Work Text:
John had been working as a cashier for his local Grocer for a year. In that span of time he’d seen a man have a heart attack in his lane, eighteen different service dogs, and a man who tried to hold up the store for a box of cigarettes only to be whacked in the face with a baseball bat; courtesy of his supervisor. Not only that, but there were the countless eccentrics, coupon nazis, and stoners with nothing but a bag of Doritos coming in at the rare times that he was scheduled to work from six to midnight.
He was pretty sure he’d seen it all.
John was working nine to three today. It was eleven thirty and he was dealing with a woman who was utterly pissed at him because she’d grabbed the wrong kind of yogurt; intending to get the brand that was fifty cents cheaper which was posted right next to it.
It wasn’t his fault that she read the sign wrong. He didn’t stock the shelves or put up prices.
She’d grabbed twenty of the single-serving yogurt packs, twenty, and didn’t notice the difference in price until he’d finished ringing up the last one. Then, she threw a colossal bitch fit that would make the twelve-year-olds on Xbox Live look like the perfect fucking angels their mothers always claimed they were. He’d called the Dairy section and had them confirm her mistake and it only poured the gasoline on the fire.
“Ma’am I’m sorry would you like me to void these-” he muttered
“Oh yes, please do. You moron.” the harpy squawked, her voice sounded like a My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic character (the pink one, his cousin Joe forced him to watch the whole first season) being squeezed to death.
John flinched as she continued to spit at him while he apologized profusely and voided twenty packets of yogurt while she screeched at him to hurry as well as continued her tirade of emotional abuse. He had a feeling he would be written up for this, despite him trying to be as courteous as possible.
After he finally finished and saw the witch off, he paged Dairy for a pick up and leaned back slightly. He’d been here a year yet his back still flared up every now and then. When he’d first started working as a terrified nineteen year old he could barely make it back to his apartment before his legs and lower back gave out. Now, it was just slightly sore. He glanced over to see if anymore customers were coming before he leaned back to stretch his aching muscles.
The whirring of the conveyor belt made him jump in surprise. He looked down the end of his lane and saw a rather large man in a shearling coat, a knit skullcap (pulled over his ears), and a scarf wrapped around his nose and mouth. It wasn’t uncommon, it was snowing outside and the wind could be harsh; even with the Gotham skyline as massive windbreaks. Many people came into the store bundled up and ready to face the elements again after they’d made their purchases.
“Uh… hello did you find everything alright?” He asked, still kind of shaken from his earlier encounter with Bitchzilla.
“Of course,” The man replied from beneath his scarf, his voice was a deep rumble; yet with a shakespearean quality to it, he also had an accent which John could not place “and hello… Robin.” he continued as he nodded to John’s nametag.
John groaned internally. The store required that he wore his “legal” name on his nametag. He hated that name. Not only did he consider it to be feminine, people often shot bird jokes at him. When he was pissed off his coworkers would ask if he was about to lay an egg. (he fucking hated that one the most)
He watched as the man continued to unload his cart while he rang up the groceries.
A large jug of Orange Juice— organic.
A package of strawberries.
A package of strawberries.
A package of—
Wait.
John looked over to the man’s cart; his jaw nearly dropped to the floor before he managed to compose himself.
The man’s cart was completely full of strawberries.
He noticed some of the guys who worked in Produce hovering near the greeting cards; the same look of exasperation was on their faces as well. The man did not seem embarrassed or unhindered as he continued to unload the fruit. In fact, his eyes (which appeared to be either blue or gray he was too far away to tell) were focused on his task of unloading the cart; each plastic box was placed neatly next to the other until they completely covered the black rubber of the belt in a sea of red. He seemed very focused on his work; humming softly as he continued to place the boxes down as John rang them up and bagged them.
He decided this was a waste of time; so he turned to the man.
“Excuse me, sir?”
The man glanced up at him, his eyes crinkled in what John sincerely hoped was a smile.
“Yes, Robin?”
“Do you know how many packages of Strawberries you have? I can just scan one with my gun here until they’re all rung up.”
The man’s brows furrowed for a moment before he glanced at the packages.
“How many have you done already?” he rumbled again.
God, that accent was kind of hot, but the last thing John needed was a work boner (he was wearing fitted slacks; there would be no way to hide it and there was a woman with two kids waiting in line— oh fuck the shitstorm that would cause) he glanced at his screen for a moment.
“I got twelve here.” He replied.
The man’s eyes flickered back over to the neatly stacked packages on the belt. He frowned for a moment, then looked over to his cart. John could hear soft muttering in a language that he didn’t understand.
“There are twenty nine you haven’t scanned yet.” The man said.
Jesus Christ.
“You sure?”
“Of course, I counted.” the man replied; his eyes still squinted in that odd way.
John took a moment to compose himself, this guy was either a genius or completely insane. He decided to to take his word for it and hit one package of strawberries with the gun twenty nine times before he got to work bagging them. He was quite surprised to see the man stride over to help with the task. Their hands brushed for a moment and John felt his face flushing in spite of himself.
“Are you alright Robin?” The man asked him.
“Uh… yeah.” John replied.
“You look feverish.”
John had been nursing a cold from the shitty weather for the past few days, but he didn’t have a fever. So the guy must have noticed him blushing.
It only made him blush even more.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
The man hummed in response.
They finished bagging together and John went back and hit the button for the tender menu on his screen.
“Okay, your total is eighty five dollars and nineteen cents.” John said, trying to hide the way his voice was shaking. He wanted to ask what the fuck the man was going to do with all those strawberries.
The man pulled his wallet from his cargo pants and plucked out a hundred for him. John accepted the bill and typed it into the machine to figure out the change.
“Are you sure you’re alright? You look confused.” he said, his head was tilted to the side
“Uh…” John muttered as he tried to pull together fourteen dollars and eighty one cents in change. “I just want to— shit I mean—”
The woman and her kids had left to find a lane which was less busy; no one was waiting in line anymore. He handed the change back to the man.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” John asked.
The man frowned at him, but nodded as he accepted his change.
“You’re wondering why I purchased so many strawberries.” He rumbled.
John nodded dumbly.
“Yeah… I know I’m being pushy and uh— oh shit I’m sorry.”
The man chuckled in amusement as he put the bills and change in his wallet, but then pulled out a small pad of paper. John watched in shock as the man picked up the pen used for checks and wrote something out for him.
“Meet me here at this date and time and I will be glad to tell you.” he replied, handing the sheet to John.
John took the sheet, dumbfounded. The address was a local restaurant down the block which served Middle-Eastern food (he’d wanted to try it out but none of his friends or family knew anything about the cuisine and he needed someone to show him what was good) The day and time were luckily when he wasn’t scheduled to work.
Uh… was this a setting for a date?
“Are you asking me out?” John called to the man’s back as he pushed his cart away.
“If you wish, Robin.” he rumbled, as he headed for the exit.
“I don’t even know your name!”
“Bane.” The man replied. “I hope to see you again.”
He watched as the man disappeared out into the snowy parking lot.
“What. The. Fuck.” Was all John could mutter under his breath.
But, he pocketed the slip of paper anyway; and hoped to see “Bane” soon.
Mostly, so he could figure out what one guy could do with forty one packages of fucking strawberries.