Writing Prompt: At The Grocery Store

WritingPrompt_GroceryStore This week's writing prompt:

I ( or he, she, etc.) was standing in the checkout line at the grocery when...

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My Response:

He thought reading Essence might help. Standing in line holding a basket full of guacamole, salsa and tortilla chips, he began to scheme as to how he could slip a copy out of its metal holder and discreetly put it into his basket and behind the huge bag of lime flavored tortilla chips. The lady in front of him was skimming through a copy, wrinkling her nose and brow in disgust. She was dressed immaculately and 10 years younger than she looked. He figured that she was so engrossed in her copy that she wouldn’t notice him reaching down for his own. Slowly, he slumped over as though he was about to scratch his calf. He slid his hand over the cover and pulled a copy out. The chip bag crackled as he attempted to slide the magazine under it and just as he stood back up he caught her suspicious, what-you-gonna-do-with-that glare.

“You don’t have much, wanna go ahead?” she said hoping to confirm her suspicions while he placed his groceries on the conveyor belt.

“Nah I can wait,” he said as he ran a nervous hand over the top of his sandy blonde hair.

“Go on ahead of me, sweetie. No need in you standing there waiting on me when you only have that little bit of stuff,” she said, the tone in her voice sounding slightly annoyed. She knew there was nothing a guy like him would do with a copy of Essence other than jack off to some fetish fantasy. He felt caught, but yet he knew he wasn’t guilty of anything. Face red and hands slightly jittery, he stepped ahead of the lady and proceeded to put first the jar of salsa, then the guacamole on the conveyor belt. He lifted the large, half air filled bag of chips out of the basket and placed it on the belt as he watched his other items ride down to a waiting cashier’s hand. The magazine sat in the bottom of his basket, face down as a glossy and smiling face that was a shade of brown that seemed to be meticulously and commercially manicured stared at him. He placed the magazine on the conveyor belt, still face down. His face looked forward to the cashier seemingly in anticipation of the total price of his items but more to relieve himself of being pulled into an interrogation from the woman behind him. And she was waiting there for him to turn around, for him to give her a cue, either real or presumed by her, to ask him what kind of man did he think he was. He handed the cashier the money for his groceries and darted off like a mouse that was fortunate enough to wiggle out of a trap, cheese in mouth.

Post your response in the comments. I'd love to see your work!