Night Stocker

It was a dark, dreary December night.  If it was only a few degrees colder, the light rain that was drizzling would be snow. The forecast was for zero possibility of snow, but that didn't stop the Crowley area from an instinctual panic. 

The run on Yeltin's IGA had been pretty thorough that morning and afternoon.  But the crowd was smaller now that evening had set and the rains were here.  Yeltin's cupboards were almost bare, with most basic necessities, like milk and bread, completely depleted.

Barry used his box cutter to open up the pallet of cereal boxes.  That was the aisle he was designated to do next.  Why anyone would need to stock up on Frosted Flakes and Mini-Wheats to survive a mythical snowstorm was beyond him, but apparently they did.  Thank goodness the owner, Stevey Yeltin, was able to move Saturday's delivery to Thursday, or they might just have had to shut the doors.

Barry Mincher was part of a five person team there that night to restock the shelves.  They began when the shipment came in at 7.  Stevey was determined to keep the store open until 9, the usual closing time.  They got out the milk and bread first, and were now stocking other areas of the store.

He opened his box of cereals, a mix of Kellogg brands, and began putting them on the shelves, carefully facing and evening them.  Barry sometimes got in trouble with the stock manager for taking too much time, but he was determined to do the job right.  If all he could do was to take pride in the way an aisle looked when he was done with it, then by God that was what he was going to do.

It wasn't always easy taking orders from someone twenty years younger than you, but that was the way of the world down here.  The families that ran things in Crowley ran things.  The families that didn't, either do what those who ran things wanted, or they got out of town.  Barry was stubborn.  This is where his family is.  This was his town as much as it was theirs.  He liked living here, even in the Onion Patch (near Magnolia Street) part of town.

Barry made $7.50 per hour working at Yeltin's.  He would get his next raise whenever the federal government put a gun to the Yeltin's heads, and raised minimum raise.  Then eventually, if he kept performing well and gave them no grief, he might reach the lofty level of twenty-five cents above that.  Barry was 41, but even he wasn't the oldest of the crew.  Old Man Donny Stanson was 73, and needed the income to supplement his meager Social Security check.  The only one who made any real money was the stock manager, and he was, of course, related to the Yeltin family, Stevey's nephew, Ferris. 

Ferris was a whopping 21 years old, married and with a nice house on the Yeltin lands, and a proud college student of one full semester at Georgia Southern.  There was an incident at the college involving drugs and a car wreck, but his parents and uncle got him out of it.  Barry had not been so lucky when he was young.  He was arrested for marijuana possession when he was 18, having been the unfortunate loser in a game of Pass the Joint, and wound up serving five years in prison.  It took years after to get any kind of job at all (except under the table stuff), and he still had not restored his voting rights.

Barry finished with Kellogg's and started in on the Post cereals.  He thought the Post cereals tasted greasy and nasty, but to each his own.  It was after 8:30, and there were a few stragglers in the store, but not many.  He was surprised to see turning down his aisle that old hippie, Billy Heart.  He was wearing shorts and sandals, like it was the Fourth of July.  He seemed nervous and edgy.  God, he hoped he wasn't high on something.  Barry tried to stay as far away from that crap as possible.

"Barry!  Dude!" called out Billy.  "How is it hanging, Bro?"  Billy reached out his hand for a high five, which Barry quietly returned. Billy didn't wait for an answer, and just went on with what was obsessing him.  "Dude, have you or any of your people at Onion Patch seen Kayak Kelly lately?  He's been missing for weeks now, and I can't trace him at all.  Did he stop by for any product or anything?"

Barry was miffed.  "First, Billy, I don't have any connection with "product", nor do I try to involve myself with those who do.  When Kayak Kelly comes to our neighborhood, it's to teach our kids about science and the swamp.  They listen to him better than their school teachers.  And, no, I haven't seen him in a long time.  Last September, around Labor Day, is the last I remember."

Billy looked crestfallen.  "Damn, Barry.  That was rude of me.  I'm so sorry.  I'm just so stressed with him missing.  I've been trying to think of everything, even stuff that don't make no sense.  I'm just at a loss as what to do."

"Have you checked with his family up north?"  Barry knew Kayak Kelly's family was from someplace else, but he couldn't remember where.

"Oh, yeah!  I've called his Michigan peeps several times, and they don't know nothing.  Sometimes he goes on quests and crap, but he usually tells somebody.  And I got no luck with his buddies from the University of Florida."

Barry saw a couple turn down the aisle with a half filled buggy.  "Hey, maybe you should try him.  Maybe he could help."  Barry pointed to them.

"The Fuzz?" scorned Billy.  "I don't know.  I don't do much talking to them."

"Sheriff Steel is different.  Trust me.  I know the difference between good cops and bad cops.  He'll do you straight."  Sheriff Alan Steel was coming down the aisle with his wife, Vicki.  Steel had always treated the people of Onion Patch fairly, and had recently prevented Thandia French and her family form being evicted by that slumlord, Archie Crowley.

"Hey, Barry!" called out the Sheriff.  "You got any Grape Nuts in there?  I want to have one more box of the stuff before my teeth completely go out."

Okay, so the Sheriff wasn't perfect.  Liking that nasty Post stuff.  The Sheriff looked like he stepped from central casting, a solidly built tall man, graying, with unexpectedly kind, blue eyes.  His wife Vicki was heavy set, but with a beautiful face, wrinkle free even in her fifties.

Sheriff Alan looked over at Billy Heart.  "What the hell, Billy!  You just come from the beach in Miami or something?  You ain't high, are you?"

"No, Sheriff!  Of course not!  Why, I ain't had nothing but a, uh, occasional beer for years!"  Barry had to suppress a chortle.  Billy lying about his marijuana use was just second nature.  "But I do want to talk to you about Kayak Kelly."

Barry let them talk as he tried to catch up with his stocking.  It wouldn't be long before Ferris Yeltin was going to wonder what the hell was taking him so long.  Maybe if Ferris would come out to try to help, even just talk to customers, instead of spending most of the time talking about fishing, hunting and college football in the office, things could get done quicker. 

By the time Barry started in on the granola bars their conversation was finishing up.  "All right, Billy," responded Sheriff Alan.  "You convinced me it's worth checking out.  I'll go over to his place with a couple others tomorrow morning, see what we can find out."

Billy thanked him profusely, and they moved out of his aisle.   Barry was about to wrap the cereal aisle up, when Jackie and Ramona Adams came down the aisle, waving and smiling at him.  They were like the African American power couple in Crowley.  She was a legal secretary at Cooper and Strickland, and he was the Assistant Principal at Reagan Middle School.  They were so well off, they didn't even live in Onion Patch anymore.  They lived in a virtually all white neighborhood near Lake Crowley (which was more of a glorified pond, really).

"How are you doing, Barry?  Looks like the panic stripped the store bare!" said Jackie.  Jackie was like a black version of Sheriff Alan.  Tall, solid, with a very commanding presence.  Kids of all groups gave him respect at the school.  He was by all measures excellent at his job.  You would think that would put him line to be Principal or even Superintendent someday, but this was Crowley after all.

"I'm fine!" Barry replied.  "Can't complain.  Could sure use the extra work! Hey, is it for real that they're closing school tomorrow?  Don't seem like the weather is gonna get bad enough to warrant that."

"Well, you know.  Roads could ice, parents are on edge, so why take a chance.  Best just to go with it."  Barry realized that it was not Jackie's call, but it seemed like a conversational thing to say.  He glanced at Ramona, who was smiling slyly, like she thought the school was being over cautious as well.  Ramona was gorgeous, no doubt about it.  About a half foot shorter than Jackie, her hair in an attractive weave, her body perfectly proportioned, with nice curves in front and in back.  Together, they could rival Beyonce and Jay Z in attractiveness and charisma.

"Let's let the man do his job, Jackie."  She put her arm around his arm, and gently got him moving again.  "You have a great night, Barry.  See you in church Sunday?"

"Absolutely, Miss Ramona!" he assured her.

They went out the aisle, and turned towards frozen foods.

Yep.  Ramona was a damn fine good-looking woman.  Things just didn't work out between them all those years ago.  Well, maybe that was for the best.  It certainly seemed to have worked out better for her.

Barry put the finishing touches on the cereal aisle, and then moved to canned goods.

Back to being a black (the most polite thing the Crowley whites called him) ex-con Onion Patch resident night stocker.

He released a heavy sigh.