautiful hands does not matter what face is like. Fortunately Bright Eyes had beautiful both.
He laughed at my money comment. No. Chuckled. Then kind of nodded before telling me it didn’t matter what you got paid as long as you enjoyed it.
Obviously Bright Eyes rich. Only rich people would talk such nonsense.
Marco beginning to be a bit of a problem. Have said no to him one too many times and the man has pride, after all. Mistake made by Marco was telling others he fancied me. Don’t think he ever really fancied me per say, just am most attractive fish in the tank if you know what I mean.
According to Marco my constant denials must mean one thing and one thing only – that am big fat lezzer.
Is wonderful, no, that the male species has come such a long way? In high school if you reject a man you are called frigid, in adulthood, a lesbian. As if being lesbian big terrible thing. Really shows how far we haven’t come when lesbian being used as an insult.
Have I unwillingly led Marco on in anyway? I don’t think I have, really, but am not always that aware of own behaviour. Did go round to his house once, early on. This before he was openly talking about his fully-sick subwoofers. Remember sitting in shed with can of coke and feeling that whole situation quite juvenile. Not at all asked into the house. Then old bandy-legged woman with jet black hair, thick gold-hooped earrings and an apron waddled into shed, caught sight of me and started screeching in Italian. Caught the word ‘putana’ in the mix of words, knew well what that meant. Hadn’t known Marco still lived at home. Hadn’t known he was in one of those Italian families.
I’ll tell you the type. Grew up in an Italian community so know the story well. The boys live at home with their mother who does everything for them. They sleep around but are never satisfied with women because what they really want is someone like their mother who does everything for them and modern girls just aren’t like that. In turn Italian mother refers to all women – particularly ‘Australiaans’ (ie, non-Italians) as sluts because their greatest fear is their little prince being taken away from them. This is because, more often than not, their own husbands barely talk to them as their wives never lived up to their own mothers. Their sons are all those Italian women have.
Daughters of Italian households are expected to be virgins at marriage and aren’t allowed to move out of home until their wedding day. These girls will often settle for pretty much anyone just to get out of the house or spend their lives playing the virgin while being the biggest slut in the world.
Is madness to get involved in this kind of thing either way. May have settled for a bit of fun with Marco, but being presented with his family life like that had me thinking twice. His mum still glares at me whenever she comes in to do her shopping. Scrutinises everything I do. Change I give her, items I scan. Simply because she saw me alone with her precious Marco.
If it wasn’t for Paddy I’d tell her (if she could understand English that is) that her little family isn’t so precious after all. That her daughter, Pia, shouldn’t have worn white at her elaborate wedding (four hundred guests at a function centre in the city) because Pia was something of a putana herself, sleeping with Paddy right up until her kitchen party.
If there’s one thing I hate in life is hypocrites.
Marco will continue to be bane of my existence until he finds another poor sod to stroke his ego. Hope it happens soon as can’t be bothered with the drama of it all.