System Failure by Xavier Llewellyn

System Failure
by Xavier Llewellyn

There are many days in which you wish you’d die.
At least, from the sheer boredom, any escape is welcome.
The monotony and repetitiveness of retail was taking a toll on Lex, even moreso than that was expected from the environment. It was Christmas, after all. Putting up with throngs of stressed, frustrated and angry shoppers at her place at the Customer Service counter, on top of the average sort who wanted assorted combinations of cigarettes, vapes, lottery tickets and scratch cards, was enough to give a headache that lasted long after her shift ended and deep into the night, and that was without the stress caused by SPIMS.
And then there was Mariah Carey.
Lex wasn’t exactly a typically violent person, but, having heard “All I Want for Christmas Is You” virtually on repeat for the past month or so (Freshfields, like any other business, was more than eager to put out the Christmas stock and decorations as soon as possible), all she longed to do, if she ever laid eyes on the singer, would be to strangle the very life out of her body.
If she had a hitlist, Mariah Carey would be at the number one spot.
As the song came on for the umpteenth time that day, Lex found her longing for sweet release form into a rage for the singer she hadn’t had before, managing just barely to contain and stifle the feelings in front of an old lady insisting on a return of a used blender, without a receipt and still covered in cold, soggy lumps of carrot and gravy. Until recently she would have been able to process such a return — Freshfields’ policy used to be lenient, as they would rather encourage their customers to be loyal to the brand, even if it meant small, short-term losses — since the introduction of SPIMS, her hands were tied. No receipt, no return. The policy was now focused on maintaining the store’s bottom line at all costs, even if that meant risking long-term instability. Lex hardly approved. She knew she wasn’t the most intelligent person, but she easily understood that self-sabotage was dumb.
The old lady’s face contorted into a peculiar expression of disdain and vitriol as she retreated away, out of the corner of the store that housed the Customer Service counter and the magazines and out of the front doors into the cold of the night.
Lex sighed. It wouldn’t be that long now until the end of the shift, then she could go home and relax in front of the television in her pyjamas, with some Baileys and grab bag of Walkers Prawn Cocktail crisps, and catch up on The Ultimatum: Marry or Move On on Netflix. She wanted to know more about what Sandy and JR had actually been doing; surely they kissed more than twice?
The next person walked up to the counter. Through glazed eyes she registered that they were a kid with dark, coiled hair, probably around ten, wearing jeans, a Miles Morales t-shirt, and a pairing of a yellow rainmac and wellies. He had a bottle of some half-drunk fizzy drink in his hand and a bicycle helmet in the other.
Lex also noticed the sunflower-patterned lanyard strung from his neck and recognised what it meant from a training course she did a couple of years back.
“Hey,” she began politely, sure to be attentive for whatever response came next, “is there anything I can help you with?”
“Hello, um,” he began anxiously, his big eyes looking up at her. Obviously he was shy. “Do you have any Pokémon cards please?”
Lex pushed up her glasses onto her face in contemplation. “Pokémon cards?”
“Yeah. I think there’s a new set with Pikachu on them.”
“I’ll take a look. How’s that?”
He nodded.
She didn’t recall ever seeing anything like that behind the till, or even know what a ‘Pikachu’ was, but she supposed maybe management had decided to move them off the shop floor given theft rates or something. But, alas, there was nothing in the drawers she pulled out other than more stock for the various tobacco products.
She righted herself, brushing a strand of dyed blonde hair out of her eyes.
“You sure they’re not in the kids’ section upstairs? Are you with someone who can help you look?”
“Uh, no,” he replied, confused. “I only bought a packet here last week! And my mum’s just grabbing some pizza for tea.”
“Okay. I can check the system?” she offered and he nodded, once again. With a few prods of her forefinger, she brought up the store inventory locator in the SPIMS screen mounted near the display stand of scratch cards. And after a few moments, the only results for anything remotely like were some children’s Pokémon hoodies currently on sale.
When she relayed the results to the boy, explaining that he must be mistaken that Freshfields even sold the cards, as if they did they’d at least have a greyed-out listing indicating they were out of stock, his eyes welled up a little as he walked off, defeated. She overheard him mutter about being certain he had bought them here.
She felt awful that she couldn’t help the boy more. Glancing at the top corner of the screen, she read the time: 18:21. Still the best part of an hour before her shift ended and James came in for the night shift. Another customer in the queue came up to the till with their issue, and so it went.
About ten minutes later, she heard a cry.
The kid had dropped and spilled his fizzy drink whilst trying to take a sip as his mother hurried him along. She was now failing to mop it up with a spare tissue while juggling it, her shopping bags, and one of those scan-as-you-go devices. As the mother looked around for help, she caught the eye of Lex who nodded back at her, then asked over the PA system for assistance. The mother mouthed a thank-you as she then herded her son into the toilet, presumably to attempt to dry the boy’s front — Lex noticed she hadn’t dropped off her device, but was unable to follow her for her inability to abandon her post. She’ll return it after, she reasoned to herself.
She tried to keep an eye on the toilet door, which was located near the Customer Service area, but she still had to help the long line of customers that waited before her, so she soon forgot all about the duo. And she wasn’t the only one; the boy and her mother had no other family to speak of, so nobody noticed they were gone. They slipped through the cracks, and that was that.

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