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I don't care what anyone tells you. Summer jobs suck. You have to be at work almost every day, and you never have time to actually do summer-y things, like going out with friends, hanging out at the beach, or even just playing video games all day. You have to spend your entire day behind a stupid counter ringing up products and faking smiles at annoying, stupid, or rude customers. I mean, you can't even cuss them out, because according to the rules, the customer is always right, even if they're wrong.
But today is Friday. I'm in charge of restocking on Fridays, and despite what people say, it's actually kinda fun. You don't have to deal with customers, and you get to walk around the store instead of being trapped behind a counter. I have some pretty serious ADHD, which makes it really hard for me to sit still for long periods of time, and standing at a counter for six hours a day is not helpful. So restocking is good for me. I actually get to do something that keeps my mind occupied.
As I make my way past the produce aisle to restock the bananas, I hear the sound of something falling on the ground in the next isle over. I drop what I'm doing and rush into the aisle, hoping to catch someone in the act of making a mess and then fleeing the scene.
That's not what I find.
At the end of the aisle, there's this girl with pretty brunette hair tied back into a ponytail. She has rosy cheeks and vibrant, copper eyes, and potatoes shoved down her pants. No, that's not a euphemism. She has raw potatoes stuffed into the pockets of her cargo shorts and is attempting to fit even more. She pauses for a moment and takes a quick look around like she's trying not to get caught. Makes sense, since she's literally shoving potatoes down her pants.
It’s at this moment that it occurs to me. She's probably planning on stealing them. Why anyone would want to steal a bunch of potatoes is beyond me, but I should still stop her. I straighten my name-tag and screw my courage to the sticking place, preparing to make myself known.
The second that I step into the aisle, the girl snaps her head up and just stares at me, unmoving. After a moment, she slowly reaches her hand to the potatoes. She's already carrying, like, twenty-seven or something, so the fact that she thinks she can carry more baffles me.
“Hey, how many potatoes are you holding?” I ask. My curiosity got the better of me. It's not the first time.
The girl stares at me again, now wearing a puzzled expression. “Thirty-four, why..?”
“If you can carry fifty at once I'll pay for them all,” I say. An animalistic grin crosses her face and she starts shoving potatoes in her pockets, shirt, pants, and even her mouth. There's no way she could carry fifty without a cart or something. After a few minutes, she walks up to me and dumps all of the potatoes in front of me.
“There. I got fifty-three.”
Obviously skeptical, I start counting them. One, two, three, four... It takes a while, but eventually I finish counting. Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty.
“Oh my god. You... You actually managed to get fifty of them. Fifty!" I didn't think she'd actually be able to do it, but here I am, surrounded by over fifty raw potatoes.
“I told you,” she boasts. “So, how much is that gonna cost me? Oh, wait, no. How much is it going to cost you?”
A lot, that's how much. At two bucks a pound, I'd have to spend all of my summer savings, and then some. I quickly try doing the math in my head, but I can't focus on the numbers I'm trying to calculate.
“I'll tell you what,” the girl says, holding out her hand to help me off the floor, “instead of paying for my potatoes, how about you take me to the carnival that's in town next weekend?”
"Wait, what?" Did she just ask me out? Does she mean that as, like, a date or something? Or a payment? Or maybe she just wants to be friends? I mean, she is really cute. She seems really nice, too. I think I have a crush.
“Uh, okay, yeah! I could do that!” I say, a bit too loudly.
The girl smiles and pulls out her cell phone. “What's your number?” she asks. I quickly pull out my cell phone while reciting my cell number. She then gives me hers, and I put it on my phone.
“I'm Connie, by the way," I say.
“Sasha.” I like that name. It suits her.
“Well then,” she says, picking up her potatoes. “I guess I'll see you on Saturday.” She starts making her way towards a nearby cash register before looking back and waving. “See ya, Connie!” I watch as she pays for her potatoes and walks out the door.
At the end of the day, after I've finished cleaning up, I start heading out the door when I pass by a mirror and notice a strange lump in my pocket. I shove my hand in to find one, single potato.
I think I'm in love.