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The problem with twenty-four-hour convenience stores was that some chump had to be there at three am. And that chump just happened to be Marco. He had worked at the Super Savers Quick Mart on the corner of 7th and Rose St. for the last three years, so when his tiny angry manager had asked if he could work some more shifts, Marco had jumped at the chance to make a couple extra bucks. What everyone had failed to mention was that the shifts were from midnight to six am.
Marco had almost burst into tears when his manager had sent him his schedule for the next two weeks. In addition to the normal afternoons that he usually worked, Marco had been scheduled to work the night shift every day. In the ensuing panic, he considered emailing his manager to beg for some time off. But after a solid thirty seconds of thought, Marco’s desire for extra money won out. He had been eating nothing but microwavable rice for the past four days and he could feel his internal organs collapsing from nutrient deprivation.
So, when Monday night rolled around, Marco found himself sitting under the harsh fluorescent lighting at 3:12am, staring out at an empty store. Marco had learned an important lesson in the last two days. Only drunk people came into a convenience store past eleven, and nobody after two. Marco had thought that the hardest part of working a night shift would have been trying to stay awake, but it turned out that the hardest part was not dying of boredom within the first five minutes. Marco had already read the same copy of People Magazine six times, and that was just in the last hour.
Marco was reorganizing the bubble gum display when the bell over the door chimed, and a man with his hood up walked in. Marco’s first thought was that he was about to get robbed. Marco’s second thought was to wonder if he would get extra insurance money if that were to happen. Hey, minimum wage workers couldn’t be choosers. The guy didn’t even look at Marco though, and just made a beeline for the snacks. Marco ignored him. This Orbit wasn’t going to organize itself.
Out of the corner of his eye, Marco could see the guy staring at the chip display. He had a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos in one hand and a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos in the other. The guy reached out to put the Doritos back, but hesitated. “You know,” said Marco, in a fit of boredom induced bad judgment. “You could always get both.”
The guy startled and turned around to look at Marco. He looked awful. Dark circles ringed his bloodshot eyes, with a sallow pasty complexion. Greasy, sandy hair stuck out from under his hood. Marco glanced down to where the guy was wearing red plaid pajama pants tucked into argyle socks. Marco dragged his eyes away from whatever was happening with the guys fashion choices and back to his face. He blinked at Marco. “What am I? Made of money?”
Marco glanced down at the chips in his hands. “They’re fifty cents each.”
“Yeah? What’s your point?”
Marco had a brief moment of indecision. On one hand, three years of customer service training had taught him never to engage with the openly aggressive. On the other hand, he wanted to see how this ended. “Dude, just go outside and look on the ground for two quarters.”
The guy narrowed his eyes at Marco. Marco propped his head on his hand and gazed back. “I already did that, smartass,” he snapped. “There’s no quarters within five blocks of here.”
Marco raised his eyebrows. Damn, this guy was pretty good. “But,” the guy continued, a manic expression lighting up his face. “There might be some in here.”
He turned, stuffing the chips back onto the shelf before dropping to the ground, giving Marco a prime view of his pajama clad ass. The guy was peering under the shelves, squinting, his cheek pressed to the grungy linoleum.
He glanced over his shoulder to where Marco was still standing behind the counter. “Well?”
Marco’s heart jumped to his throat. Had the guy caught him staring? Was it illegal to check out a customer? Was he going to retail jail? “Well, what?”
The guy rolled his eyes. “Are you going to help me or what? It’s not like you’re doing anything else.”
Marco opened his mouth to argue on reflex, but hesitated. It wasn’t like the guy was wrong. “Alright, then,” he said.
Marco clambered over the counter, knocking the gum display to the ground. Marco fell rather than lay down next to the guy and joined in the quarter search. The guy gave him a grimace that Marco guessed was supposed to be a smile.
They stayed like that for the next ten minutes, back to back on the ground, scanning the darkness under the shelves for any hint of silver. When they reached the end of the row, they stood up. “I guess I’ll take the left side,” said Marco.
The guy nodded. They headed to opposite sides of the store and began their search again. As Marco worked his way down the candy aisle, he couldn’t keep himself from wondering about the guy currently glaring under the packaged sandwich display.
“So,” Marco said into the silence. “What brings you out this late?”
“None of your business.”
“Alright, guess I’ll go fuck myself then,” muttered Marco.
The guy turned back to his search. Marco knew in his brain that he probably shouldn’t be pushing this guy’s buttons, but if he was going to spend his shift face down on the ground, he at least wanted to know who he was doing it for.
Marco moved to look under the drink fridges. His knees were starting to ache. He glanced over to the guy, but all he could see was his Vans sticking out from around the corner. Marco sighed and gave up, flopping onto his stomach and resting his chin on his crossed arms. “What’s your name?” he tried again.
The guy’s left foot twitched. There was nothing but the soft rustle of clothes for a moment. Marco sighed. He was doomed to a life of silence. But then, “I’m Jean.”
Marco grinned at Jean’s feet. “I think this is where you’re supposed to respond,” said Jean.
“I’m wearing a name tag,” Marco said, glancing down at his lime green polo.
“Yeah, because I can definitely read that from here,” said Jean, voice muffled.
Marco bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing. “It’s Marco.”
“Fantastic,” said Jean. “But, Marco, didn’t you agree to help me look for quarters?”
“I am looking,” said Marco, picking at a thread on his sleeve.
“I can’t even see you and I know that’s bullshit,” Jean said.
“Fine,” said Marco, turning his head to stare under the fridge. Like there was any possibility that this crazy guy was going to find fifty cents on the floor.
Marco must have jinxed himself or something because the next second his eye caught a slight reflection in the grime. Marco reached through the dust and pulled the quarter toward himself.
Marco couldn’t stop the smile from splitting his face as he jumped to his feet and stumbled toward the other side of the store where Jean was elbow deep under the slushie machine. “Hey Jean!”
Jean yanked his arm out from under the machine and sat up, holding something out to Marco. “I got one!” they said at the same time. c
Jean stared at the quarter Marco was practically shoving up his nose like it was the holy grail. He hauled himself to his feet and plucked the quarter out of Marco’s hand. “Do you know what this means, Marco?” Jean said, his voice cracking.
“That you can get both kinds of chips?” Marco said. Jean honestly looked like he was about to cry.
Jean lurched forward and wrapped his arms around Marco’s shoulders. “Thank you so much, man,” he said, the words muffled where his face was pressed into Marco’s shoulder.
Marco patted him on the back. He guessed that this was one experience he could cross of the bucket list: getting hugged by a near stranger in the middle of a convenience store at 3:37 in the morning. “No problem.”
Jean pulled away, sniffing loudly. He stumbled back towards the chip aisle while Marco hauled himself back over the counter. Jean dumped the chips in front of Marco while he rang him up. “Alright,” said Marco. “Your total is $1.00.”
Jean proudly handed over the two lint covered quarters and dug around in his pocket, pulling out an old blue wallet. Marco watched him, momentarily hypnotized by the movements of his hands. The spell was broken when Jean turned his wallet upside down and ten nickels fell onto the counter.
Marco started at the pile of coins. He raised his eyes to Jean. Jean stared back. Marco looked back at the change. “Alright, have a nice night,” he said.
Jean grinned at him. “Thanks man.”
Jean grabbed the two bags of chips and left the store, the bell chiming behind him. Marco swept the coins off the counter and dumped them into the cash register. He looked out at the now empty store. He wasn’t totally convinced the last twenty minutes had actually happened.
That feeling persisted all through the rest of Marco’s shift, and into the next day. By the next night, Marco was convinced that Jean had somehow entered the Quick Mart from an alternate dimension and that Marco would never see him again.
So, when Jean walked in around four am, Marco was confused, to say the least. Why was he here again? And so late? “Hey,” said Jean, holding up one hand in a cool guy style half wave.
“Why are you here?” blurted out Marco. That had come out a lot more aggressive than he had intended. Marco could feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up his face.
Now Jean was the one who looked confused. “Uh, you guys are open, right? I was pretty sure it was 24/7 here.”
Marco shook his head to clear it. “Yeah, no that’s right. We are open. That’s totally correct.
Jean gave him a look clearly saying that he thought Marco was insane. “Alright, man,” he said. “That’s cool, I guess. I’m just gonna go…”
Jean gestured toward the back of the store. Marco nodded. “Yup, go right ahead.”
Jean turned away, disappearing behind the shelves. Marco dropped his head to the counter with a dull thunk. He was going to use his employee discount to get ¢0.76 off a bottle of superglue so he could stick his mouth shut and never embarrass himself again.
Marco could hear Jean moving around in the store, but he couldn’t make himself lift up his head. If Jean was stealing or whatever, then that was just how the night was going to go.
From over Marco’s head came the sound of Jean clearing his throat. Marco scrambled back into a standing position and tried to look like he hadn’t just been having an existential crisis about how much he hated his job while on the clock.
“Find everything okay?” said Marco, his voice two octaves higher than usual.
Jean nodded and slid his stuff across the counter for Marco to ring up. Marco glanced down. Only his exhaustion kept him from doing a double take.
The items scattered across the glass top counter told a story that Marco didn’t want to think about. A box of condoms, mayonnaise, and a sea breeze scented candle. As Marco scanned the items, he snuck a glance a Jean. He was checking his phone, either unaware or fully aware of the message he was sending.
“That’s $8.43,” said Marco.
Jean looked up from his phone and forked over a ten-dollar bill. As Marco rang him up, he tried to divine what Jean was going to do with the assortment of shit he was buying at four am on a Tuesday. Was he planning some sort of weird mayonnaise themed romantic evening? Was Marco about to discover a very specific fetish?
Marco handed back Jean’s change and tried not to be too creepy as he watched Jean gather up his stuff and head towards the door. Clearly Marco wasn’t as subtle as he tried to convince himself he was, because Jean paused with his hand on the door and half turned back to where Marco was standing.
“You know,” he said. “I’m not going to use all this at once.”
Marco’s eyes widened. Was Jean some sort of mind reader? “I didn’t think that you were,” lied Marco.
Jean rolled his eyes. “Dude, I could see it on your face. I just ran out of a couple things. I promise I don’t have a really specific fetish.”
Marco laughed. “That’s good to know.”
Jean grinned at him and flashed him a peace sign before leaving the store. Marco propped his head on his hands and smiled to himself. Jean was nice. Too bad Marco was never going to see him again.
Jean came in the next night. Marco had just finished selling forty dollars’ worth of Skittles to a group of drunken teenagers when he spotted the familiar scowl. Jean glared at the group as they left. He dug his hands into his pockets and came to stand in front of Marco.
“Hey!” said Marco. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Jean snorted. “Funny. We got ourselves a real comedian over here.”
Marco just shrugged. Jean had become sort of a staple during the night shifts and now Marco looked forward to his heavy sarcasm. “What can I do you for?” he said.
Jean pointed to the wall behind Marco. “Can I get one of those lighters?”
“That’s it?” said Marco, glancing behind him. “Really?”
Jean rolled his eyes. “Yes, really. My old one broke.”
Marco grabbed the lighter off the rack behind him and handed it over to Jean. Marco watched as Jean dug around for his wallet. “You know,” said Marco. “How come you only come in here in the middle of the night?”
“What are you, the cops?” said Jean.
“Nah,” said Marco as he rang Jean up. “But the only people that come in here this late besides you are drunk teenagers and college students who are high out of their minds. So, you’re the anomaly.”
Jean twirled the lighter around in his hands. Marco’s eyes were drawn to the movement of his fingers. “I work over at Maxi’s Pizza. It closes at two, so I’m always up at weird hours. This place is super close to my apartment also, so if I remember stuff I need, then I can just run out.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” said Marco.
“How come I’ve never seen you in here?” said Jean.
“Oh, I just started the night shift. My shithead manager scheduled me for two weeks in a row.”
Jean raised his eyebrows at him. “Wow, it sounds like you really love being here.”
Marco nodded. “Oh yeah, sure.”
Jean giggled and immediately slapped his hand over his mouth. Marco laughed at the expression on Jean’s face. Jean dropped his hand away from his face and glared at Marco. “I’m never coming back here."
Marco failed to keep the smile off of his face. “Yeah, ok. See you tomorrow, Jean.”
Jean stalked out of the store, the door slamming shut behind him. Marco waved to Jean through the glass. Jean flipped him off before rounding the corner. Marco smiled to the empty store. Night shift was turning out to be much more fun than he thought.
Marco was in a bad mood on Thursday night. During the afternoon some kid had dumped his slushie all over him, and the kids mother had spent twenty minutes yelling at Marco for some reason. To make the whole situation even better, Marco didn’t have a change of clothes, so he had to spend the next nine hours smelling like Blueberry Blast. Just to make the evening even more enjoyable, at midnight, Marco had to try and explain to a middle-aged man why he couldn’t return a half-eaten Snickers. Eventually Marco had given the guy $1.50 of store credit just to make him go away. Apparently, this wasn’t good enough, and the guy threatened to report Marco to his manager for a “bad attitude”.
At 2:00 am all Marco wanted was to go home and sleep for fifteen hours and maybe never speak to another human ever again. When the bell over the door chimed, Marco didn’t bother looking up until the person stopped in front of the counter. Marco dragged his eyes away from the lottery tickets under the counter and up to the now familiar face. Jean raised his eyebrows at the large blue stain down Marcos front.
“Don’t ask,” muttered Marco.
Jean snorted. “You ok there?”
Marco pushed his hair out of his eyes and sighed. “I’m fine, just tired.”
Jean nodded. For a moment they just stared at each other. The back of Marco’s brain noted that they were the complete inverse of when they had first met. Now Jean was the one who looked well rested, wearing actual clothes instead of pajamas, as contrasted with the exhausted Marco. It was pretty unfair that Jean looked handsome under the fluorescent lights and Marco looked like a raccoon that crawled out of a dumpster.
“So,” said Marco. “What brings you in tonight?”
Jean looked away from Marco and shifted from foot to foot. “Just…getting some snacks.”
Marco narrowed his eyes. Jean was acting suspicious. Jean swallowed and backed away from the counter, disappearing behind the shelves. Marco leaned against the wall behind him. “Hey,” Jean called from the back of the store. “What’s your favorite candy?”
“Um, Sour Patch Kids, I guess,” said Marco.
Jean emerged from the aisle and set a bag of Sour Patch Kids on the counter. “Couldn’t decide what to get?” said Marco as he moved towards the register to ring Jean up.
Jean just shrugged and handed Marco the money. Marco watched Jean out of the corner of his eye while he got his change. Jean was staring at the floor, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie.
Marco cleared his throat. Jean looked up. Marco held out the coins to Jean. Jean gave a sort of spasm that Marco guessed was supposed to be a nod, as he stuffed the coins into the pocket of his jeans. Jean picked up the candy from the counter and hesitated, still not looking at Marco.
“Here,” he said, shoving the candy towards Marco. Marco blinked. Was Jean…giving it to him?
Jean gestured at Marco. “Take it,” he said, staring at the counter.
Marco reached out and slowly took the lime green packet from Jeans fingers. Marco’s brain had short circuited. The only thought running through his head was, “Why?”
Jean looked up, finally meeting Marco’s eyes. Jean’s eyes were a beautiful hazel color. Jean shrugged again. “You looked like you needed it.”
Marco’s heart skipped a beat. Jean blinked and looked away, breaking whatever spell had fallen over them. A blotchy red flush was rising up his neck.
“Well, see you later then,” said Jean. He power walked away from the counter, and out of the store. Before he rounded the corner, Marco saw him break into a run.
Marco stared out at the empty store. He looked down at the candy still in his hand. With shaking hands, he ripped open a corner of the package. Marco picked out a green candy. While he chewed on the sour candy, Marco couldn’t stop himself from giving a huge stupid smile.
On Friday night, Marco couldn’t stop himself from watching the door. He ran his hands over the collar of his polo, smoothing away imaginary wrinkles. Marco glanced down at his watch. It was almost four in the morning. The bell over the door jingled as Jean walked in. Marco tried not to look too eager.
Jean had headphones in and just nodded to Marco before walking over to the refrigerators. Marco wilted. The whole thing was stupid. He had been waiting for Jean for three hours, and now Jean didn’t want to talk to him. Well, whatever, if Jean was going to be like that, then Marco could be difficult too.
Marco grabbed a copy of OK! magazine from the stand on the counter and opened it to a random page. ‘How to find the perfect man’ said the obnoxious purple headline. Great, now even the magazine was mocking him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Marco could see Jean approaching the counter. Marco concentrated harder on the list of ‘subtle ways to tell him you want him to take you out to brunch’. Marco let two full seconds pass before he put down the magazine and turned to face Jean.
Jean pulled out one earbud and slid his food across the counter. Marco gave Jean his blankest cashier smile and reached for his food but paused when he heard the music coming from Jean’s headphones. “Is that My Chemical Romance?” Marco asked before he could stop himself.
“Uh,” said Jean, clearly trying to think of a lie.
Marco took pity on him, even though he was cute when he was flustered. “Oh man, I used to love them in middle school.”
Jean’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Marco laughed. “I used to be that total emo kid. You know, My Chemical Romance, Good Charlotte, the works.” From ages 11-15 Marco had been a full on emo, complete with eyeliner and long black fringe.
Jean ran a hand through his hair. “I was more of an All Time Low fan myself.”
“Oh, you know what?” said Marco. “I just remembered that I can hook up to the speakers in here.”
Jean looked confused. “Yeah?”
Marco gestured at Jean to back up. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and climbed over the counter, making his way towards the staff door. Jean watched him from the center of the floor. Marco propped the door open with his foot, leaning into the staff room so he could plug his phone into the ancient speaker system. Technically, Marco didn’t know if he was allowed to be doing this. All he had ever heard played in the store was Celine Dion songs on repeat.
But, nostalgia was calling, and by God, Marco was going to answer. Quickly, Marco scrolled through his middle school playlist. Perfect. Marco cranked the volume as high as it would go and ran back out to where Jean was still standing.
Jean still looked one part confused and one part worried for Marco’s sanity. But then the opening chords of Helena blasted from the speakers. Jean burst out laughing. Marco didn’t bother to hide his grin. “This was my favorite!” shouted Jean over the sound of Gerard Way cry–singing.
As the chorus geared up, Marco couldn’t stop himself from singing along. “What’s the worst that I could say!” Jean joined in, the two of them shouting the lyrics into the empty store. “Things are better if I stay/So long and goodnight!”
Together they jumped around the empty store, drunk on the late hour and very specific nostalgia that comes from a song from a person’s childhood. Marco jumped up on the counter, showcasing his best air guitar. Jean was laughing so hard that he couldn’t sing anymore. Marco sang the last lyrics at the top of his lungs. “So long and goodnight!”
The last chords faded out. Marco’s throat hurt from the singing and his stomach from laughing. Jean was doubled over on the ground, his face flushed. Marco wiped the sweat from his forehead and grinned down at Jean who was struggling for breath.
Jean looked up at Marco. His sandy hair was sticking up in four separate directions and his face was red from laughing. “Dude,” he said. “That song is fucking awesome.”
“It’s still good,” said Marco. “My Chemical Romance always goes hard as hell.”
Jean stood up. His head was level with Marco’s knees. Marco realized that he was still standing on the counter. He hopped down so he was sitting on the glass top, accidentally kicking over the magazine display, scattering the paper across the floor. Marco winced. “I’ll get that later–” he said, turning back to Jean, but stopped short. While he had been talking, Jean had taken a step forward. Now, their faces were inches apart.
Marcos mouth was suddenly very dry. There was a tiny crease between Jean’s eyebrows. Marco opened his mouth to speak, even though he had no idea what to say. But, his movement seemed to break whatever spell had fallen over the two of them.
Jean blinked, cleared his throat, and took a step back. “Well,” said Jean, not looking at Marco. “I’ll see you around.”
Marco didn’t even have time to speak before Jean hurried out of the store, the door closing behind him with a final sounding thud. One of the lights above Marco’s head flickered and went out. It wasn’t until Marco got home that he realized that Jean hadn’t even bought anything.
Saturday was one of the busier nights at the Super Savers Quick Mart. It wasn’t hopping by any stretch of the imagination, but a steady stream of partiers kept Marco from thinking about Jean. Marco didn’t even want to think about Jean. What did it matter anyway? He had only known the guy for less than a week, so it didn’t matter, and that was the end of it.
At 3:15am most people had gone home, and Marco rang up the last customers, waving the two guys out the door. Marco sighed and stretched his arms over his head. He dropped his arms a squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his forehead. God, his head was killing him.
In front of him, somebody cleared their throat. Marco jumped, snapping his eyes open. “Sorry! How can I help–“ he started before his sleep deprived brain recognized Jean. Marcos words died in his throat.
For a few seconds they just stared at each other. All of the thoughts had gone out of Marco’s head. Marco couldn’t decide if he was happy or furious to see Jean. So, he said the first thing that jumped into his mind. “Hi, there! What can I help you with today?”
Jean winced. So did Marco. But the damage was already done so Marco locked his hands behind his back and pasted a smile onto his face. Jean drummed his fingers on the edge of the counter, not looking directly at Marco. “I wanted to talk to you,” he mumbled.
Alarm bells went off in Marcos head. “What about?”
Jean swallowed hard and ran his hand through his already messy hair. Marco held his breath. Jean stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and stood up straight, meeting Marcos gaze. “Okay, I just want to say, this might be weird because you’re a cashier and it’s your job to be friendly, and if you want you can kick me out and I’ll never come back.”
Marco frowned. Jean was being frustrating but now Marco was curious. “Okay?”
Jean took a deep breath. His left eye twitched. Sweat gathered at his hairline. He sort of looked like he was going to pass out. Marco felt his own panic rising. He didn’t know what to do if someone fainted. CPR?
Jean let out all his breath in a rush. He gave a laugh that sounded more like a wheeze. “Better get this over with,” he said. Jean spread his hands on the counter, still staring down Marco. Marco was afraid to blink.
“So, here’s the deal,” said Jean. “I think you’re one of the cutest people I’ve ever met and it would be super cool if you wanted to go on a date with me.”
Marco blinked. “Like, right now?"
Jean’s face was starting to turn a blotchy red. “No that’s totally cool,” he said, backing up from the counter. “I get it, no worries man. I won’t bother you anymore.”
“Hey wait!” shouted Marco. Jean stopped backing up, his eyes wide. “That wasn’t a rejection.”
“What?”
Marco could feel himself smiling like an idiot. He probably looked crazy, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. “That wasn’t a rejection,” he said again. Marco could almost physically see the gears moving in Jean’s head, processing what he just said. “I’d love to go out with you. I am on the clock right now though, so I can’t leave the store.”
“Oh,” said Jean. He pretended to be disappointed, but he was grinning just as big as Marco.
Marco ran a hand through his hair and laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “I can’t leave the store, but we could totally make out behind the counter.”
“Oh, fuck yes,” said Jean. He hauled himself onto the top of the counter, his hands sliding on the glass top. Marco laughed and reached for the front of his hoodie, pulling him the rest of the way over. Jean tripped when he hit the ground, falling into Marco. Marco stumbled, hitting the wall behind him. He could feel the corner of some shelving digging into his spine, but it didn’t matter because Jean had his arms around Marco’s neck, and Marco had his arms around Jean’s waist, and kissing Jean was the best feeling in the world.
When Marco’s manager found them the next morning, horizontal on the ground behind the cash register, he yelled at them for a full forty-five minutes and banned Jean from the store for life. But, later when they were lying on Marco’s couch they agreed. It had totally been worth it.