Late Night at the Supermarket: A Strange and Unexpected Encounter

Late Night at the Supermarket

One evening, long after the sun had set, Irene sat at the checkout in the local supermarket, wiping away tears of exhaustion, frustration, and loneliness. Yet another sleepless night weighed on her. Her neighbour, Jack, a notorious drunk, had been raising hell again with his rowdy mates on the other side of the wall. Even the police couldnt shut him up.

She glanced around and quickly dried her eyes. A tall, handsome man in a stylish coat approached her till. For the past month, this dark-haired regular had come to her counter to pay for his pizza and fruit juice. “Probably a loner,” she thought. “Some girls going to be lucky with a bloke like that.”

The customer, holding his pizza, smiled and handed her a fifty-pound notethen hesitated. “Actually, I’ll grab some change so I dont hassle you.” He paid and left.

Only an hour remained before closing. The few shoppers trudged through the aisles without enthusiasm. Yawning despite herself, Irene silently cursed Jack, who chose that moment to stumble indishevelled, bruised, and clutching two bottles of premium vodka. With a smirk, he slid a crisp fifty-pound note across the counter. “Another all-night bender,” she thought irritably.

“Jack, did you rob someone?” His bloodshot eyes flickered between bruises. “Why d’you think I nicked it?”

Out of habit, Irene held the note up to the light, ran her fingers over itthen froze. “Hang on, Jack somethings not right.” She fed it into the counterfeit detector and whispered, “Whered you get this? Its fake!”

Jack went rigid, clutching the bottles like a lifeline, muttering a half-remembered prayer. Suddenly, he slammed them down. “Check these too,” he pleaded, thrusting two more fifties at her. “Fake as well. I have to call the police!”

“Irene, swear down, I found em outside! Someone dropped their wallet, and I took the notes. Dont report me!” he begged.

She savoured his fear, ready to admit it was a jokethe notes were real. But Jack, panicking over fifteen grand, bolted to the bin to destroy the “evidence.” With grim satisfaction, he tore them up and fled.

Irene stared, stunned. What had she done? But then again he deserved it.

“Excuse me,” came a familiar voice. The pizza-loving customer was back. “I bought a pizza earlier”
“I remember,” she said warily. “No change.”
“Thats not it I lost my wallet getting into my car. Total airhead moment.”
“Was there much cash?” she asked, thinking of Jack.
“Not about the money. Id scribbled an important phone number on a note. If someone finds it, they can keep the cashjust send me the number. Heres my card.”
“Right,” Irene agreed.

Mood sour, she spent the rest of her shift agonising over how to help him. Finally, she grabbed a bag and raced to the bin, dumping its contents inside.

Back home, gloved hands sifted through shredded banknotes as she cursed her stupid prank.

“And him, such an airhead Probably some girls number,” she thought bitterly, eyes stinging. The digits were there, split across two scraps.

“How do I get it to him? Cant call from my phonehe might ring back. What then? Admit the fake notes?” She pulled out the business card: Alexander Lawrence, work and personal numbers listed. She could call, but not from her own number. Maybe borrow the elderly neighbours phone? But if he called back and she babbled nonsense? Hed think Irene kept the cash and only sent the number out of guilt.

Then it hit herthe janitor. He wouldnt recognise her voice. And even if he did shed make sure he couldnt. She headed for the wardrobe.

Minutes later, a bundled-up figure waddled outcoat, scarf, even a ridiculous fluff-trimmed hat. No one would ID this absurd creature. The figure zigzagged away, paranoid, until spotting the ideal patsy: a baffled-looking bloke at the corner.

Approaching the janitor, Irene muttered, “Need to make a callphones dead.” She flashed a fiver. He handed over his mobile silently. She fired off the mystery number to Alexander, muttered thanks, and scurried home.

Alexander lay awake, not dwelling on the lost money but replaying the days encounter. Heading to a café, hed heard, “Oi, Alex!” On a packed bus, his old mate Victor waved. “Off to the stationring me!” Victor shouted numbers. With his phone left at work, Alexander had scribbled them on a fifty, already looking forward to catching up. But then everything went sideways.

To distract himself, he fixated on something pleasant: Irene, the checkout girl whod occupied his thoughts for weeks. Her wavy hair, sky-blue eyes, warm smile Maybe it was time to get to know her. The loneliness was getting old.

A notification buzzed. Just a number on-screenVictors! If the number turned up, so had the cash. Now to thank whoever sent it.

“Hi. Thanks a ton. Keep the moneyits a gift.”

A gruff voice replied, “Gift?! Me no understand. I janitor.” Click.

Whoever sent it didnt matter. Tomorrow, hed tell Irene. Shed seemed so down yesterdaymaybe she needed cheering up.

Smiling, he drifted off, already planning their chat.

Irene cried half the night, wallowing in self-pity, her messy life, even feeling sorry for hopeless Jack and unattainable Alexander, that beautiful fool.

The next evening, Alexander bounded to her till. “Irene, brilliant news! Someone sent the lost numberI reached my mate!” He paused. “Wait howd they get my number? I only gave my card to you.”

Silence.

“So you found the cash and sent the number?”

Without waiting, he turned on his heel.

“Thats it. He thinks Im a thief. Im done!” Panicked, she grabbed her bag and sprinted after him. “Alexander, WAIT!”

Shoppers gawked as she caught up, babbling, then yanked two red note fragments from her bagVictors number scrawled across them.

Seconds later, laughter burst between them.

Weeks later, the Lawrences celebrated their wedding, Irene alternating between giggles and happy tears. Even Jack enjoyed the party.