IN A JIFFY… a story in 333 words
His sneakers slapped the vinyl floor as he raced for the Jewel’s exit, clerks in hot pursuit.
“I tell you, I was almost killed!” “Ethel, don’t be so damn dramatic. You weren’t ‘almost killed’, what happened?”
They were gaining on him as he pushed through the door and collided with the woman.
“Listen to me, Cheryl. I don’t know why you have to be so negative all the time.” Cheryl sipped her tea, waiting. “I was going into the Jewel, you know how I don’t like the Jewel, but I just needed some cornbread mix. Now don’t you go rolling your eyes like that. You know I like to bake!” Cheryl stopped rolling her eyes and tried to stifle herself. Ethel didn’t bake. In fact, Ethel didn’t cook, she ate out or got take-in. The only thing Ethel ever made was Jiffy Cornbread or Jiffy Popcorn… Ethel liked everything jiffy, the woman had no patience.
Ninety pounds of blond had laid him flat on his back. The beer he’d been trying to steal went flying as angry hands yanked him to his feet. The woman had fire in her eyes, and took over.
“So, there I was, on the ground with beer bottles everywhere. People lifting me up and thanking me for stopping the thief. A crowd had gathered, you know how I don’t like to be the center of attention.” Cheryl held her eyes still.
The manager had called the police. The woman he bumped into was familiar. She was the one always complaining about something. It had been suggested she shop elsewhere. Now he would have to be nice to her, as she started in on him.
“Well, I tell you, the ingratitude of some people. They didn’t even offer me a reward.” The phone rang. Cheryl answered and thanked the caller for letting them know. “It’s your lucky day, Ethel. They want to give you the Jiffy you left on the counter.”
He had slipped away during the ensuing ruckus.
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The prompt this time is the third definition, as always, of the word LUCKY (adjective). To read more “Lucky” stories, click on the trike.
