The Narc

Scene: a workout scrubs-clad twentysomething in the Snack Central aisle of her local Albertson's is weighing the difference between the whole wheat Fig Newtons and the non-whole wheat but organic Fig Newmans. As this happens to be the most important decision of her day, she is fully immersed in the intricacies of their comparative nutritional and deliciousness benefits. She's approached by an unfamiliar and somewhat anxious-looking blonde.

Blonde: excuse me?

The herione turns around to look quizzically in the direction of the voice. Not accustomed to being engaged in conversation by strangers about anything but her clothes or hair, neither of which could possibly be the case here, she's curious as to what this could entail. The girl, an average-looking South King County type in her late teens, gives a sharp intake of breath, covers her mouth with both hands as though embarassed, and haltingly approaches.

The herione looks expectant and a bit annoyed, because she has trouble not looking annoyed at any given moment.

Blonde: nevermind...I- I'm sorry.

She quickly shuffles by and continues down the aisle. Her reaction is that of someone who either just glimpsed the spitting image of a dead relative or saw her own life flash before her eyes upon the realization that her target does not take kindly to timid blondes half her weight. At least this is what Heroine would like to imagine she was thinking, because in her head everyone is scared of her.

The heroine shrugs and goes back to the life-or-death mission of comparing ingredients.

No sooner has the blonde disappeared around the corner than she appears again and recommences her nervous apologizing.

Blonde: excuse me. I'm sorry. I was just wondering- are you 21?

Aha. This makes sense now. Here's a novel situation; Heroine has never before encountered someone to aiming to employ her liquor-buying capacities. Although now she's a bit pissed that perhaps the girl's reaction wasn't based in intimidation, but uncertainty about age. Someday she'll appreciate it, but right now she's not pleased that anyone would still think she looks younger than 21. She briefly considers answering with a truthful "no," as she has not, technically, been 21 for going on 5 years now. She thinks better of it, opting instead to reveal that she could in fact help this girl, but emphatically choses not to.

Herione: Yep.

Blonde: you are? Um, I was wondering, could you possibly buy me a 24-pack of Bud Light?

Criminy. Bud Light? No way is this girl getting beer out of our protagonista, LEAST of all not Bud Light. If she had inquired regarding something that is as enjoyable going down as the imparative effects she doubtlessly was chasing, the request may have been considered. Ultimately rejected all the same, but at least considered. Clearly, though, this girl is merely looking for something cheap and easy.

Heroine: Not a chance.

Blonde: no?

Heroine: Nope.

Blonde: okay, um, sorry. I'm sorry to have wasted your time. Sorry. Thank you.

The blonde shuffles off, then turns at the end of the aisle. She has a worried, plying half-smile on her face and her whole body seems to be turned inward, as though the appearance of self-instigated implosion will serve as her penitence for asking a stranger to break the law on her behalf.

Blonde: you're not by chance going to tell anyone about this, are you?

Heroine: Who would I tell?

Blonde: (waving her hand toward the front of the store)Those people...

Heroine: I wasn't planning on it.

Which was true. This would actually never have crossed Heroine's mind if Blonde hadn't shot herself in the foot by bringing it up. As previously mentioned, such an event hadn't transpired in Heroine's presence before, so she didn't exactly have a plan of action. Although it now occurs to her that lying to the girl in an effort to keep her trying others in the same store may be the best way to go, as it will allow more chances for employees to catch her in the act. And why should she be apprehended? The obvious is that she's attempting to get someone to break the law, but that's really beside the point. The right answer is: she should be apprehended because she's a fucking twit who drinks Bud Light (BUD. LIGHT.) and hands out instruction manuals to strangers on How To Foil Her Plans. Her actions demonstrate that she not only is not someone who should be drinking- regardless of what age she is- but that she barely passes the requirements for mere existence.

Not that the other people in the aisle haven't deduced what's going on for themselves anyway, thanks to Blonde's tendency to make herself painfully obvious.

Blonde: Okay. Thanks. Thank you.

Heroine, in an unprecedented act of consumer rebellion, decides against BOTH brands of figgy goodness and goes to pay for her one avocado. Upright citizen (read: righteous party-ruiner and hater of teenagers) that she is, she does indeed elect to inform the cashier (who appears to be the girl's age and causes Heroine to briefly wonder if they're somehow in on this together, although in that case what's the purpose of the third party as purchaser- wait, maybe it's entrapment and they want to see who falls for it- paranoid much? WHO CAN YOU TRUST? Amazing what flits through a mind in the course of 5 seconds) that there's some blonde in the store asking people to buy alcohol for her, adding for no apparent purpose that she said she wouldn't tell anyone. The cashier sincerely thanks Heroine and promises with a laugh that he won't tell the girl it was Heroine.

It has no impact on the story, but the narrator still finds it necessary to mention that Cashier was hot.

Heroine leaves store feeling like a chump that she's a narc, but justified all the same- both of these, however, are overshadowed by the prospect of being jumped in the parking lot by friends of the girl who possibly heard Heroine deliver the rat-out.

Which didn't happen.

And she went home to enjoy her avocado.

The end.