Now that Kral is gone, I’m promoted to full-time counter manager at the Great Outdoors. I am handling the department all by myself and doing all the work that Kral used to do. Except I don’t shoot birds after hours — and I’m still not of age to be bonded, so I can’t cash register. But I am entrusted with the keys to the ammo and display cases. I am trusted to help customers make the choice that is best for their needs, although most customers know exactly what they want and don’t even look at me while I just hand it over and smile. Whether they see it or not, my smile is AllMART’s welcome mat.
But today I have a customer who doesn’t know what she wants. She stands by the glass display cases and taps her nails on the surface. They are beautiful nails; each of them is like a little lens that catches the light and bounces it back, a flash of violet, a flash of rose. Her fingertips are iridescent twinkles. I will ask Juliette if she knows about those kinds of nails.
“How can I help you?” I remember to smile when I ask, because the voice changes when a person smiles. A smile can be heard over the phone. People know what sort of person you are as soon as you say hello. It is a moment of trust. There is no changing that first impression. If the sale is to be made, I must sell myself. That is the research. And now I do these things without thinking about them. I am a fully trained employee.
“I need a gun,” the customer says. She stops tapping the glass and grasps her arms across her body. “Which one is good?”
“All our guns are excellent. Is this a gift?” I am going to tell her about our special gift card offer and how that lets that special someone enjoy the shopping experience, but her body contracts as she flinches back from the counter. A grimace flickers across her face. I’m afraid I might have lost the sale. But then she lifts her chin, and says, “It’s for me.”
“Excellent. A handgun, then, not a rifle?” I smile while I unlock the case. She says nothing, which means that I am correct. I take out a small gun. It is pink.
She has lovely eyelashes; they have extensions that look like vines and butterflies. Beautiful, she is beautiful. But there is a little too much concealer under one eye. And one of her fingernails is missing — replaced with a stretchy transparent bandage stained brown with old blood.
Her face is familiar, but I am careful not to say anything about that. It is important to respect the customer’s privacy. This is especially true of beautiful customers. There is a tendency to desire intimacy with them, to confuse the recognition of beauty with familiarity, to presume they find us attractive too. I don’t give in to any of that. I am perfectly professional.
“Is this a good gun?”
“It is great! And so kawaii! It will fit in a small purse. Adorable!” I’m smiling as I say the words.
“But is it strong? Is it as strong as those?” She points at the other guns in the case. The black ones.
“Yes! Absolutely. It is just as strong as that gun right there. They are the same model. The same in every way. Except this one is pink! So kawaii!”
She goes back to tapping on the glass with her fingernails. She pushes the gun with one finger. It spins on the surface, one slow rotation and a little bit more.
“You will also need ammunition.” I turn and select the right caliber and place it beside the gun.
“Okay,” the customer says. She reaches out and pushes the gun again with her finger. Again it spins slowly and comes to a stop.
“It comes with a free trigger lock, because AllMART cares about our customers.”
“Okay,” the customer says.
“I’m sorry that our shooting range is closed for remodeling,” I say. Of course it isn’t being remodeled. It is temporarily closed because there is no associate to provide skilled instruction and advice. We are shorthanded because Kral isn’t the only employee to take advantage of the generous severance package for those employed more than three years who are eager for new opportunities. But telling that truth would not enhance the shopping experience for this customer. The story that the service is closed for remodeling helps her focus on a future where her AllMART visits will be better and better, new and improved.
“Can you take this thing out?” She taps the trigger lock.
“That is handled at the courtesy desk. Just give them this.” I touch the register screen and produce the QR code. “Scan it onto your phone and show it to your Customer Courtesy Service Desk Concierge, who will provide the key to the lock after the purchase is finalized.” I watch the register screen while the inventory adjusts. I place the gun, the ammunition, and the ticket in a bright AllMART bag, size small, extra tough. “Is there anything else I can help you with today? There are some fantastic sales in the meat department. The hot-stone massages at the salon are to die for. . . .”
“To die for,” says the customer. She shoves the shopping bag in her purse and starts walking away toward the front of the store.
“Don’t forget to stop by the service desk to complete your shopping experience,” I say. “They will remove the trigger lock and deactivate the senso-tag so you can exit without alarm.” I don’t want this to slip her mind. I don’t want her to become an accidental shoplifter, which would reduce my completed sales for the day. Watching her walk away, I see now that I really should have emphasized the hot-stone massage. It would have been an excellent choice for her. Better than the meat sale. She needs to relax. I need to be more sensitive to the needs of the individual customer. I need to read them better.
I wish I’d been able to direct her exit through another department, but I shouldn’t be too hard on myself. I up-sold her on the pink special model, and the box of ammunition was large, not small. I reach under the counter and get out my bottle of glass cleaner and the polishing cloth. Every smudge of fingerprint is gone. It is as if the lovely customer were never here. Then I call up the inventory readout on the sale, just to double-check everything, although the computer never makes mistakes. That’s when I notice that the pink gun was the last one in stock. I type in the warehouse order.
“Item is permanently out of stock.”
I look at the guns arranged on the black velvet. It is impossible not to notice that something is missing. I distribute all of the remaining guns so the case looks full instead of empty. I don’t want customers to think that they are deprived of anything. I want them to feel confident that their visit to the Great Outdoors has provided them with the full shopping experience. I want them to feel satisfied.
5er meets me at the door with a box of cereal in his hand. I hold up an AllMART bag full of shelf-safe boxes of milk. He shakes the cereal box. I walk to the sink where our bowls and spoons are sitting, rinsed and ready. Cereal is the extent of my cooking. 5er doesn’t complain about the menu.
I carry both bowls back to the table where 5er likes to perch. He climbs up, squats, and puts his hands out. Dinner is served. I lean one butt cheek on the edge of the table and start eating. The room-temperature milk is sad. I look at the pink bunnies running around the edge of my bowl. Poor bunnies, they never get anywhere. They just go around and around like socks in a dryer or an AllMART trainee trying to get out of debt.
Voice-over: This evening, part one of a very special two-part special on surveillance and security.
Scene: Drone hovers over burning house. Close-up on street security camera. It swivels. We can see the lens adjust the focus.
Voice-over: With Chad Manley and Sallie Lee.
Chad Manley: Tonight we are going to show you the wonders of security. Like this.
(Camera tight on Manley holding a small object between thumb and finger.)
This is the most powerful weapon against crime. Seriously, more powerful than a bullet. That’s right; amazing, isn’t it? This is a video transmitter no bigger than a mint. Would you care for a mint, Sallie? Oops. Dropped it.
(Camera follows falling object.)
What color are your panties, Sallie? Well, let’s see.
(Feed changes to micro-camera.)
They’re black,
folks — as you can see for yourselves. It’s remarkable, high-definition imagery broadcast in real time.
Sallie Lee: This is not news, Chad.
Chad Manley: It is to me. Sanjay and I thought you were more of a commando chick.
Sallie Lee: Sanjay, Bag Baby surveillance video, now.
It is me, and there I am, dropping that bag and running away. There is a bright spot that highlights me in the crowd, but it is still impossible to see my face. It doesn’t matter how many times they show it; I am nobody.
Sallie Lee: We’ve all seen this, but it isn’t all there is to see. Channel 42 has been given the right to show you newly discovered surveillance video. We will share it with you tomorrow, in part two of this very special special.
(Screen shot of nighttime traffic viewed from drone.)
Chad Manley: Ah, shit, Sallie, you’re a journalist. You know that up-skirt video feed is protected as free speech. Get over it.
There must have been other cameras. There are cameras everywhere. There might have been a drone above me. There might have been someone doing self-surveillance with a phone who caught me and the bag in the crowd. My fingerprint may not be in any system, but my face? If there is a glimpse of my face in any footage, facial recognition software can match me to my crime.
If I tell Timmer, he will try to help. That’s why I can’t tell him. There is no doubt what is coming, and it is coming for me. I’m the one. I left the baby in the bag on the sidewalk. Nothing can save me. If Timmer tries to hold on to me, it will be like one satellite touching another; we will all shatter and fall. I have only one choice. I have to be arrested for my crime, and the best thing to do is make that very easy. I just have to be where I’m supposed to be — behind the gun counter in AllMART’s Great Outdoors.
That night I read from the book about the Martians.
“Tumbleweed. Fragile. Names,” says the book.
I hope 5er remembers when I’m gone.
He puts his hands on my cheeks.
He doesn’t say a word, but then, he never does.
It is quiet in the store this morning.
I can hear the sparrows flutter overhead. They are building a nest on top of the surveillance camera. I worry. It doesn’t look like a safe place to raise babies to me, but there is nothing I can do about it.
I take out the spray cleaner and start polishing the glass over the guns. The sparrows tend to leave a mess down here below. I will need to get a ladder and clean the top of the polar bear’s case too. These are the consequences of changing Kral’s bird-murdering policy. These are the consequences of choosing life. Worry and messes.
There is a rumbling noise. An odd one — not the sound of a warehouse ladder, not the sound of a forklift groaning to life. It is the sound of running feet.
Men in black body armor are rushing down the aisle.
They are coming for me.
There is nothing I can do about it.
I knew this moment was coming.
They move in formation, but there isn’t enough room for that. The endcap display of canoe paddles crashes down. The stampede is over as quickly as it began.
I move out from behind the counter and begin picking up the paddles.
The men in black armor will discover their error and come back for me soon. There is no point in running. I can’t outrun them. There is no point in taking the keys, removing a nice little gun, and putting up a fight. I can’t outgun them. So I do what I can do; I let ZERO tidy up the aisle. It could have been worse. Paddles don’t shatter. It’s an easy cleanup.
Overhead, a camera drone wobbles and dips in the air. The sparrows flutter.
I’m sliding the last paddle back into place when I see them returning. I take a deep breath and wait, standing right in the middle of the aisle. The first of them pushes me along in front of him until I fall out of the way. The black force sweeps by, and in the middle there is someone being dragged along, stumbling, blind. They have put an AllMART bag over her head, but I know her. It is Juliette.
The clumsy black suits collide and jostle for space. Things are pushed over; the destruction is contagious, a chain reaction. The polar bear teeters and topples. The glass case shatters and the broken glass shines like a thousand diamond rings. I pull myself back up onto my feet. I turn and lift the intercom handset. “Cleanup on Aisle 125, the Great Outdoors,” I say. My voice is calm and patient as a recording. I don’t want to alarm or confuse the customers. Then the handset slips out of my hand, and I slide against the wall until I’m curled up on the Ergo-Rest mat that absorbs the painful pressure of being on my feet all day.
It takes all day to put the Great Outdoors in order. The broken glass is swept away, but it seems to leave a ghost behind. I move my head slightly so it catches the light. A sparkle party where I last saw Juliette, the trace of silver glitter from her shoes.
Finally, my shift is ended. I can clock out and go home.
So that’s what I do.
I slide my badge through the scanner, walk out the employee exit, and then go around to the front of the store. I walk with purpose across the parking lot. I climb the stairs to the pedestrian bridge. I pass over all that traffic. And I’m invisible. I’m even invisible to a drone that flies up and over the mesh of the bridge. I am invisible because no one is interested in my story.
I’m not the Bag Baby.
I’m not the Girl Who Was/n’t Eaten by a Tuna.
I’m just AllMART employee Zero.
I walk back across the bridge, then I circle around the parking lot. I circle until I arrive home, at the Warren.
“Can we save her?”
No one answers because we know the answer. The answer is no.
We are all together, standing shoulder to shoulder watching Channel 42.
Over and over again, the camera shows us Juliette, dragged blind and stumbling out of our world.
We share this heartbreak. In this way we are all united.
But the camera doesn’t show everything. It doesn’t see that Juliette’s shoes are falling apart, and that, after she is gone, there is a little track of glitter that marks her passing. The drone surveils, but it doesn’t hear her calling softly for Raoul. The camera doesn’t know what I know: that Juliette did the right thing. She saw someone who needed help, and she gave it, best as she could.
The camera never does see those things.
And there’s still no verdict in the tuna-girl custody case, and the dark neighborhoods are still on fire, and ammunition is in short supply, and tonight we should all look up to see the shiny sparkle of the satellite rain.
Voice-over: This evening, the exciting conclusion of Channel 42’s very special two-part special on surveillance and security.
Scene: Drone hovers over burning house. Close-up on street security camera. It swivels and we can see the lens adjust the focus.
Voice-over: With Chad Manley and Sallie Lee.
Sallie Lee: Chad, last night we shared the shocking arrest of Juliette Winta, age nineteen.
They run new video of the arrest. We see more this time. Through the drone we see Juliette being grabbed at her station at Fancy ManiPedis, the bag pulled over her head, the moment when they tased her and she collapsed, a small bright figure swallowed by a churning clot of black helmets.
Sallie Lee: And now, an exclusive, the surveillance evidence that cracked this case wide open.
That night, Juliette never thought about surveillance. Her eyes were on the baby, and that baby was her blind spot. We see her close up, cradling it in her arms, and though we can’t hear what she is saying, there is so much tenderness in her face when she rubs her cheek against that drowsy lump of baby that it makes my insides ache. We see her gather things the baby might need, we see her winding through the aisles of AllMART, we see her exit, and we see her walk away with unswerving purpose.
We see her walk straight toward the Warren.
She broke Raoul’s rule. She walked directly home. And what this means we don’t yet
know, but it cannot be good.
Sallie Lee: There’s the video evidence. The surveillance camera tells the whole story.
Chad Manley: Looks like case closed to me.
Sallie Lee: I think this time — for the first time — you’re right, Chad.
Chad Manley: (Grinning.) Hey, Sallie, would you like to see the story I reported with my personal drone camera last night? Sure you would. . . . Roll that beautiful drone footage, Sanjay.
Scene: Drone ascends past the light and dark windows of a tall apartment building. Hovers outside the slender window to a bathroom. Inside is Sallie Lee, naked with her hands braced against the toilet tank, vomiting.
Chad Manley: Again, isn’t that resolution amazing?
Scene: In-studio close-up on Sallie Lee. She stands. The camera is unprepared for the change. It is an unscripted moment. Without the smooth zoom-out for the longer shot, Sallie Lee’s face isn’t visible. Her hand points a pink gun straight at the camera.
ZERO knows that model of gun. It is a kawaii accessory. It can fit in a small purse. Sadly, it is out of stock and future orders cannot be filled. Sad. It’s adorable. And demand will be high now that the television audience sees how adorable it looks in Sallie Lee’s hand.
The gunshots sound louder than most heard on the Channel 42 News. I guess that’s because these aren’t recorded and volume controlled. The sound is being picked up live through the mic clipped to Sallie Lee’s business-fashion corset.
Scene: News studio. The camera wobbles out of control. It’s a dizzy look at the studio until it settles, lens down, unfocused.
What is that? What? It takes a while to see, but I’m pretty sure that is Sanjay on the floor, although I’ve never seen him before. Sanjay was a behind-the-camera guy, until now. Sanjay is dying on live television. But then the segment loops and repeats. Sanjay dies again. He was the behind-the-camera guy. He was probably in charge of switching from feed to feed. Now that he is dead on the studio floor, who knows which button to press to change it to a different feed? Sanjay may be getting shot for hours.
MARTians Page 14