Archive of Our Own

Interior, late afternoon: The front main aisle of a grocery store. Our view tracks behind a short-haired young woman in a red work smock, a black faux-cashmere scarf wrapped about her neck. Her path takes her between half-full bins and past shelves that are half-stocked.

Our view tracks around her to her side, revealing she's a slightly harried-looking thirty-something who can pass for her late teens, a white object on a string about her neck. Bespectacled, brunette, wearing three shirts, fingerless gloves on her hands which are half-thrust into her pockets. She approaches the banks of registers, passing by them, only half-glancing at the scattering of cashiers manning the tills and customers scuttling through with their barely-lined shopping trolleys.

The camera pulls back behind her as she approaches a bank of file cabinets near a pneumatic tube device, at which a blonde young man stands, examining a sheaf of pages on a clipboard.

HEAD POINT OF SALE CLERK ("Dean"): Hey, Rae, you made it, thanks for coming in.

RAE: You needed the hands, I needed the hours. (Glances back to the registers) How's it been?

DEAN: (Pulls a pair of vinyl gloves from a box on the file cabinets and hands them to her) Dead, Mr. Janacek wouldn't have called you in if there hadn't been so many sick calls.

RAE: (Taking the gloves, pulling them on) Well, let's do what we can with the crowd that we've got.

DEAN: That's the spirit.

Rae moves away, pulling the white object up over her face. Camera close on her face, revealing it's a surgical-type mask.

CUT TO: Later in the morning, camera on Rae as she bags several dozen red and white labelled soup cans, the surgical mask still over her nose and mouth. A cheery-looking blonde cashier (mid-fifties, plus-sized, carries herself with a happy confidence), also wearing a surgical mask and vinyl gloves beeps the groceries through the register scanner. An old woman pushes a shopping trolley closer to her, glaring at her face.

OLD WOMAN: What's a pretty girl like you hidin' yer face behind that mask? It's not lady-like.

CASHIER ("Bobbie"): (Cheerfully) Oh, didn't you know that's the new winter fashion? It's kind of an homage to the medical look. Think of George Clooney on ER.

OLD WOMAN: (Voice-over, camera on Rae as she bends over the next paper sack) It's this dern cold winter: it's making everyone sick.

(Rae keeps her head down, but out of the corner of her eye, she darts a look that could melt the armor plate on a Sherman tank at the Old Woman.)

OLD WOMAN: (Voice-over) I wish this global warming would hurry up and melt the ice caps, so we don't have any more winter.

BOBBIE: Oh, it's not so bad, we just need to be more careful washing our hands and covering our coughs and sneezes with an arm.

OLD WOMAN: (Forking over money like she's giving it to a persistent beggar) Whatever. You and yer rules and regulations.

RAE: (Blandly polite) You have a good day now.

The Old Woman grunts and shuffles off with her shopping trolley. As soon as she's out of sight, Rae growls and kneads her forehead with the backs of her fists.

BOBBIE: (Using glass cleaner to spray down the conveyor belt) Everyone has an opinion and some people seem generous in sharing them.

RAE: Thanks for handling her: if I have to hear more old ladies wittering about the precautions we need to take preserve (Angrily) Our Personal Health so we can Continue to Serve Them (calmer) I'm tempted to find some of that MEV-1 virus and spray it on her fruits and plant parts.

TEEN CASHIER AT NEXT REGISTER ("Samantha"): (Pulling her surgical mask off and trying to put it in the trash bin under the till) I don't know why we gotta wear these gay things anyway. It's just the flu that everyone's getting.

Rae gives her a bored. "Oh, really now" look of annoyance, head tilted.

BOBBIE: Oh, it's a safety precaution, to take care of the well-being of us and our customers.

DEAN: (Off Camera) Hey, Samantha, put that mask back on. Company rules.

SAMANTHA: Company can take their rules and shove them up their asses.

Cut to: Camera on a thirty-something man with cropped dark hair (MR. JANACEK) wearing a maroon sport jacket with a work badge pinned to it.

MR. JANACEK: Samantha, could you please shut your light off? I need to speak to you in the office.

Camera on Samantha as she rolls her eyes and mouths several choice words whilst shutting off the light on her register and moves out of camera range.

Camera on Bobbie and Rae, watching this, concerned.

RAE: (Waiting several beats, shakes her head) Looks like Samantha just made her last act of insubordination.

BOBBIE: (Optimistically) Maybe she'll get a second chance because we're so short-handed?

RAE: (Turning her face to Bobbie) Were you here the day she mouthed off at someone in front of Mr. Plishka, the district manager?

BOBBIE: No, when was that?

RAE: (Eyes on their lane) I'll tell you in a bit: we got company.

A WOMAN comes through, with a BABY in a car seat-basket attachment set sidewise in the well of shopping trolley. The baby coughs noisily.

BOBBIE: (Maternally concerned) Oh, dear. Ma'am, you want a Soother for your baby's little cough?

WOMAN: No, but thanks: there's too much sugar in those.

RAE: Thought it was Splenda?

WOMAN: It's the same thing: I don't want him getting addicted to sugar or anything like it.

Rae ponders this with a "Bu'zuuh?" sort of look in her eyes, as she starts to bag the woman's baby food jars. Once the bag is full, she sets the bag in the shopping trolley next to the baby basket.

At that moment, the baby turns its face to Rae and coughs, sending sputtum flying and hitting her in the eye.

RAE: Eeeyuck!

DEAN (Coming over) Rae, you okay?

RAE: Yeah, eyewash station, now.

CUT TO: Rae and Dean at the eyewash station, Dean pressing the buttons while Rae, glasses and surgical mask off, has her face pressed close to it.

DEAN: Ready? Three, two, one --

He hits a button on it, sending a twin stream of cleanser into her eyes. Rae winces, pulling back.

RAE: Ugh... try it again, I blinked.

DEAN: Try to hold still. Ready? Three, two, one --

He hits the button again. This time, she doesn't flinch.

DEAN: Better? (He pulls off a stream of paper towels off a nearby roller, and holds them out to her)

RAE: (Blotting her face) I think so. Thanks.

DEAN: Don't mention it: gotta take care of you.

INTERIOR: Rae's apartment, early evening. The winter twilight glimmers in a large window, as she enters, closes the door, drops a canvas tote onto a table, then unbuttons her heavy black greatcoat and slings it over a chair.

She takes off her gloves, unwinds her scarf, and takes off her stocking hat, dropping them into a bin by the door.

She coughs, loudly and from deep in her lungs.