"I'm sorry, Ma'am," Ty said with the friendliest smile he could muster this late into the workday, "but your cashier is correct: The 50% discount only applies to canned foods that are within one week of their sell-by date. As you can see," he turned the can over in his hand so that she could read the printed date on the bottom, "this can's sell-by date is still eight months out. I'm sorry, but you'll have to pay full price."
He kept the smile on his face as the lady snatched the can out of his hand and shoved it into the shelf behind her, dislodging several candy bars and sending them tumbling to the floor. "This is why I don't like shopping here," the woman told him, her overly-lipsticks lips so pursed she looked like she had bitten into several overripe lemons and her snow-white beehive hairdo trembling with fury. "You all don't care about your customers, you're just out for what you can get."
'Why don't you look in a mirror, Karen?' He thought to himself. On the outside, he kept his smile on. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Ma'am," he said pleasantly. "Is there anything else I can do for you today?"
"No, I don't need anything from you," the woman snapped. "There's nothing I want from you."
"Alright, you have a nice day then." He turned and left, waiting until his back was to her to let his smile lapse and let his eyes do the epic roll he'd wanted the whole conversation. He'd seen some pretty dumb things in the army, but nothing that happened in the army seemed to top the average supermarket shopper for sheer bullheadedness and inability to comprehend the most simple of instructions/statements.
'My boot camp drill sergeant had nothing on a Karen denied a $0.20 discount,' he thought to himself.
It had been a trying day all around; he'd had too much to drink at the party last night with the guys, and woken up with the worst hangover he'd had in months. It had been great to see them all again, but he wished he'd been a little more judicious at the punch bowl. Especially since he knew it had been spiked.
'One more hour,' he told himself. 'One more hour, and I'm done for the day.
==
Two hours later found him back at his apartment, kicking off his shoes at the door and dropping into his living room recliner with a sigh. He was only 38, but sometimes days like today made him feel 50. After a moment's consideration, he sat up just enough to pull off the polo shirt he wore to work and toss it onto the couch before leaning back into the chair with a sigh. He hadn't been there long when his stomach growled, and he let out a groan.
"Come on," he grumbled aloud, "I just want to relax a little bit first." Another growl from his stomach was the only response his body had to give and, heaving another sigh, he got up and headed for the kitchen to see what was in the fridge. On the way, though, he caught sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror and turned to look at it.
'I look good,' he thought to himself, indulge in the vain streak he knew he had but usually repressed, and he did. Although he was approaching 40, his face remained unlined and his black hair, still buzzed into a military-style flat top, remained free of gray as did the well-groomed goatee he'd recently started cultivating around his mouth. He grinned at his reflection as he flexed, making his still-beefy pecs bounce with a chuckle. Then he lowered his gaze to his midsection, considering.
He knew he'd put on a few pounds since leaving the service, but he hadn't really thought anything of it. He hadn't even really noticed the snugness of his dress uniform until Liam had pointed it out (as though he had any room to talk). But now that it had been pointed out, he was definitely starting to get a gut. Nothing huge, or even medium-sized, but there was definitely a curve to his midsection that hadn't been there before, starting a little under his pecs and ending just below his navel (which was the curve's widest point). He'd never had abs, having been more concerned with bulk over definition, but his abdomen had also never been rounded the way it was now.
But honestly, what did it matter? He could diet, sure, but between his two jobs he didn't have time for the kind of meal prep that would require. And besides, it honestly didn't bother him. He was still a stud, and he didn't see any point in starving himself for the kind of washboard abs he'd never particularly wanted. Besides, he still had his pecs and, honestly, those were the muscles he was proudest of anyway.
Heading for the fridge, he pulled it open and perused his options: Two-Day-Old Chinese Food, Four-Day-Old Barbecue, Three-Day-Old Pizza, or Week-Old Spaghetti. Decisions, decisions.
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