Night of the Consumers

The new employee stepped through the automatic doors of the Supermarket, ready to begin their first day. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead. The smell of cleaning supplies and out-dated food slapped them in the face. Various shelves lacked product. Odd stains littered the walls and tiled floor.

The regret of getting the job was instant. They no longer wanted to be there.

From the back room, a guttural voice called out. “You’re late.”

It was the manager. Red-faced, sweaty, short, fat, nasally; he was already putting them on edge. Without any real welcome, he shoved a stack of product boxes into the new hire’s hands. They almost stumbled from the unexpected impact.

“I don’t care what you did before this. Stack shelves. You make sure everything looks good. And if the customers need help, then just drop what you're doing and assist them. If I hear a single complaint about you, you're fired.” With that, the manager left, probably into his office.

They stepped back onto the store floor and began doing their job. Three seconds into the job, the peaceful atmosphere faded. And a scream echoed from one of the nearby aisles, making them freeze.

They hesitated, then stepped out of their own aisle.

Within seconds, the onslaught began. Shambling, demanding customers lurched from aisle to aisle, calling out with garbled voices—“WHERE’S THE SHAMPOO?”, “I NEED A TOY FOR MY NEPHEW!”, "I CAN'T FIND MY BABY!", "PURCHASE! PURCHASE!"—each louder and more frantic than the last. If one got too close, they'd grab the employee, forcing them to either help or face the wrath of the manager later.

The only way to avoid them? Running. Hiding in or behind boxes. Ducking behind shelves. Time was never enough.

Tasked with stocking shelves—cleaning supplies, drinks, pet food—the new hire struggled to balance speed with stealth. Every box stocked drew attention. Every second wasted brought new risk.

One by one, boxes were emptied. But just as quickly, customers flooded the store, moaning louder, faster, more aggressive. They blocked the aisles, ambushed from corners, and chased the worker down like prey.

The employee barely dodged a woman looking for her baby, again; they helped her three times before. They threw down the video game box and sprinted into the staff room, panting. Safe, but only briefly.

But the manager was waiting. “You think this is a joke? You’re wasting my time! Get back out there or you’re FIRED!”

With no other choice, the worker returned. Every time they finished stocking one shelf, it felt like another box spawned in. And they couldn’t carry more than one at a time.

At one point, a customer vomited. Slipping through it slowed the employee down, an added obstacle in a store that was already a maze of collapsing mental stability.

Each task completed was met with escalating difficulty. Customers started sprinting, flailing their arms and barking their demands. One wanted alcohol for a party. Another claimed her husband disappeared and wanted a naughty magazine. A child cried for Halloween decorations in March.

The store had no logic. Only chaos.

By the eighth box, the new hire had learned every tactic: sprint down side aisles, duck behind boxes, throw distractions. Even so, one wrong turn meant capture. Time was always ticking. Rinse and repeat; trial and error.

Eventually, the last shelf was stocked. They rushed back to the staff room, heart racing.

The manager was waiting. “Hmph. About time. You can go.”

They sprinted to the exit. The door burst open. Light. Air. Freedom. They were out.

The world was quiet again. No more screaming customers. No more stocking. But as they caught their breath, the flicker of a fluorescent bulb overhead reminded them: another night would come.

And they weren’t sure they’d survive the next shift.

Enjoy!