Why does the air smell so chewy? Eugene thought this as he stood hunched over the checkout counter at Crocker’s Convenience Store. Waterslides of sweat ran down his shoulders and elbows in lines, mixing in with a pungent, meaty smell that always lingered during slow days at Crocker’s.  

Under the late day sun, yellow, swimming, pasta-like rays of light fell through the ceiling-to-floor glass window and onto Eugene. He felt like he was swimming in a pot of oil. His coworker, Adrian, had her black eyeliner and mascara dripping down her face in tear-like rows of sweat. She smacked her black lips together after waking up from a daydream. She was just as checked out as Eugene. 

“Oi, Eugene!” said the owner of the store, Robert. He walked and talked like an Italian mobster, which Eugene found odd considering Robert was an Irishman from Cleveland. 

“Yeah, boss?” asked Eugene. 

“Hey, listen, Eugene,” said Robert. “I’m gonna start cutting the phone lines in the store for a bit each day to cut costs.” 

Eugene raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? That’s gotta be some kind of safety violation.” 

“C’mon, who’s the boss around here? I figured it out, I can save at least a few dollars each day by not having the phones running.” 

Eugene blinked. “I don’t think that’s how that works.” 

Robert waved his hands in the air. “Bah! You’re not the boss. Also, Eugene, I think we should raise the price on Spam again.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Eugene. “Although, do you think that might make people mad?” 

Robert laughed. “It’s Spam! They’re still gonna buy it. Besides, who’s gonna get mad about something like that?” 

Eugene shrugged. “Aye aye, captain.” 

Robert patted Eugene on the shoulder. “That’s why I made you manager.” Robert looked at Adrian and nodded before shuffling back to his office on the left side of the store. Eugene leered at Robert as he walked away, specifically his nametag that read “Owner,” a nametag Eugene hoped to wear someday. Given the wheezing that escaped from Robert’s mouth and the hand he placed near his heart, Eugene would perhaps get this position soon. Robert had often confided in Eugene about his lack of living family, so perhaps a small amount of ass-kissing would land Crocker’s in Eugene’s hands.  

His eyes wandered over the maroon walls, which Robert chose as they would apparently “invite customers in, yet, at the same time, establish a superiority over them, letting them know that they cannot buy anything from here without incurring our prices.” 

“Um… Excuse me? Excuse me?”  

Eugene looked over at the pharmaceutical aisle to see Mrs. Fuddkins waddling around like a penguin, with no apparent direction or goal. Less than five feet tall, she wore a sun-faded, pink muumuu with a shirt pocket sewn in sideways, barely stopping her pocket Bible from falling to the floor. The flesh on her face oozed, barely clinging to her bones, like some kind of depressed blobfish. 

“Excuse me, sir,” said Mrs. Fuddkins. She sounded like she was about to burst into tears. “I can’t find my maxi pads.”  

Eugene pretended to cough while he gagged, and then turned to Adrian. Her face was forged into a permanent frown as she attempted to stop her eyeliner from melting off her face.  

“Adrian,” said Eugene. “Help Mrs. Fuddkins find her maxi pads.” 

Adrian glared at Eugene like a character from a Kubrick film. The Kubrick stare, as Eugene had been so keen to tell Adrian on days they were working together. He loved telling her all about his favorite films. He said she’d look better without the Kubrick stare. 

Adrian walked to the pharmaceutical aisle. “You’re not my boss, Eugene.” 

Eugene pointed a finger in the air, raising an eyebrow with a big, cheesy grin. “In case you forgot, Adrian, I am.” He pointed towards his name tag, the one with “Manager” written on the bottom. “And haven’t I told you before? I insist you refer to me as ‘The Brainiac.’” 

Adrian’s eyelids sat at half-mast. “I’m never calling you that, ever.” 

“You could at least be a little nicer to me,” said Eugene. He pursed his lips and made kissing sounds. 

Adrian put her hand behind her back and gave Eugene the finger before lowering herself to Mrs. Fuddkins’ height. “C’mon, Mrs. Fuddkins.” Adrian held onto Mrs. Fuddkins’ crumpled up hand and slowly walked her through the aisle. When they were out of Eugene’s line of sight, Adrian let go of Mrs. Fuddkins’ hand and leaned against the shelf, her small frame light enough to keep from knocking anything over. She let out a long sigh. 

“Goddammit,” she said in a whisper. “Fuck this job.” She straightened up and looked at Mrs. Fuddkins helplessly fumble with painkillers that weren’t even on the same side of the aisle as the maxi pads. Adrian grabbed a box of maxi pads from the shelf and handed it to Mrs. Fuddkins. 

Adrian chuckled and pointed in the direction of Eugene. “Men, am I right, Mrs. Fuddkins? They just never know when to stop, do they?” 

“What?” said Mrs. Fuddkins in a loud rasp. She adjusted her hearing aid, and Adrian winced at the noise. “Oh, my gosh, oh gosh, miss, I can’t understand you, I can’t hear you.” Mrs. Fuddkins walked to the front of the aisle where Eugene could see her. “Sir? Excuse me, sir? Can you tell me what this girl is saying to me?” 

“Adrian!” said Eugene. “Stop fooling around and help Mrs. Fuddkins find her maxi pads.” 

“I am!” said Adrian. “Just shut up already!” 

Mrs. Fuddkins let out a long, sad moan. “Oh my, please don’t talk like that. Please don’t say that to the nice young man.” 

“Mrs. Fuddkins is right, Adrian,” said Eugene. “You shouldn’t speak to your superiors that way. And get back out here, we have another customer.” 

Adrian felt a vein swell on her forehead, throbbing from the unbearable heat and pure rage. She stomped back to the counter with her hands held forward, stopping them from balling into fists, and her fingers were now pointing forward like claws. 

“We don’t need to wait hand and foot on every goddamn customer, Eugene,” Adrian said. 

Eugene held his hand around his mouth like a cone. “I just want to provide every customer with the best possible service!” He looked at Robert’s office to see if he had heard. 

Adrian rolled her eyes. “Kiss-ass.” 

Eugene’s eyes, tongue, and entire face stuck forward like a jack-in-the-box toy. “That is not my nickname! Brainiac! Brainiac! Brainiac!” 

“Will you two pipe down out there?” said Robert. “Stop yapping and help the customers.” 

Adrian saw Eugene’s face turn white and she turned to Mrs. Fuddkins, who could only be described as doing literally nothing in the pharmaceutical aisle. “I can help you over here, Mrs. Fuddkins,” said Adrian. 

“How dare you,” said Eugene in a snarling whisper. “I’m just trying to do my job here!” 

“Okay, whatever, man,” said Adrian in her own whisper. “Look, I’m just not in the mood for this crap today.” 

“You owe me for the trouble you’ve been causing,” said Eugene. 

“Fine, whatever,” said Adrian. 

Eugene raised one eyebrow and smiled. “Maybe with a date?” 

Adrian looked like she was about to throw up. “Eat me, you dick!” 

“God, I wish I could,” said Eugene. “Kidding, kidding.” 

Adrian pinched and rubbed her forehead. “Where is this other customer, anyway?” 

“I don’t know,” said Eugene, pointing to the parking lot. “He’s been sitting in the parking lot this whole time.” 

Adrian looked out at the parking lot, seeing a single black van sitting in the spot opposite the front door. The windows were too dark to see anyone inside, and the van itself wasn’t running. Is he trying to cook himself alive? thought Adrian. She saw that Mrs. Fuddkins hadn’t moved, and leaned her elbows on the checkout counter, wondering which customer would make it to her first, when the driver’s side door of the van popped open, and out came someone covered in a blue bed sheet, carrying a pump-action shotgun. 

Adrian’s heart jumped inside her chest, and she smacked Eugene on the arm. “Eugene?” 

Eugene looked up and saw the blue sheet walk towards the front door. “Uh, Robert?” called Eugene. “We have a situation out here. You should call the—” 

“I told you, Eugene, I cut off the phone lines!” said Robert. “I can’t call anyone for you. What’s the problem, anyways?” 

Before Eugene could respond, the person outside had already reached the front door, reeling back and kicking it open. Eugene stared as the man stomped his way inside. The person took off the sheet in the dramatic way of a dancer, letting it go high in the air and letting it slowly fall to the ground. He was perfectly clean shaven, his head shining in the light like a bowling ball. On his chest was a tight black tank top, on his ass was a pristine pair of white underpants, and on his feet a pair of black sneakers. Eugene saw the man’s hands shake as he held the shotgun, which had a Walmart tag hanging off it. They both locked eyes, and as the silence continued Eugene twiddled his thumbs and rocked back and forth on his heels. Why not let the man start the conversation, Eugene wondered. After all, he’s the one about to rob the place. Eugene let out a sigh. 

“Notice me!” said the man, his voice like that of an eagle; a wretched, ear-piercing screech. Eugene jumped back. 

“Can—Can I help you?” asked Eugene.  

The man stepped forward. “I want all the Spam you have!” He pulled out an empty potato sack from behind his back. “In the bag!” 

Eugene relaxed for a moment and then squinted at the man. “Wait, what?” He leaned back over onto the checkout counter. “You don’t want, like, money?” 

The man stretched his eyelids open and shook even more violently. “What did you just say to me, motherfucker?” He cocked the gun. 

Eugene bounced a little off the ground and put his hands in the air. “Alright, alright, it’s over here.” Eugene winced as he took the potato sack between two fingers, keeping it as far away from his body as possible. He led the man over to the aisle with the canned meats and there it was: at least fifteen cans of Spam, the metal gleaming brightly in the sun like golden treasure. Eugene opened the bag and began to push the cans off the shelf and into the sack. He looked at Adrian and Mrs. Fuddkins. Adrian rubbed her arm like an average onlooker, her eyes wide and legs planted firmly on the ground. Mrs. Fuddkins’ mouth hung open, showing no teeth, and her eyes were hidden by shadows.  

Eugene put the last of the Spam into the bag and handed the sack to the man. Then he looked at Adrian. He knew from his employee training that he was always supposed to comply with people robbing the store, but he couldn’t help but feel that he could defuse the situation. Just need to lighten the mood, thought Eugene, and maybe make Adrian laugh. Make her finally want me. 

“Hey, Adrian, what do you think this guy’s gonna need all this Spam for? Some kinda like… Hawaiian backyard cookout or something?” Eugene laughed. 

The man’s breathing turned sharp and fast. His pupils shook. “What did you just say? Huh? Fucker. You fucker! You stupid fucker!” The man whipped the shotgun towards Eugene’s head, cocking and firing. White brain matter and canned meat splattered across the floor as Eugene fell to the ground. Dead.  

Adrian covered her mouth as she fell backwards, catching herself on the checkout counter. Mrs. Fuddkins let out a long cry as she fell to her knees. “Oh, god!” she said. “You’ve killed him, oh, God, you’ve killed him! You’ve committed murder! I must save you of your sins, oh, I must save you of your sins!”  

Adrian got back on her feet and walked over to Mrs. Fuddkins, trying to pull her off the ground. She ignored Adrian, her head tilted upwards with her eyes closed. She reached for her pocket Bible. 

“What did you just say to me, bitch?” said the man. He walked over to Mrs. Fuddkins, carrying the shotgun by the barrel.  

“I really should read some of this to you,” said Mrs. Fuddkins. She flipped through the pages of the Bible and began to read from the beginning. The man raised the gun into the air and brought it down like an axe onto Mrs. Fuddkins' head, making a sound similar to that of a smacked dodgeball. She fell to the floor, not moving, not breathing. 

Adrian had crumpled onto the floor, her breath coming out in short, shallow shivers. She sat in silence as the man stood above Mrs. Fuddkins’ body. They remained like that for the next few minutes, until the man stomped over to Adrian and grabbed her by the shirt collar. He did not speak at first, instead taking a moment to breathe into her face. She smelled meat on his breath, wafting over her makeup and into her nostrils. She had to stop herself from vomiting. He leaned in further and opened his mouth wider, his gun raised in the air. A tear rolled down Adrian’s face and she braced herself. 

“Can you believe the prices on Spam these days?” asked the man. 

Adrian looked up at him. “What?” 

“The Spam!” said the man. “It’s three ninety-eight for one can!” He dragged Adrian over to Eugene’s body, dropping her to the floor. “Who the hell decides the prices around here, huh?” He pointed the gun at Adrian. 

Adrian’s throat closed up, unable to let words out. She looked straight ahead into Robert’s office and saw her boss sitting on the floor next to his desk, his puffy red face breathing in and out. Adrian saw him dialing 911 over and over and not receiving any answer. His eyes pleaded at Adrian. “I—” she said. 

“Is the owner here?” asked the man.  

Adrian stayed silent as the man stared at her.  

He pointed the gun at her head. “Answer me!”  

Adrian burst into tears and pointed towards Robert’s office. The man walked over and cocked the gun. Adrian heard a scream before the man said, “It’s your fault!” followed by gunshot after gunshot. As she sat on the ground, she felt something wet in her hand, and looked down to see Eugene’s brains on the floor, lying in a pool of blood that glowed honey gold in the sunlight.