“What’s that smell?” the patron in lane five wanted to know. It’s the day before Thanksgiving, and all the turkeys are gone, ninety percent of the canned cranberry sauce, three-fourths of the hand. Slim pickin’s as folks run in and out of the store trying to find the missing ingredients to life and Aunt Edna’s special dressing recipe.

The cashier smelled it, too. A smile surprised her face, remembering the little lady about three hours early. She had needed three onions, that’s all, just three to throw into her stuffing for the family. She wore too much makeup, had on clothes too classy for a grocery store. And she smelled of old baby powder. It was a lingering smell, an aroma that evidently had left its mark.

“Just some baby powder, ma’am. Sorry if it’s too strong.”

“No no. It’s okay. Just reminded me of someone.”

“Me, too,” she smiled. “So, paper bags okay for today?”


2 thoughts on “Aroma

  1. Steve says:

    It was then that the patron in lane 5 tossed aside her cloak, revealing a very large pistol tucked into her wasteband.
    “The money in the register. All of it.”
    The cashier, an ex-Navy Seal, reacted by pure instinct, her hands moving out like twin rattlesnakes, striking with deadly precision. Her hardened fists registered on either side of the thief’s nose, the sickening sound of crunching bone echoing across the Zippy Mart store. The thief tumbled backward, dropping her weapon onto the floor, a shot rang out caused by the impact with the formica. As the thief crashed into the Enquirer magazine rack, the stray bullet sped down aisle 2, exploding two bottles of grape Juicy Juice and eventually lodging in a smoked Virgina ham in the meat section.
    The cashier calmly surveyed her handiwork, slowly reached over to the microphone, and said, “Herb, cleanup on aisle two.” Her work for the day was now done.

  2. Rick says:

    And most folks will think this is fiction.
    Happened just like that.

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