The situation in this story is very real. Well, except for the ending; I made that part up. But the rest of it… I was standing right behind “Rachel” in line at the pharmacy. In order to protect the identity of this stranger I had the misfortune of encountering, her name, date of birth, and address are all made up. I used random objects around my desk to inspire her personal details. Honestly, it’s been so long since I wrote this archived piece of flash fiction that I can no longer remember which items on my desk served as inspiration.
~ ~ ~
“How much longer is this going to take?”
The other patrons waiting in line rolled their eyes and hid their giggles as the “Karen” made a show of sighing and stomping her feet. The time between 4 and 6 PM was the busiest. It’s when people get off work and stop by the pharmacy to get their medication on the way home. Everyone knew the expect a long line. Everyone except her, apparently.
“What’s taking so long?” she said, craning her neck towards the front of the line. “Do you know what the problem is?” she asked a passerby, a teenager wearing the store’s uniform.
“Sorry, I don’t work in the pharmacy,” they said, making their way towards the cash registers at the front of the store.
Her performative tantrum continued as she reached the front of the line, and she made it abundantly clear to the whole store that this was not over.
“Finally!” she said at the top of her voice to a pharmacist who looked like they wanted to roll their eyes so far back that they buried themselves deep in their skull.
“Name and date of birth,” said the pharmacist in a deadpan voice.
“Rachel McNeely. May 9th, 1977. Is this going to take much longer?”
The pharmacist didn’t answer. After confirming her information in the system, they turned away to grab her prescription. The sighing and foot stomping continued.
“Took you long enough,” Rachel spat when the pharmacist returned less than a minute later.
“Can you confirm your address, please?” they said, avoiding eye contact with the annoyance in front of them.
“Fine. It’s 21 Oliver Crescent.”
“Cash or card?”
“Card.”
“I… I’m sorry ma’am, but this card has been declined.”
“Fine,” Rachel sputtered. “Cash, then. But I’m pretty sure your machine is just broken because I know I have money on that card.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
By the time Rachel got home, it was already dark out. Rather than acknowledge that it might have something to do with the time of year and the days getting shorter, she blamed the incompetent staff at the pharmacy.
She grumbled incoherently to herself all the way from her car to her front door and only stopped when she realized something was wrong.
It was only after opening the door and stepping in that it occurred to her it had been unlocked. And there was no one else to blame because she lived alone.
“Just great. I was so distracted by that idiot cashier at the grocery store yesterday that I forgot to lock the door this morning. If that bitch had just done her job properly–”
“No, you locked it,” said a calm voice from the darkness of her living room.
“Who’s there?” said Rachel, her heart pounding in her chest.
“Just a neighbour. A neighbour who has determined that you are a public nuisance.”
“Get out! I’m calling the police.”
“You’re more than welcome to,” said the voice, and suddenly there was movement.
Rachel froze, unable to finish dialing the number.
“Rachel, Rachel, Rachel,” said the voice as a tall, dark clad figure emerged from the living room. It spoke to her like it was gently scolding a small child. “You should know better.”
An arm reached out and locked the front door behind her. Rachel shivered but still couldn’t make herself move. Not even after she spotted the large butcher knife.
“First of all,” continued the intruder, “You really shouldn’t behave like that in public. But especially not in places where you are asked to give such personal information as your full name and address.”
