I will quit today, I think.
I think it on my walk to work and as I’m hanging up my coat and clocking in.
Carmella’s right, I think. I should quit.
I will quit, I think. I will quit today.
Oh god. I will quit in the most dramatic, ‘full-on’ way possible. My quitting will be the quitting equivalent of a
I think this all my way down to the shop floor.
I get to the shop floor.
I start work.
I am in a huge swimming pool. Carmella is in the swimming pool. The swimming pool is filled with giant pieces of chopped fruit and syrup.
I am not having sex with Carmella.
I want to be having sex with Carmella but I keep loosing sight of her amongst pieces of chopped banana and melon and things.
I find her and grab hold of her tightly and shut my eyes.
Carmella feels soft and warm and kind.
We start having sex.
It is nice.
I open my eyes.
I am having sex with a piece of chopped banana.
I get home. The lights are on inside the house. I don’t remember leaving them on when I left.
In the hallway, a pair of shoes. The pair of shoes look more like Ian’s shoes than my shoes. Also, a mountain bike. I don’t own a mountain bike.
I go into the kitchen.
A note on the table:
Hello,
Sorry if you were wondering where I was. Just popped out for a bit.
Back now.
Ian
Carmella writes me down her address in the
I put the piece of paper in my pocket.
They wave me off from the doorway.
I say ‘thank you’ about 100 times between standing up from the table and putting on my coat.
I am still saying ‘thank you’ walking backwards out of the drive, waving at them.
I am still saying it walking down the road, once they’ve gone back inside.
It is dark.
I try and write Carmella a letter in my head:
Dear Carmella,
Thank you for dinner. Thank you. Please tell your tita thank you, too.
Also, thank you for helping me start smoking again.
How have you been since I walked down the drive?
I hope you’re okay and having a nice rest of your evening.
Yours sincerely,
_____
I screw up the letter in my head and throw it away.
Carmella’s tita is in the kitchen.
Go and sit back down, kids, she says.
We sit at the table.
Carmella’s tita comes in carrying a huge bowl.
In the bowl is fruit.
A fruit salad.
A huge fruit salad.
So much fruit in the bowl some is trying to escape over the sides.
She puts the bowl on the table.
Carmella and her tita ladle some of the fruit salad into smaller bowls.
A piece of chopped banana falls onto the table near me.
I look at it.
They begin to eat.
They stop and look at me.
I pat my stomach.
Sorry, I say.
Oh, says Carmella’s tita. I didn’t think. Sorry.
That’s okay, I say.
I sit there looking at the piece of chopped banana.
She turns to go in.
Wait, I say. I don’t even know your address.
I’ll write it down for you once we’re inside, she says.
She starts moving towards the door.
Wait, I say.
She stops and looks at me.
What? she says.
I go up to her.
Can I kiss you? I say.
No, she says.
She looks at me.
Maybe you can kiss me in a letter, she says.
Okay, I say.
She smiles.
We go inside
Carmella tells me she’s here as an ‘overseas worker’. She sends money home to her family. Her tita is letting her stay, rent free. The money she makes from the supermarket is enough to help put her brother through college and to pay off some of her dad’s debts. But now her dad is sick and she needs to go home again. She’s not sure if she’ll be able to come back. Sorting out a working visa in the first place was very difficult.
By the time she’s finished speaking, our cigarettes have burnt out.
There is a long pause.
It feels almost like she’s already left.
Everything around us is quiet and dark and sad.
You’re leaving, I say.
Yep, she says. You should write to me.
But I don’t even know you, I say.
You can get to know me by writing to me, she says.
Alright, I say. I will.
We stand at the back of Carmella’s tita’s house, in a little yard. Pot plants. Darkness. Carmella gets out a packet of Marlboro lights.
She offers me one.
She lights them with matches.
How about you? I say. Do you have plans to quit?
Well, she says, it doesn’t matter. I’m leaving, the end of this month.
What? I say.
I’m leaving. At the end of the month.
What?
I’m leaving, she says.
What?
The adobo is good. Chicken, marinaded in a kind of sauce. Warm and rich and kind of spicy. We have it with rice.
So, _____, says Carmella’s tita. How long have you been working at the supermarket?
Four years, I say.
That’s a long time, says Carmella.
How do you like it? says Carmella’s tita.
I start to tell them about the produce department. I tell them about my boss, about not understanding him, about the turtle, about the peach fountain, about the store room now being full of produce. Etc.
They are laughing.
Then they look serious.
Then they are laughing again.
I am charming. I am charming after all. I have charmed the living bejesus out of them.
Why don’t you just quit? asks Carmella once I’ve finished.
I think about this.
I don’t know, I say.
When the food is eaten, Carmella speaks to her tita in Filipino. It is nice listening to them speak and only understanding 1% of what they are saying. The 1% I understand is the word cigarette.
I’m going to have a smoke outside, says Carmella. Want to come? You smoke, right?
I think about this.
I decide to start smoking again.
We are sitting at the table. Me and Carmella. Her tita is in the kitchen. There has been a long pause.
I am trying to think of something charming to say.
Great, I say, looking around.
Huh? says Carmella.
Great
What’s great?
I don’t know.
Another long pause.
Great, I say.
Yep, says Carmella.
Almost ready! her tita calls from the kitchen.
The
What? says Carmella.
Nothing, I say.
We sit there in silence until her aunt carries in the food.
I press the doorbell of Carmella’s tita’s house. Carmella’s tita opens the door. She stands there smiling at me. Carmella is behind her in the hallway, also smiling.
Carmella is no longer wearing her supermarket uniform. She is wearing a pair of jeans and a yellow jumper. She is not wearing shoes in the house. She is wearing white socks.
I try and think of something charming to say.
Hello, I say.
Hi, says Carmella’s tita.
Hi, says Carmella.
Come in, says Carmella’s tita.
I come in.
She closes the door behind me.
Can I take your coat? she says.
I try and think of something charming to say.
Thanks, I say.
I take off my coat and give it to her.
She hangs my coat up in the hall next to Carmella’s coat. The coats are so close together they are almost spooning.
I try and think of something charming to say about the spooning coats.
Great, I say.
We’re having adobo, says Carmella.
What’s that? I say.
It’s a chicken dish, she says. It’s very nice. You’ll like it.
I try and think of something charming to say.
Great, I say again.
I am walking to Carmella’s tita’s house.
Soon I will be pressing the doorbell of Carmella’s tita’s house and Carmella’s tita will be opening the door and standing there smiling at me and Carmella will be in the background – the hallway maybe or the kitchen – and also smiling.
I will say something charming.
It will be the most charming thing I have ever said, and the most charming thing they have ever heard.
It will be the first of 1,000,000 charming things that I will say over dinner.
I will charm then on all manner of topics.
I will charm them too much.
My charmingness will come like an oil slick into Carmella’s tita’s house. It will wash Carmella and her tita up against the walls. They will lie there, struggling to move, and news reporters will come and broadcast them on television, and people will feel sorry and call it a ‘tragedy’, and volunteers will turn up and help out however they can, and it will be referred to, in the future, as ‘The Carmella’s Tita’s House Charm Disaster’.
I almost manage to get the door to the store room open all afternoon. By the end of my shift it’s really very close to opening.
I clock out. I get my coat from the staff room. Carmella’s coat is gone from its hook. Carmella is walking home now, probably thinking of me coming round to dinner in an hour and a half.
I walk home. I live on the other side of town to Carmella and her tita.
I could call Carol and let her know that I won’t be free to see her this evening.
I get out my phone.
I dial Carol’s number.
No answer.
I get home. Ian is still not home. I go into Ian’s room. I put on Ian’s best shirt and spray some of Ian’s best spray on my neck.
I quickly log onto the internet on Ian’s computer and read a couple more things about the
Then it’s time to go.
I go back to the shop floor.
I go and find The Turtle. She is standing by the checkouts, chatting to another manager.
The other manager stops talking to The Turtle and goes over to one of the checkout girls.
Not Carmella. Carmella is at the far end, at the basket checkout, by herself.
I try and catch Carmella's eye. I try and say ‘dinner’ with my eyes, but she’s not looking this way.
The manager whips the checkout girl.
Then she comes back to The Turtle and they start talking again.
They laugh about something.
Excuse me? I say.
The Turtle stops talking. She turns to me.
What? she says. Basically what is it?
I’m not doing anymore work today, I say.
What do you mean?
I guess I mean I want the sack.
What?
The sack. I want the sack.
What?
I want you to sack me.
I’m not going to sack you.
Please sack me.
I’m not going to sack you.
The Turtle pats me on the head.
I feel comforted.
I go back to work with extra vigour.
I don’t care if I get the sack. I have Carmella’s address written down on a bit of paper torn out from the Metro.
After lunch:
I will go back onto the shop floor.
I will get the sack.
I will go round to Carmella’s house for dinner.
I will get married to Carmella.
(This is my new plan.)
Oh.
Carmella looks funny. She is thinking this over.
I don’t know. How about tonight?
Tonight?
Yeah, tonight.
Like, tonight tonight? After work?
I guess.
Should I go home for a bit first?
You could, if you want.
My housemate is missing.
Oh no.
I haven’t seen him in about a week.
Have you told the police?
Not yet. I made some flyers.
You should probably tell the police, too.
What time should I come round tonight?
Seven?
Okay. Seven o’ clock. Tonight. Great.
I’ll write down my address.
Carmella is in the staff room.
No one else is in the staff room.
I spend a long time making a cup of tea.
I hover around the chairs in the staff room.
I want to sit next to Carmella.
I don’t want to freak Carmella out by sitting next to her.
I sit down in a chair at the other end of the staff room, furthest away from Carmella.
I wait for Carmella to start a conversation.
The conversation will be called ‘so when do you want to come round to my tita’s house for dinner?’
It will be about arranging a time for me to go round to her tita’s house for dinner.
It will be nice.
I sit there waiting for it.
Why is Carmella not talking to me?
Why has she not even looked at me since I came in to the staff room?
Oh god, I say.
I did not mean to say it out loud, just to think it.
Carmella looks up and smiles.
So when do you want me to come round to your tita’s house for dinner? I say.
I go back down to the shop floor.
I am envious of the now-fired replenishment assistants.
I wish I could somehow fire myself.
The rest of the staff are still standing around the door to the store room.
Oh god.
Fruit.
Vegetables.
Produce.
I want to bury myself in all the produce in the store room. I want to feel cold florets of broccoli against my face. I want to drown myself in grapes and runner beans.
Come on, says someone from the Domestic Goods department. Get a move on, mate. Some of us have jobs to do.
I am yanking at the door to the store room.
I am yanking as hard as I can at the door to the store room but it won’t open.
Thirty or forty other members of staff just stand there, watching me pull at the door.
I spend two and a half hours pulling at the door, the other members of staff standing there watching me.
Occasionally The Turtle appears out of nowhere and whips me.
Then I go on my lunch break.
I go to the staff room and get my mobile out of my jacket.
I call the replenishment assistants.
They are all out together, having a nice lie down in the park.
I tell them I have a replenishment emergency.
Oh, they say. That’s too bad.
I tell them I will get the sack if I don’t somehow get all the fruit and vegetables out of the store room and onto the shop floor.
That’s awful, they say.
I ask them if they will come in and help.
Sorry, they say.
I tell them it’s their duty as replenishment assistants to help a fellow worker. I also tell them that I have the power, as replenishment supervisor, to fire them if they don’t come in. (This is a lie.)
So, are you coming in or what? I say.
We’re not coming in, they say.
I fire the replenishment assistants.
Produce, says The Turtle, looking through the porthole window over my shoulder. Basic produce.
Yep, I say.
Your boss made another mistake, she says. He ordered in too much again. He says to tell you that he’s basically very sorry, but that he wants you to get all that produce out onto the shop floor by the end of the day, or else you’re fired.
Right, I say.
Now get to work, she says. Get to work or I will whip the living shit out of you.
It takes me seventeen tries to get my new number right.
Right, says The Turtle, once I’ve clocked in. Go down to the store room. I’ve got a bit of a surprise for you.
I go down to the store room. The Turtle follows, ten metres behind me.
At the doorway to the store room, people from other departments are all standing around, looking annoyed about something. They have their arms folded. Their body language is defensive. When they see me, they scowl and start muttering things.
What’s going on? I ask Charlie from the Beers Wines and Spirits department.
What’s going on? he says. I can’t get into the bloody store room, that’s what’s going on.
Yeah, says Brian from Frozen Foods. Me either.
They both scowl at me.
I don’t understand, I say.
I go up to the door to the store room. I push it. It doesn’t move. Then I look through the little porthole thing in the door. The store room is completely filled with produce.
22222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222, says the Turtle.
Right, I say.
It was not as bad as I was expecting.
How many 2’s was that in total? I say.
I’m not telling you, says The Turtle. Now try it.
She holds the whip above her head.
Try it, she says.
I start pressing ‘2’ on the clocking-in machine.
The Turtle comes back. She is holding a piece of paper.
Right, she says. Basically this is your new clocking-in number. I am only going to tell it to you once and you’d better remember it.
Can’t I just have the piece of paper? I say.
No, says The Turtle. This piece of paper is confidential. Now listen closely, understand? Because you are basically only going to hear this number the once, and if you don’t remember it then I am going to whip you really, really hard. Okay?
Okay, I say.
Ready then? she says.
Okay, I say.
Here it comes, says The Turtle.
Get on with it, I say.
Hey, says Carmella, coming up to the clocking-in machine.
Hey, I say.
Not clocking in? she says.
I forgot my number, I say.
Oh, she says.
Yeah, I say.
Right, she says.
She starts to clock in.
Okay then, I say.
Yep, she says.
She finishes clocking in.
Mmm-hmm, I say.
Uh-huh, she says.
There is nothing left to do now but arrange a day of the week for me to come round to dinner.
We stay there, looking down at our shoes next to the clocking-in machine.
I wait patiently for Carmella to arrange a day of the week for me to come round to dinner.
Carmella turns away instead and walks down the corridor towards the shop floor.
I do not remember my number.
The Turtle stops whipping me.
She goes off to the managers office, saying she will basically have to go and find out my number for me.
I am still by the clocking-in machine when the mid-shift people start clocking in.
Dave, the trolley guy.
Sandra from checkouts.
Andy, who does the baskets.
‘Cock legs’ who works on the deli counter.
Angela from accounts.
Two more checkout people whose names I’ve never learned.
Then Carmella.
Why haven’t you clocked in?
I can’t remember my number.
Why can’t you remember your number?
I don’t know.
Crack.
Ow.
No good. Try again.
I don’t know. Um, maybe because I’m worried.
What are you worried about?
I don’t know.
Crack.
Ow. Okay. Okay. I’m worried about Ian.
Who’s Ian?
My housemate. I haven’t seen him since his birthday. He’s disappeared.
Okay. What else?
Um … Carol?
Who’s Carol?
Carol’s my ex-girlfriend. I just broke up with her. I don’t think she took it too well.
What else?
Nothing. That’s it.
Crack.
Ow.
Crack.
Ow.
Crack.
Ow. Stop. Stop. Please.
Okay, have you basically remembered your number yet?
No …
Crack.
Ow.
Crack.
Ow.
Crack.
Ow.
I get out of bed at
I get to work by
I stand in front of the clocking-in machine, trying to remember my clocking-in number. (It is the number I punch in every time I start work, go for a break, come back from a break, go home, etc.)
I cannot remember my clocking in number.
I stand in front of the clocking-in machine, trying to remember my clocking in number, until
