Guarantee

by Greg Masters

Soda shelved at
front of store,
the Guarantee
Super Market
in Hackensack,
New Jersey.
Hot summer,
1968,
entered as
usual for
day’s opening
at 8.
Dozens of bottles
had exploded,
unprotected
from sun.
A mess to
clean up.
No one has yet
told this tale.

Perhaps there’s value
in a memory.
It was Christmas
break my junior
year in high school
and I was reading
The Hobbit and
The Lord of the Rings
trilogy during
every moment
that I wasn’t working
my stock clerk
supermarket job.

As I headed to the
decrepit employee
lounge for a lunch break
eager to get back to
reading, the owner of
the store commanded me
to restock the milk section.
‘’I’m on lunch,” I said,
and proceeded up the stairs.
Later, still infuriated at
my innocent refusal
of his decree, he fired me.
I came back to work
next day as if
nothing out of the
ordinary had occurred.
Not too long into
the workday
I entered his office
to apologize for
my transgression.
He could have
discussed the
situation with me,
even expressed
anger at what he
perceived as
insubordination.
But, to fire his
manager’s teenage son?
What a dick move.