Bag Boy

By Marty P.

Johnny Gage stared at his kitchen table with dismay.  Scattered on it were his latest paycheck, a stack of unpaid bills and a savings passbook with a miniscule amount.  Now this and he couldn’t avoid the problem anymore.  His Land Rover needed its struts replaced.  When the mechanic announced the cost, he’d almost needed a paramedic.  Perhaps he should consider becoming an auto repairman; they must make more than firemen.  Eliminating that thought, he emitted a heavy breath.  He needed money.  The department was monitoring how many extra shifts men worked so that wasn’t an option.  Not with the amount he needed.  He’d have to find a job that was flexible with his schedule.  But what?

Well, right now he needed cereal, milk and frozen pizzas.  He’d address his financial woes later.  He grimaced at the bouncy ride his wheels produced.  As he approached the grocer’s entrance, he spied a small hand-written sign in the window.  ‘Help Wanted.’ Wouldn’t hurt to ask.  

Johnny entered the store, toting the notice and cleared his throat when the checkout girl failed to notice him.  “About the…”  She gave him a hopeful smile and pointed toward the back of the store.  The employee wannabee scrutinized his apparel, wishing he wasn’t wearing his most threadbare pair of jeans.  At least he could roll up the sleeves on his plaid flannel shirt to hide the fraying cuffs.  But, with resolve, he strolled to the end aisle until he discovered a plain door, painted white with a metal placard displaying the word ‘manager’.  He rapped on the door and was asked to enter.

Twenty minutes later he was donning an apron.  “Bagger,” he muttered under his breath.  But, he could name his own hours and the pay would cover the Rover’s repair…in about two months.    He’d stay mum about the extra job on the side.  Franz’s Grocery was off the beaten path and he didn’t need the crew ribbing him about packing merchandise and helping little old ladies load their trunks. 

“No, no!  Never put eggs on the bottom!”  The cashier berated him.  “Don’t you know how to do this?”

“Uh, I never really gave it much thought.”  Johnny eased the eggs out of the sack and set them next to the conveyor belt. 

The checker pointed to the canned goods.  “Heavy stuff first.  Don’t put inedible products in with the food.  In other words, don’t mix dishwashing detergent and tomatoes.”  She rotated to ring up the last items.  When the crowd lulled, she filled him in.  “Hi, I’m Elise.  My dad owns this place and my brother works here, too.”  A young man appeared with blackening bananas.  “That’s my nephew, Freddy.  If you can’t tell this is a family business.  I’d rather start a beauty salon.”  She tapped her cherry red Press-On Nails on the scale.  “But Dad says I have to be here.”  She was interrupted by a weary woman, carrying a child on her hip with another in the basket.  “Howdy, Mrs. Ramirez.  How’s Moira today?”

Six hours later, Johnny stretched, his back muscles protesting at the maneuvers he’d undertaken in his new line of work.  “See ya tomorrow,” Elise plucked her purse from under the counter.

The new employee shook his head, “won’t be in.”

“Oh?  Job too hard for you?”  She rolled her eyes.

He adjusted his belt buckle which had slid to the side, “No, I work full-time as a firefighter/paramedic.  I’ll be back in two days.”

“Having money problems?”  Her voice was sympathetic.

“Yeah.”

“Well, you did a good job, for your first day.  When Dad asks I’ll let him know.”

She extracted her keys, jangled them in her palm and headed out the door.  The newest bagger on the block watched the petite woman in her mid-thirties disappear from sight.  He returned to the manager’s office to punch his time card and was out the door when he realized he never bought the groceries he needed.  Uncertain what to do since Elise left; he drove by a burger joint to appease his famished stomach. 

~*~*~*

Station 51’s crew hashed over their most recent day off.  Marco Lopez looked up from tidying the dayroom and questioned the quiet paramedic.  “So, what’d you do?”

“Stayed busy.”

When the paramedic left the room, Chet Kelly probed Roy for more information, “So did he break up with a girl again or is he on his latest get-rich-quick scheme?”

“I dunno, Chet, he hasn’t said anything.”

“Well, I think he’s hiding something.”  The curious fireman tiptoed to the apparatus bay, “And I’m gonna find out what it is.”

“Why don’t you get a life?”  Mike Stoker, who seldom participated in conversations, said his piece and went to ask the captain a question.

~*~*~*

Two weeks later Johnny was at his new position when a customer tapped him on the shoulder.  “Where’s the Murphy’s oil?”

“Try salad dressing, aisle 7,” Johnny blurted out. 

Elise called after the woman, “Mrs. Webber, it’s in aisle 10, right next to the mops.”  She drew her attention back to Johnny.  “Look, I know you haven’t been here long but you better go out there and learn where everything is located and start getting to know people’s names.”

“I already told my boss this was a temporary position.”

“That doesn’t matter.  Dad expects it of everyone.”

“But I’ll be away from my station.”   

“Go," she waved him off.  “I can bag, too, you know.”

Johnny was in the frozen food section when he heard someone cry out.  He sped toward the sound and discovered a woman with a death grip on her cart to keep from falling.  Blood seeped through her stocking.  “Ma’am?”

“Mrs. Bach!”  What is the matter?”  The rotund store owner hastened toward her. 

She pointed toward the corner of a wooden pallet.  “I didn’t see this and bumped my ankle against it.”

“Do you have something she can sit on?”  Johnny questioned him, taking command, “someone call the fire department.”

“Friedrich!”  The proprietor hollered.  “Chair!”   A gangly youth appeared with a folded metal chair and dangled it in front of the owner.  “Open it, you Dumkoff!” 

“Thanks,” Johnny uncurled the woman’s fingers from the cart and half-carried her to the chair.  He noted her gritted teeth and clammy skin.  “Just take it easy.”  He saw a growing bump on her foot and reached for the scissors he carried in his holster while on duty.  Glancing down, he noted the uniform required by the store:  a white shirt, skinny black tie, black pants and a short white apron tied around his waist.  He went for his alternative, a pocketknife that had once been his father’s.  With a swift movement he cut her thick stocking to better examine her wound.

The woman paled, “You ruined my last pair!” 

“I will replace it,” the shop owner hovered but averted his eyes away from the matron’s leg.  He focused his frustration and anger on the young man who stood nearby.  “Friedrich!  Didn’t your father tell you to cover that wood?  See?  It can hurt people!”

“It was just a few inches, Opa.”  The boy turned away.

His grandfather’s face reddened.  “You will not call me that at work and you will clean up this mess, now!”  He looked pointedly at the boxes littering the floor. 

“Buncha crackers.  What’s the big deal?”  Friedrich kicked the container closest to him. 

His grandfather made a sound of disgust, “Just place them in a cart and mark them down.  They will be mostly crumbs now.”

Elise joined the group.  “Fire Department’s on their way.  How is she?”

“I think she may have fractured her ankle.  Do you have a first aid kit handy?”

“I keep Bandaids up at the check out.”  Elise offered.

“No, give me something to use for a bandage.  Maybe a clean rag and some ice, too.”  Johnny looked around.  “I need something to prop her foot on.  How about one of those empty milk crates?”

In a few minutes Squad 116 was at the scene.  Johnny gave them a succinct report and Paramedic Joe Fisher made a note of it.  “Moonlighting?”

“Yeah, keep it to yourself, would you?”  Johnny stayed at the ready until they moved Mrs. Bach onto a stretcher.  She yodeled toward him, “Young man, get another job; this one doesn’t pay.”

“Ida!”  Mr. Franz gasped in horror. 

Johnny held his laughter when he saw the elderly woman wink at him.  She’d gotten the rise she wanted out of the old man. 

~*~*~*~

Johnny paused before inserting the key into the Land Rover.  The things I do for you.  Before donning his work outfit for his part-time job he’d done some number crunching. 

It looked like he would be drawing a paycheck from the grocery store for some time to come.  

Backing out of his parking slot, he started his journey to work, choosing to take local streets.  As he turned onto Sepulveda, he spied 127’s pumper.  Up ahead, the light was changing from yellow to red and the driver of the yellow coupe, waiting to make a left turn, made a quick decision.  The oncoming Pinto didn’t have time to stop as he frantically pulled to the left and his brakes locked in place.  There was a skid and a heart-wrenching crunch.  Johnny floored the white Rover and pulled into position behind the accident, activating his blinkers.  The fire truck was already approaching the scene and he could see the captain calling in the incident. 

Johnny kept a supply of first aid equipment in his vehicle.  He grabbed the kit and bounded to the scene, seeing who needed assistance.  The green Pinto sustained the majority of the damage and the off-duty paramedic’s face was solemn when he caught sight of the driver, trapped by the steering wheel and crumpled steel.  “Gonna need the Jaws of Life, Cap!” 

“I’ll get it,” Johnny looked up when he heard the familiar voice.  It was Mike Stoker, pulling an extra shift.  “Nice duds, Johnny.”  The fireman soon had the tool ready and primed the portable engine.  While he was busy on extrication, John Gage went to determine the condition of the other victim. 

“Squad 36 is on the way.”  Captain Morris informed him.  “Stoker recognized your jeep.”

“Miss?” The Good Samaritan bent beside the open door and reached for a pulse.  

She batted his hand away and peered in the rear view mirror, “now I’m really late and it was all that other driver’s fault!”

“We’ll worry about that later,” Johnny’s voice was firm.  “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“My neck tingles and my knee is throbbing,” she notified him.

A second figure joined them, “Hi Johnny.  Whatcha got?”

“Hey, Gary.”  Johnny gave the vitals and a brief rundown on each patient to Gary Davis, one of the first paramedics on the department.

 

Gary scratched notes on his pad as John gathered his medical pack.  “Need me for anything else?”

“I don’t think so.”  Gary zoned in on his charge.

The delayed grocery employee hoofed over to Captain Morris, “If it’s all right with you, I’ll give my statement to the sheriff and be on my way.”  The captain waved him off.

~*~*~*

Bag Boy Gage frowned when he saw the bank clock as he turned into the market’s lot.  It was twenty minutes past the hour.  He squared his shoulders; sure the shop owner would rant over his tardiness.

He was four steps into the store when he heard, “You are late!”  Otto Franz circled him like a vulture honing in on carrion.  “He who is not on time does not work here!  At the end of the day, you are kaput!”

“C’mon, Pop!”  Elise defended him, “I am sure he has a good explanation.”

“Daughter, do not call me Pop at work.  I have decided, do I pay you to stand and do nothing?”

“No sir,” Johnny went to don his short, white work apron and hustled back to join the cashier.  “Thanks, I know you tried.”

“What happened?”  Elise unwrapped a foil-covered slice of Juicy Fruit and slid it between her teeth. 

Johnny greeted a regular and turned back to the woman, “I stopped to help at an accident.”

“Was it bad?”  A customer set her order out and Elise perched the bananas on the scale and punched the price into her machine. 

The bagger skimmed the purchases and flicked a paper sack open.  “I’ve seen worse, but it didn’t have to happen.”  When the transaction concluded and Johnny returned to the store with the empty shopping cart, there was a momentary lull at the register.

“I wish you’d been here yesterday.” the owner’s offspring spoke in an undertone.

“What happened?”  Johnny leaned forward.

“Fritz, you know, the one who helps the butcher?  Well, he was using the meat slicer and,” she gulped and blanched, “the blood was everywhere.”

“Did he lose a digit?” the man flashed back to similar injuries he’d treated in the field.

Elise gave him a negative response, “Couple of fingertips cuz the machine got unplugged right away.”

“Someone was on their toes,” Johnny pivoted to see if anyone was near.  “I never realized how dangerous grocery stores can be: sharp machines, slippery floors, broken glass. Your father might want to have people with first aid training.  I could help…”

“Why are you standing around chatting?”  The storekeeper blustered toward them.  “Talk, talk, you should be working!  You,” he focused on the bag boy, “come help my son move some boxes in the storeroom.”

Johnny and Jakob hauled cartons for half an hour.  Due to the heavy weight, their communication was brief.  The overweight man began to sweat profusely and flex his fingers.  “Are you all right?”

“My father will be angry if we do not finish soon.”  He massaged his left arm.

The paramedic didn’t hesitate, “Sit down and rest.”  He flung the door open and barged into the office, “Call the fire department, tell them man down and request an ambulance.”

“Pah, nonsense,” Otto objected.

Johnny stepped forward, grim, “Tell them to come to the storeroom.  I don’t have time to explain, just do it!”  He flew back to Jakob’s side, just in time to see the man keel over.  Without any hesitation, he laid him on the concrete floor, checked for a carotid and began chest compressions.

At the same time, the German proprietor contacted the operator and requested aid.  His blood pressure rose as he strode to the storeroom, ready to send his employee off the premises immediately.  His demeanor undertook a dramatic change when he saw the bag boy kneeling over his son.  “What is the matter with him?”  Busy with one-man CPR, Johnny didn’t provide an answer.

Otto, now distressed, bustled to the front of the store, “Elsa, something is wrong with Jakob!” 

“Papa,” Elise embraced her father.  “Is someone helping him?”

“Yes, that boy I fired today.”  Otto’s eyes took on a glimmer of hope as flashing lights appeared outside the window.  Uniformed men carrying cases came into view.  Otto led them to his son. 

Gary Davis, from Squad 36, nudged Johnny, “You get around, don’t you?  I can take over now.”

“Thanks,” the winded man sank to the floor and propped himself against a case of sauerkraut.  After a moment, he got to his feet and guided Otto into the hall.  “Jakob had a heart attack…”

“Oh, his mother had a bad heart.  She died a year ago.” The man was beside himself, “Now, Jakob…”

“Mr. Franz, he may make a full recovery.”  Johnny saw the man nod his head.  The ambulance attendants wheeled the stretcher into the store.  “Would you like me to take you to the hospital, sir?”

“I will tell my daughter.  She will keep Friedrich here to help her.” 

While Otto was gone, Gary gave Johnny a report, “He’s stable and his vital signs look good.  He has a good chance.”

On the way to the hospital, Johnny’s boss was contemplative and then turned to his chauffeur, “How did you know what to do?” 

“That’s what I do for a living.  I’m a firefighter/paramedic.”  Johnny saw his rider’s attempt to comprehend his last word, “a paramedic, working under a doctor, gives medical treatment before a person gets to the hospital.”

“Then why are you a bag boy?” The store owner asked bluntly.

His employee tapped the dashboard of his white Rover, “because while I love my full-time job, it doesn’t pay much.”

“But you save lives!”  His baffled passenger exclaimed. 

Johnny pursed his lips, “I know.  Speaking of saving lives, everyone who works for you should know what to do if someone has a heart attack and be trained in first aid.”

“I will think about it.”  Otto promised, then, a revelation came, “that is why you were late today.”

“Yes, there was an accident on my way to work.  I stopped and helped.”

“I cannot fire a man for that.”

“You mean I still have a job?” 

“Yes.”

Johnny escorted Mr. Franz into the emergency area and sauntered over to Dixie McCall, the head nurse.  “Do you have any word on Jakob Franz?”

“They’re still working on him.  I’ll let you know.”  She saw a call light on the board and went to respond.

The wait seemed endless but was less than an hour; Dr. Joe Early exited from the room and requested Mr. Franz.  “Your son is on his way to the cardiac care unit.  We will keep a close eye on him but his prognosis is good.”

“He should be fine,” Johnny interpreted the medical lingo.

The grateful father clasped the physician’s hand.  “Thank you.”

“You won’t be able to see him until tomorrow,” Dr. Early mentioned.  “But if you call the desk they will tell you how he is.”

“I can take you back to the store now,” Johnny offered as he brushed excess water from the drinking fountain off his mouth.

On the ride back to the establishment, Mr. Franz stated, “I wish I could give you a large reward for saving my son’s life, but that’s not possible.  However, I can promise you will always have a job.”

“Is it all right if I stop working and start again?”  Johnny confirmed.

Otto assented, “any time.”

~*~*~*

Several months passed and at last, the Land Rover’s expenditures ceased.  The next shift, Johnny found a solemn group in the locker room.  “What’s the matter?”

“The county has to make budget cuts,” Chet said with disdain.  “They’re talking about freezing our salaries.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I can do catering, if I need to,” Marco remarked, as he stuffed his blue shirt into his work pants.

Chet brushed him off, “Well, I don’t wanna do any other work.  What about you, Gage, are you going to have to pound the pavement?”

“No, I’m set, for life.”  Johnny responded, exiting the room

The fireman was on his tail, “You can’t declare that and escape!  C’mon, give.”

“Promise you won’t pester me?”  The frequent stool pigeon questioned the man.

Chet weighed his options, “Yeah, I guess.”

“I work at a grocer’s, and tell them when I’m available.”

“Oh, what do you do?”

“I’m a bag boy.” Johnny stood up straighter, unashamed to enlighten the man.

The mustached man stroked his cheek, “And they understand fireman’s hours?  That might work for me, too.  Wanna job share?”

“Naw.” Johnny pictured the store owner’s reaction to the boisterous Phantom, “You’d get sacked before you even started.”

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October 2006 Picture              Stories by Marty P.