store, and as such, the company usually limited the quantities available to five hundred packages per store.
As you might imagine, five hundred units didn't stretch very far in a week-long sale at a busy grocery store leading up to a holiday weekend.
The advertisement specified that there was a limit of three per customer on all sale items marked below fifty cents. Most people accepted this while others would briefly try to argue before giving up. However, there was a man that I encountered near the end of my shift that just would not accept the situation.
The front of the store was pretty crowded, making it difficult for Doc and I to find a good place to stand where we wouldn't be trampled. Herbie was working on the register just in front of two vending machines and an arcade cabinet. So I led Doc to the aisle that ran lengthwise behind the registers, and we positioned ourselves between the machines where no one would bump into us. I could see the soon-to-be angry customer waiting in Herbie's line. In his shopping cart, he had stacked thirty packs of utensils. The look on his face said he knew about the quantity limit, but those rules couldn't possibly apply to him, right?
When his turn came, he placed three boxes on the register's conveyor belt and waited. Herbie looked at his cart and said, "I just want to make sure you're aware that the limit is three per customer. I'll have to charge you full price for the rest of those."
"I know," the man said. "That's why I'm going to ring them up separately."
Herbie shook his head. "No, it's not three per transaction, it's three per customer. That means you can only get three for the sale price."
"That's absurd," the man groaned. "I have a number of events coming up and I need these!"
"I'm not stopping you from buying as many as you need, Sir," Herbie clarified again. "But I'll have to charge you full price for any packages beyond the initial three."
"Why can't you just ring them up in separate transactions? What the hell is the difference?"
"Well, aside from the time it would take to do all of that while forcing everyone else in line to wait, we only have just so many of these items and they are in very high demand right now."
The man's voice began to raise not only in volume but pitch as well. "What are you talking about? You've got a giant display full of these things over there!" he pointed randomly toward the sales floor. "And I bet you've got more in the back!"
Contrary to his assumption, there were no more in the back. And that "full" display he mentioned was the last of the original four that we had set up at the beginning of the week. "What you see on the floor is what we have," Herbie told him. "And as I said, the demand for the sale items is quite high."
"Yeah, but you're still getting ten cents for every box, so I don't see why it matters whether it's me or someone else who buys them!"
"It's a matter of customer service," Herbie tried to explain. "I could either sell these all to you for the sale price and make one customer happy, or sell them to other shoppers and make nine more happy."
"But you've got tons back there!" he argued again. "This is absurd. Get me the manager!"
"I manage this department, Sir. I can only give you three items at the sale price."
The man eyeballed Herbie for a moment dropping a dollar on the counter. "Fine, whatever. You just lost a customer."
If losing him meant we could make nine other customers happy, I was fine with that.
He left his cart where it was, forcing Herbie to come around the counter and shove it out of the way for the next woman in line. With so many people waiting, there was no time to worry about returning the products to their display. Instead, Herbie left it against the end of the register between his line and the next.
But it wasn't over. While ringing up his next customer, Herbie kept an eye on the window. As he'd anticipated, the man walked through the exit, tossed his bag into the trunk of his aeromobile, and came right back into the store. He casually grabbed three more boxes of utensils out of his cart and headed to another line further down. Herbie picked up the phone and dialed the extension to the cashier working that register.
"Naomi, it's me. There's a guy in your line in a green striped shirt with the plastic utensils from the ad. Please don't let him buy them. He's trying to pull a fast one on me. Yeah, that's him. Okay. Thanks."
If the guy hadn't fought with me and given me a hassle over the whole deal, I probably would've let it slide. But his selfish attitude pushed me over the edge. Even after I explained to him that we wanted to be sure other people had just as much of a chance to take advantage of the sale, he still tried to go behind my back and get more than his share. So I made sure it didn't happen.
It was the exclamation point on the end of a ridiculous day. I don't often get that many problem customers in a single day. It was as though people knew I was looking to find some good in them and wanted to prove otherwise. Almost as if they were saying, "You think we're good people? Let us show you just how rotten we can be!"
And Doc knew it. "So your first day of trying to find compassion for people didn't turn out so well, huh?" he asked when we got back to the Chronopod.
I almost laughed at that, considering the events we'd watched unfold. "Not at all. I mean, I know it does no good to bottle it up and let it eat away at me, but some people just know how to push my buttons. Either they're self-centered, greedy and selfish, or just plain stupid! My brain just can't fathom how some of these people manage to dress themselves in the morning."
"Perhaps they just don't understand," Doc suggested. "They don't know what it's like to be on the other side of the counter."
"I realize that, but what these people lack is a basic sense of decency. What kind of a person shatters glass all over an area where parents regularly bring children and doesn't warn anyone? Was it laziness? Was it fear we'd make her pay for the pickles? Are either of those things worth the risk of serious injury to a child? Or even an adult?"
"People make stupid decisions sometimes. I'll agree there. But sometimes they do it because they're trying to avoid making the difficult ones."
I shrugged my shoulders at that. "What's so difficult about informing a store employee about broken glass?"
Doc crossed his arms. "Fear of embarrassment? You, of all people, should know something about that."
"Over broken glass?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, what would you have done? What would have been your first reaction if you'd broken merchandise in a store and created a safety hazard in the process? Your honest initial reaction?"
Doc always knows. I didn't want to answer out of embarrassment, but there was no sense in trying to avoid to it. "I would have looked around to see if anyone had witnessed the accident. If they had, I'd feel mortified. If they hadn't, I would have probably told an employee about the mess without admitting guilt in the process. I hate causing people trouble. It makes me feel like a burden on society."
He smiled at me, seemingly proud of my admission. "It seems you might have a little more in common with your customers than you thought."
Perhaps that one woman. Perhaps. But we have a large customer base. "Are you trying to tell me that every angry customer, every selfish shopper, every inconsiderate grouch—they all have good reasons for their behavior?"
"People don't develop habits, emotions, and attitudes without reason. If something makes them impatient or angry, if something brings about embarrassment, those emotions come from something in their lives that developed such reactions. Just as your fears and anxiety come from your previous encounters with people, the behaviors and feelings of others come from their own experiences."
I stared at the store for a long time, random thoughts and feelings dancing in my head. For a while, I didn't feel like these time-travel sessions were making much of a difference. But these last couple of days have come with revelations. A new perspective of the world has been opening up to me, and I can almost feel that fading flicker o
f hope deep within starting to come alive again. Maybe there's more going on right in front of me than I ever cared to see. Maybe I'm too wrapped up in my own misery to be able to sense the struggles of those around me. Am I really that self-absorbed? Am I really such a hypocrite?
Tomorrow is scheduled to be our last journey through time. It's the first time Doc has scheduled an appointment for a Saturday. He wants to see the events that led to our first meeting. The thing is, he's been acting very strange regarding this particular trip. Anytime I've brought it up, he's avoided the topic, saying something along the lines of, "We'll face that day when we come to it." I get the feeling that there's something he's not telling me. Not just about tomorrow, for that matter, but regarding everything. I'm not really sure why, to be honest.
His voice ripped me from my thoughts. "You alright?"
"Yes," I said, shaking myself from my daze. "Just thinking about everything."
"Would you like to talk about it?"
"No, that's alright. Let's get going."
We climbed back into the capsule, and Doc closed the door. "So, how does it feel?"
I glanced at him sideways. "How does what feel?"
"How does it feel to know you've accomplished your goal?"
"What goal?"
He adjusted his glasses, looking through them with knowing eyes of satisfaction. "To find some good in people!"
"But I didn't. I went home