quarterly journal of poetic and visual art
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Mannequin Envy quarterly journal of poetic and visual art home - submissions - contact |
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Fall 2007
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Kelly Mandryk-Layne Fall 2007 I was in the middle of my third shift at a convenience store when I was robbed at knifepoint. I should have seen it coming: I worked graveyards and just about every customer I served was either half-cut or half-baked. It was 3.a.m., and I was standing behind the counter tallying cigarette packs and listening to The Police's Roxanne blast from the stereo. The first time I saw him was out of the corner of my eye. He was standing on the welcome mat. His sweater was faded green and his pants were brown and oil-stained. He had pulled the neck of his sweater over his head, which forced him to stand in a hunch-back. He clenched the fabric with his hand so all but his eyes and forehead were concealed. In his other hand he held a rusty butcher knife. His appearance made me gasp. He ran past the front counter and came behind it to where I was standing. I must have looked terrified because he stopped suddenly and said: "Oh, don't be scared -- I don't want to hurt you. I just want money for drugs." I walked to the register and hit the 'No sale' and 'Cash' keys to open it. The till was still bursting with coins from the squeegee kids' change I had laundered earlier that evening. "Do you want the change too?" I asked. I was too panicked to think clearly, and the store training video didn't specify which denominations to hand a robber. "No pennies or nickels," he replied, in a strangely genial tone. I grabbed a plastic bag, fumbled with the handles and shoved fists full of bills and coins into it and handed it him. "Will that be everything for you today?" I asked, probably for the same unexplainable reason I check my email five minutes after I've checked my email. My count of the cigarette packs was up to 348 when the robber came in. He took only two cartons because I guess that's all he could carry without letting go of his sweater or dropping the knife and bag of money. When I handed him the Players Light carton, he pressed his arm against his chest to hold on to it. As he did this, his sleeve slid back a little to reveal a tattoo of a wolf bust. I handed him the second carton, and he turned and made his way back to the front door. Before he left, he stood on the welcome mat, turned to me and yelled "This is crazy, isn't it?" "Yeah, it's crazy!" I yelled back.
Kelly Mandryk-Layne is a technical writer in Calgary, Alberta who's recently rediscovered her passion for writing fiction.
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