the soup 4: return of the soup

“how much is this?”
“two dollars ninety five.”
“i only have two fifty.”
i shrug. “you’ll have to get the cheaper brand. it’s ninety-nine cents.”
“i don’t want the cheaper brand! i want this one! i’m sure forty-five cents is no big deal.”
“tell that to the tax department.”

she’d come in about twenty minutes ago and was wearing smarter clothes than people around here could afford.
didn’t stop her acting like them, though, as she counted her shrapnel.
she took a look at me, and i heard the cogs in her skull go click as she figured i was the kind of loser behind the counter who’d do anything if she smiled and bounced her boobs at me.
unfortunately, i’m too old for that kind of nonsense. i’ve worked in retail for too long to fall for that shit.
after she figured that out, she turned bitter and practically climbed up the walls in an effort to bully me into submission.
i could see she was the type to go for black leather, thumbscrews, and lubricant that gets sold by the barrel.
i didn’t smile.
i had better things to do.
i told her the cheap ninety-nine cent brand came with a free tin of soup.
she bit quicker than she’d bite the dick off a homeless guy.

sabrina settled in on the couch and scowled at the television.
the soup sat beside her.
she’d been cursing me all the way home. her house was an untidy place, nestled halfway up a street of what should have been condemned buildings. the screech of a siren outside as a copcar flew past temporarily made her flinch.

sabrina was on the run.
she’d been on the run since she was nineteen.
now she was twenty-three and embittered. she’d killed her husband in a moment of jealousy as he watched the news.
she knew he was drooling over the newsreader’s tits, and the way he was reading a book while the news was on only proved it. he was trying not to look, but she knew he was thinking it!
she knew how much he wanted to look up at that fucking newsgirl’s tits.
the camera kept zooming out to show her cleavage, and sabrina just knew he wanted to look.
that fucking cheating bastard!
he must be fucking her. why else would he not look at the screen when she was on? what the hell was he reading?
his phone went off, and he leaned over to pick it up. “sorry, love,” he said with a smile.
he read the sms and sighed. he punched a quick reply and sent it off.
put the phone down.
“who’s that?” she asked.
“hmm? oh, work,” he said.
that lying fucker! he was talking to some slut! some whore had just smsed him and now he was pretending it was an sms from work!
that asshole!
she stabbed him fifty-seven times with a kitchen knife and figured the message from work asking if he’d come in and work an extra shift and his reply that he’d prefer to stay home with his wife was just a code between him and some slut at his work.
she didn’t regret it then, and the only thing she regretted now was she hadn’t been a bit smarter about killing him.
then she wouldn’t be on the run.

sabrina ignored the soup.
she thought it pobably tasted like shit.
all free food tasted like shit.
she had a shower instead.
she looked at herself in the mirror and thought she was getting fat.
her legs looked like they were the legs of an elephant. so fat!
her stomach protested the thought of not eating for a few days, and that’s when she thought of the soup.
how much fat could be in soup?
if anything, she thought she might actually lose weight eating soup. she’d heard that was true.

sabrina was surprised by the aroma of the soup.
it tucked itself away inside her brain and made her think of the nicest foods she’d ever eaten, and she reluctantly decided this must be one of the best foods she’d ever smelled.
she waited until it had boiled and then poured it into a bowl.
she sat down in front of the tv and began to eat.
after a few brief moments, she was a little shocked to find she’d finished the bowl so fast.
“what the fuck?”
she looked in the pot.
there was no more of the soup.
she’d eaten it.
all of it.
she began to cry. how could she have been such a pig?

the soup sat inside her and was mildly interested in the texture of her stomach.
it didn’t look very good, but it had some wonderful colours.
the soup considered which way to begin. it was like trying to choose the first entree from a menu that wasn’t so much a pamphlet as a manual.
the soup prepared to eat.
and was almost as surprised as sabrina had been by the soup’s aroma when all of a sudden her stomach started heaving and heaving and tightening.
the soup tried to grip the walls of the stomach, but couldn’t hold on.
what the fuck?

sabrina threw up into the toilet.
the expulsion of the soup was like a weight off her shoulders.
she watched it float in the bowl and the sweat on her brow dripped to mingle with it. she wondered why the smell of the soup mixed with her vomit was still appetising and an irrational part of her mind wondered if she should scoop it out and try eating it again later.
she was just about to do just that when the front door was kicked off its hinges and she heard footsteps bounding through the house and then in the doorway she saw me, standing there with an empty tin can in one hand and a what the fuck look on my face.
“huh?” i asked. “you’re still alive?”

sabrina opened her mouth to scream, but didn’t get very far as the soup erupted from the toilet bowl like an elastic tentacle, wrapping itself around her mouth and forcing itself between her teeth.
you fucking threw me up! the soup hissed, enraged by the discomfort of being in a toilet. who do you think you are? kate moss?
her eyes nearly flew out of her head as the soup forced itself down her throat.
blood gushed as the soup chewed as it went, sending tendrils of itself throughout her body. tendrils which consumed her in a haphazard and rather unfriendly manner.
the soup was pissed.
i closed the door behind me as she began to struggle against the soup.
i’ve seen it when the soup gets pissed.
it’s not a pretty sight.

the soup rolled out from the bathroom, grumpily dumping itself into the empty tin i had positioned by the doorway.
i didn’t want to look in there.
don’t say anything, muttered the soup, before sighing heavily. i hate getting thrown up. especially into a toilet.
i picked up the tin and headed out. “no shit.”

Tags: customers, the soup, working in retail