**Late Night at the Supermarket**
It was late in the evening at the towns supermarket. Emily sat at the till, eyes brimming with tears, exhausted from fatigue, injustice, and loneliness. The sleepless night hadnt helped. Her neighbour Roger, a notorious drunk, was at it againraising hell with his drinking buddies on the other side of the wall. Even the police couldnt shut him up anymore.
Emily wiped her eyes and glanced around. A handsome young man in a smart coat approached her till. For the past month, this tall, dark-haired bloke had been coming to her checkout to pay for his pizza and fruit juice. *Probably a loner,* she thought. *Some girls going to be lucky with that one.*
The customer smiled, handing her a fifty-pound note, then hesitated. “Hang onlet me grab some change so I dont trouble you.” He paid and left.
An hour until closing. The few shoppers trudged about, tossing items into their trolleys without enthusiasm. Emily stifled a yawn, silently cursing Rogerwho, as luck would have it, stumbled in just then, dishevelled and bruised, clutching two bottles of posh vodka. Grinning smugly, he slapped down another fifty. *Great. Another all-nighter.*
“Roger, did you rob someone?” His bloodshot eyes twinkled between bruises. “Why would I nick it?”
Out of habit, Emily held the note to the light, ran her fingers over itthen stiffened. “Hold on somethings off.” She fed it into the detector. “Whered you get this? Its fake!”
Roger froze like a mugshot, clutching the bottles to his chest like a lifeline. Then, quick as a flash, he dumped them on the counter. “Check these too,” he pleaded, shoving two more fifties at her. She did. “These as well. I have to call the police!”
“Emily, I swear, I found em outside! Someone dropped their walletI just took the cash. Dont report me!” he begged.
She relished his panic, almost admitting it was a jokethe notes *were* real. But Roger, thinking hed pocketed fifteen grand, bolted to the bin to destroy the evidence. He tore the notes up with relish and stormed out.
Emily blinked. *What have I done?* But thenhe *deserved* it.
“Excuse me,” came a familiar voice. The pizza buyer was back.
“I remember,” Emily said warily. “No change.”
“Not that I lost my wallet getting into my car. Bloody scatterbrain.”
“Was there much in it?” she asked, thinking of Roger.
“The moneys nothingbut Id scribbled an important number on a note. If someone finds it, they can keep the cash, just text me the number. Heres my card.”
“Right,” she muttered.
Mood sour, Emily spent the rest of her shift wondering how to help the pizza enthusiast. Finally, she grabbed a bin bag and emptied the rubbish onto the floor.
At home, gloved up, she sifted through shredded banknotes, cursing her stupid prank.
*And himwhat a klutz. Probably some girls number.* Her eyes stung with jealousy. The digits were on two scraps.
*How to give it to him? Cant call from my phonehell know its me. What do I say? Admit the fake notes?* She checked his card: *Alexander Wright*, work and mobile numbers. She needed to callbut not from her own. Maybe borrow the neighbours phone? But what if Alexander rang back and the old dear blabbed? Hed think *she* stole the money!
A plan formed: ask the janitor. He wouldnt remember her. She bundled up in coats, scarves, even a ridiculous hatno one would ID *this* messthen skulked off, dodging shadows.
At the corner, she spotted her mark: an average bloke, perfect for her scheme. “Batterys deadmind if I borrow your phone?” She flashed a fiver. The janitor handed it over. She fired off the number, muttered thanks, and fled.
Alexander lay awake, not fretting over the money but replaying the day. Heading to a café, hed heard, “Oi, Al!” His mate Ben, five years unseen, hung from a packed bus door. “Call me!” Ben yelled numbers. No phonehed scribbled them on a fifty, dreaming of beers with Ben in his bachelor pad. But fate had other ideas.
His mind drifted to Emilyher wavy hair, sky-blue eyes, warm smile. A month of small talk, and loneliness gnawing at him.
Thena ping. A text, just numbers. *Bens!* If theyd found the note, they had the cash too. He fired back: *Cheers. Keep the moneymy treat.*
A gruff voice answered, “Treat? Im the janitor.” Click.
No matter. Tomorrow, hed tell Emily. Shed looked so sad yesterdaymaybe shed needed kindness.
Smiling, he slept.
Emily sobbed half the nightfor her messy life, poor Roger, and unattainable Alexander, that beautiful fool.
Next evening, Alexander bounced up to her till. “Emily! Someone texted the numberI reached my mate!” He paused. “Wait howd they get *my* number? I only gave my card to you.”
Emily froze.
“So *you* found the money and sent it?”
Before she could speak, he marched off.
*He thinks Im a thief. Its over!* Panicked, she grabbed her bag and sprinted after him. “Alexander, wait!”
Shoppers gawked as she caught him, babbling, then yanked out the torn fifty with Bens number.
Alexander stared. Thenlaughter.
Weeks later, the Wrights married, Emily oscillating between giggles and happy tears. Even Roger enjoyed the party.
*Lesson learned: Some jokes backfirebut sometimes, they stitch your life back together.*
