Not Without Emotion

[Michael Blaise]

Winter break; the last winter break before Michael Blaise could consider himself graduated from the University of Vermont. There was only one way to celebrate; and the involved boarding himself in at home and having a marathon of Cosmos. Having just gotten back from the holidays in New York, the Brit was well set on having a few days of downtime.

Enough had happened over the past two weeks as it was, nothing could drag him out of his apartment for at least the next twenty-four hours.

Except, of course. Food. The world’s best motivator.

When watching an educational documentary series, there was a very few things that could be considered acceptable to eat. It was a careful and delicate process, like matching cheese with the right sort of wine. Except, there was no wine, and the cheese involved being in a can.

Michael hummed lightly to himself, walking down the isle to SuperKwik until he reached his goal. Not having grabbed a basket, the Brit loaded his arms up with different cans of Easy Cheese. Several flavors later, Michael made his way up to the front of the store, grabbing a box of crackers and a can of SpaghettiOs along the way before carefully trying to balance everything as he set it down.

“Oh, one more.” He flashed a friendly smile at the guy behind the counter, reaching for the candy rack quickly and tossing up a Charleston Chew. “There. Perfect.” His hands clapped together, gaze traveling back to the worker. “How goes it?”

[Winter Rowley]

Winter Rowley was waiting for the sole customer in the Pilot Ridge SuperKwik to check out so that he could go back to playing Internet chess.

The small store had seen a lot of traffic over the holiday break, which meant that Rowley had been urged to sign up for extra shifts through the new year. He’d obliged his boss, partly because he had nothing else to do, and partly because he’d learned the hard way that being urged as a minimum wage worker was not all that different from being told. He liked his job, and he wanted to keep it. Still, he hadn’t been fully prepared; he usually worked the late shift, and he found that people were much quieter and altogether more agreeable after dark. Toilets didn’t overflow during the late shift. Little old ladies didn’t come scrambling in for bread and milk on the late shift—they were all soundly asleep by then. He didn’t have nightmares about fistfuls of manufacturer’s coupons when he worked the late shift. And if he had to check the light on the slushie machine one more time....

He grit his teeth in silence. He liked his job, sure, but it had been one hell of a long week.

The aforementioned customer, who had been sidetracked in the store’s small grocery aisle for some two minutes, seemed to have finally made up his mind. Rowley had his hand-held scanner poised and ready before the other man had even managed to unload everything from his arms and onto the counter. He returned the smile, although his was close-lipped and a little bit strained.

He fired the scanner at the label on the Spaghetti O’s while Ears—as Rowley had named him affectionately two seconds ago—perused the candy display. Ears seemed friendly enough, and he could appreciate that. He afforded an amused quirk of his eyebrow as Ears inquired about the quality of his day.

Beep! Beep!

“Not as good as yours, clearly.”

He motioned to the cans of Easy Cheese with a smirk.

“You know what’s good, though,” said Rowley, sagely, tapping the red cap of the Cheddar ‘n Bacon Easy Cheese with the heel of his hand, “is a pile of this stuff on a saltine with a few black olives pressed on.”

Beep!

“The artificial bacon flavoring really brings out that olive taste.”

[Michael Blaise]

In general, conversations with clerks were generally short lived. The most basic level of communication, if one could even call it actual communication at all. Still, Michael found what some would consider pointless chit-chat to be quite entertaining in right circumstances. There was never harm in asking someone how their day was; trying to make a point of it was listed as a New Years resolution. Maybe it'd make someone like this tired looking bloke enjoy his shift just a bit more.

His smile quickly turned into a grin as the clerk motioned to the cans of Easy Cheese. More often than not, he'd receive judgmental looks for his choice in snack. Finally someone who understood.

Slate eyes lit up at the notion of saltines with black olives. Like a child with a new toy, this advice was the equivalent of food gold in the form of goldeny-orange food in a can. Extending his index finger, he pointed at the man with determination. "I'm sold." A quick turn on his heel and he was back in the isle. "Where are your olives?" He called out, peering through the various items. "Do you sell olives here?" That was likely the proper question to be asked.

Grabbing a box of saltine crackers, the Brit was half sure that he already had two and a third boxes at home, but it wasn't worth the risk of not having it at all.

[Winter Rowley]

Rowley was guilty of discouraging small talk in most circumstances, but he’d taken an instant, inexplicable liking to Ears. It was probably the accent—if all of the customers who came to his counter sounded like a walking advertisement for the BBC, he’d probably be more receptive on the whole.

The air shifted between them, and the snack food heavens appeared to have momentarily parted and shone down on the SuperKwik, as they only do for two individuals who truly appreciate the gourmet intricacies of preservative-laden cheese in a can. Ears pointed at him, and Rowley could see the light of determination burning in his new comrade’s eyes.

He knew, in that moment, that he had done a good thing. His only regret was that he did not work on commission.

“Middle shelf on the end of the grocery aisle, right under the shelf-stable pepperoni,” he said, punctuating his directions with a vague point of his own finger. He was leaning over the counter a little, to better make sure that Ears was navigating efficiently. “Get the Mario half-can with the pop tab.”

He used his still-gesturing hand to make tiny pop-pop motions in mid-air. When Ears returned with the goods, Rowley fixed him with a businesslike look.

“Good man,” he said.

Beep!

“You have to come back and tell me how you liked it.”

A pause.

“You remember the cream cheese flavored Easy Cheese? They stopped making it in 2009. It was great for dessert,” he said, wistfully.

[Michael Blaise]

Once directed, it hadn't taken Michael long to find the goods; with several varieties of canned black olives to choose from, he was thankful fro the advice offered. Clearly this man was a master chef of canned food. Enough to deserve some sort of employee of the year award, in the Brit's opinion.

As he walked back, he had a bit more of a bounce in his step. Although there were plenty of reasons to be excited about Cosmos and Easy Cheese, this provided to be an entirely new experience he was about to have. How could he had not thought of this before was beyond him. Up until this point, Michael had determined that his entire life was a lie.

"Oh, I'll be sure to." Michael replied. There was arguably no doubt that he'd be back for more. If not for the cheese than this fellow who has already made his way into the Brit's good book despite any real lack of knowledge of him. But hey, he enjoyed Easy Cheese. That within itself was a win.

Recalling the cream cheese Easy Cheese forced Michael to place a hand on his stomach. "Oh those were the days." He looked off into the distance for mild effect before dragging his gaze back to the man. "I might have cried the day they decided to have it in a jar instead." His nose crinkled at the idea and with a quick shake of a head he sighed. "It's just not the same."

[Winter Rowley]

Ears assured him that he’d be back to give his review, and Rowley nodded his approval. His hands were busy sliding the rest of his unlikely acquaintance’s purchase around the counter top.

Beep! Beep!

He loaded the cans and boxes into a white plastic bag that said THANK YOU all down the side in big, bright red outline.

“Those were the days,” he agreed. “I don’t have the patience for that jar shit, personally. Having to scrounge around for a clean knife kills my vibe.”

He slid the bag across the counter and smiled a small, knowing smile. He leaned forward onto the counter again, as would someone who was about to impart a tantalizing secret.

“I still have a few cans,” he said. “When I heard they were going to be discontinued, I stocked up. Best decision I’ve ever made.”

In the grand scheme of things, Rowley considered dropping forty dollars on cream cheese in a can to be a relatively cheap thrill.

[Michael Blaise]

Michael reached into his back pocket, grabbing a wallet made of paper, looking like an old air envelope and opened it up to grab the correct amount of money before reaching to give it to the clerk, but the process was short lived when something grabbed his attention more than five dollar bills.

"Shut up!" His mouth gapped open, and the Brit briefly considered offering all of his money to the man in trade for at least one can. "You, good sir, are a smart man." He clicked his tongue, knuckles tapping the counter lightly as he let out a laugh. Unfortunately for Michael, he hadn't heard about the discontinuation until it was too late.

"I used to put them of Bugles. Just put it right in them and add a tiny bit of garlic powder. Best snack in creation, I promise you that." He mused aloud, recalling how easily he could go through a can of it just within the span of an afternoon. It was almost sickening. Deliciously sickening.

Continuing, Michael passed over the correct amount of money, having dug into his pockets for change before curling his hand around the handle of his bag, but walking away just didn't seem like an option just yet. This was too good. "I like your taste..." A glance to his name badge. "Winter. And your name too. Mine's Michael."

[Winter Rowley]

For the first time in a long time, Winter Rowley grinned.

“I have my moments, yeah,” he said. “I hit five different stores and got every single one of ‘em. Twenty-five forty-two, by the way.”

The cash drawer extended until it met his right hip. He didn’t seem to notice; he had been temporarily mystified by the concept of Bugles with Easy Cheese and garlic powder. He made a desirous noise at the back of his throat.

“God, that sounds good.”

He was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he hadn’t taken his break yet.

Rowley accepted Ears’s money with both hands and sorted it expertly into the drawer. He then reached instinctively back into the drawer to scoop out some change; his fingers stopped just short, and he smiled.

“Exact change,” he said, pointing across the counter again. He looked incredibly satisfied. “Let me tell you how happy that makes me.”

He nudged the drawer shut with his hip and fumbled for a pen. He plucked the receipt out of the printer and flipped it over. He gripped the pen in his left hand and, for a few moments, was silent.

“Just for giving me exact change during the holiday rush, Michael,” said Rowley, who found that he had to take great pains not to call the other man Ears out loud, “I’ll give you my number, and you can text me when you get a craving for cream cheese Easy Cheese. I’ll hook you up.”

He slid the receipt across the counter, having hastily scribbled his phone number and full name—WINTER ROWLEY—in painstakingly tiny capitals.

“Everybody calls me Rowley, by the way,” he said. He gestured vaguely with the pen. “Bad childhood nickname associations. It’s a thing.”

[Michael Blaise]

"Oh it is." Michael was practically licking his lips at the memory. Many late nights with reruns of old television shows to accompany the meal of champions.

Offering exact change was always something Michael strived for when he could; not as much that he considered that it'd make an employees life easier, but he'd rather have less than more change jingling in his pocket at any given moment. Regardless, he smile broadened, taking on sweeter connotations at the fact. He did want his new friend to be happy, after all. And yes, he already considered the other man a friend.

But what happened next was completely unexpected. Slate eyes widened with realization as Winter - or rather, Rowley - spoke. By the time he looked up from what he was writing, the Brit made sure to have a calmer expression. It still didn't stop the way the corner of his mouth lifted just a little too high.

"Rowley. Got it." He gave a nod as he grasp the receipt between his thumb and index finger, holding it rather than stuffing it into his pocket just yet. "I'll be sure to throw a message your way when you're not...clerking." A pause and his eyebrows furrowed together briefly. "Not that I'll know if you're working or-- Yeah, I'll text you." A short laugh and he started for the door.

And moments just after he got outside, Michael turned around again, receipt still in hand as he returned to the counter. "When does your shift end?"

[Winter Rowley]

Michael addressed him by his surname, and Rowley managed to smile another smile. He was quickly approaching his limit for the day, but he was finding it well worth the trouble.

“Admittedly I do a lot of clerking,” he said.

He opened his mouth with the intent of giving Michael his work schedule, but shut it again as the other man insisted that he’d text.

“Yeah, sure,” he said.

It was both an agreement and a farewell; he even waved a small wave at Michael’s back as he headed for the door. Then, somewhat inexplicably, he found himself waving at Michael’s front, instead—he’d turned around and come back. Rowley stopped waving and let his hand hover over the counter awkwardly.

“Oh, uh,” he said, the undisputed paragon of eloquence. “Seven. I don’t usually work daytime, though. I just took this shift for the holidays.”

There was a pause. Then, Rowley reached for the receipt that Michael was holding and put pen to paper again. Under his name and number, he wrote:

7 PM–7 AM
MONDAY–FRIDAY

“That’s my normal work schedule,” he explained. He capped the pen and tucked the receipt back into Michael’s hand. “I hardly ever actually get any sleep, so....”

He punctuated this statement with a dry, mirthless half-laugh. Then, in lieu of more words, he gave the other man an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

“Whenever, man.”

[Michael Blaise]

Walking back into the store admittedly took a lot of guts for the Brit, but the moment he turned, Michael put on the best smile he could, giving a light laugh as he asked about the man's hours. "Seven, eh?" A quick flick of his wrist, and Michael looked down to his watch briefly as the receipt slipped through his fingers. "Such a good man, working extra so people may get their fill of Easy Cheese."

Looking back down at the amended receipt, Michael gave a nod. Seven to seven. That was an intense schedule for sure. He wasn't sure if he himself could handle twelve hours straight in a single space working.

As he looked up again, Michael grinned at the thumbs up, offering his own in response. After all, who could deny something like that?

With a quick exhale that puffed out his cheeks, the Brit pressed his palm to the counter. "How about tonight?" Was that crazy? Michael tried not to think it was. "After you get out I mean; if you're not tired or anything. I've got Cosmos, Planet Earth, and now six cans of Easy Cheese."