In Store
Pick up the shirt, hold it out to assess the shape, place it back on the rack, take three steps, glance back at the shirt, walk back, check the price, look for customer service and…
“Hello there,” said Reginald to the woman holding the sky-blue business shirt. “May I be of assistance?”
“Oh! You’re wearing the same shirt,” she said. “Is it comfortable?”
“Very comfortable,” said Reginald, turning to model the shirt. “All synthetic-cotton, machine washable, fade resistant, ink-proof inner pocket,” Reginald cocked one sleeve, “and triple cuff buttons.”
“Thank you,” she said, dismissing him as she returned the shirt to the rack.
Reginald checked that all his price tags were neat—belt, trousers, shirt, tie, shoes, socks—then scanned his department for other customers.
Most were browsing the departments closest to the store’s huge coral reef aquarium, the heart of every J.F. Retail Outlet, awaiting the big event. Reginald’s department, Men’s Apparel, was only two away from being flush with its curved transparent side. Reginald took a moment to ensure his department’s monitors were feeding underwater images that complemented the surrounding merchandise. To his left, colorful swimwear framed a delicate magenta sea-slug, on his right, a massive sponge filtered nutrients among underwear and socks, and between the two, closer still, a tiny crab with an oversized purple claw excavated its burrow among swaying green sea-grass and hanging silk neck ties.
9:50 am. Time for his break. In the bathroom he checked the merchandise and his appearance, one and the same, squaring his tie and positioning his belt-buckle dead centre. With his height he was lucky, but he kept his weight the perfect male average and his hair neat and dyed a neutral shade of brown—no strong features to hamper a customer imagining someone they knew in the clothes Reginald was wearing. He was permitted to tuck away his tags during his breaks, but he never did.
In the hallway he checked the hourly bulletin board, then used his remaining eight minutes memorizing the updates of customer query responses and statistically probable conversation topics. Afternoon rain-showers predicted; suspected arson downtown had been only a malfunctioning furnace; warning about a variety of in-store paint that reacted poorly if used with an undercoat from another store…
Below were the updates of the previous fortnight, each more summarized to reflect the descending likelihood of a customer query. Many staff didn’t bother watching the television news, saying the billboard was better, but Reginald watched anyway, just to be sure. It was the little things, he told himself, that got you closer to the glass.
At the top of the board was the countdown until Sally, the store’s Sparisoma viridi, a fully-grown and pregnant Parrotfish, gave birth.
As Reginald returned to his department, Sally’s graceful form glided across every monitor, the underwater cameras tracking her tiny occipital implant perfectly, and Reginald heard cheers. Sally’s colors were J.F. Retail Outlet’s colors. Every new Outlet needed a Sally, hence the excited crowds to witness the birth of Sally’s brood.
The images reverted to two hundred angles through the aquarium as in the main aisle Reginald noticed customers parting for a metal box following a petite woman. After a moment he realized it was Veronica Vance from the channel eight news. The box rolled to a smooth stop near her feet and then split apart. Like a cobra rising from a basket, a flexible camera reared up from the box and twisted to focus on Veronica. She looked smaller in person, Reginald thought.
Reginald was distracted from Veronica by warning body language in his department. A customer was scratching his head.
Reginald rushed to offer assistance, but stopped short and stared at the man.
The customer held an item that didn’t exist, at least as far as J.F. Retail Outlets were concerned. It was a tube of men’s facial scrub…and the writing claimed it contained compacted coral fragments! Impossible! No product could really contain coral. On the shelf rested an entire row of the facial scrubs, lime, mauve, and pink colored, each with J.F. price tags and descriptions. Reginald scanned the writing on the back for warning advice. Who had done this? Competitors? And why the impossible claim the product contained coral material? It was ludicrous!
“What kind of fish is that?” the man asked.
Reginald glanced up to recite the fish’s details.
He looked at the fish again. Blue dorsal marks, yellow ventral patches, a sloping head and a parrot-like beak that cropped polyps from a sprawling pink coral. He had never seen the fish before in his life.
“Should it be eating the coral like that?”
“No, it shouldn’t,” croaked Reginald, torn for a moment between the facial scrubs and the fish. He scooped an armload of facial scrubs and rushed to the offices.
Store Manager McKinley cursed at Reginald in the hallway, his plastic-surgery smile lines rebelling disturbingly against his face. “Quickly, Reginald, into the office!”
