Читать книгу Miss Lamp - Christopher Ewart - Страница 11

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Soup Is Good Food.

Leaving the sanctity of mothballs and tea to wear out his heels on the warm asphalt of the Safeway parking lot, Room Service Boy walks slowly, wondering why he buys Campbell’s Tomato Soup for rich, stuck-up lawyer-types who talk at him through closed doors.

‘It’s my job,’ he reminds himself to random passersby as they scuttle through automatic doors, armed with bags and trolleys. ‘It’s my job,’ he repeats for assurance. ‘Soup. Aisle 7. Next to soups of other brands, flavours and qualities. Pricing is not dependant on size. Adjacent to stews, vegetable and mechanically separated meat products. Microwave in foam for real beef taste. Scotch Broth with Barley, Chicken Vegetable, Cream of Mushroom, Celery, Chicken Noodle and Tomato. A healthy source of vitamin C. Make with one part milk for a creamier taste and do not allow to boil. Must be stirred continuously. Continuously.’

A film of fluorescent lighting bleaches the floor and Room Service Boy bites his lip before he gets too loud. White-knuckling the can all the way to Express Checkout 3, he spies a name tag that reads LUCY. She smiles at Room Service Boy. Her hair is yellow like the banana tray in front of her checkout and she has all the shape of a swizzle stick. He places the can of Campbell’s Tomato Soup heavily on the rubber conveyor belt.

Banana Tray Hair’s lips move along with the soup tin, closer and closer together.

‘How are we today?’

Grumpy, he thinks, Burnt milk is unacceptable.

‘Just the soup then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Working tonight, are we?’

‘Yes.’ Room Service Boy wears his purple suit to prove it.

‘Club Card and Air Miles, please.’

‘I don’t – ’

‘No? Will this be all then?’ Banana Tray Hair expedites her customers speedily.

Room Service Boy nods in agreement.

‘Your total comes to $1.52 with tax. Do you need help out with that?’

Banana Tray Hair smiles at Room Service Boy again. The receipt for the soup belongs in his pocket. Not since his last time chatting with Banana Tray Hair has Room Service Boy heard so many questions in a row. All directed at him.

‘We are closing in ten minutes, shoppers. Please finalize your purchasing choices. Thank you for choosing Safeway, and have a good night, Soup Boy.’

His cheeks match his purple dickie bow tie. He imagines saying, ‘Now you have a good night too, Banana Tray Hair, ma’am,’ but his tongue congeals the words. The best he can do is a squeak of thanks as he shuffles toward the yawn of the automatic door.

Back across the parking lot, he wonders how many ways a person could be helped out with a can of soup. After the 437 steps to the hotel, Room Service Boy spins through its revolving Plexiglas door, bounds into the lobby and shouts, ‘Six!’

‘Get that soup to the kitchen at once – he’s closing soon.’ The Front Desk Man taps the receipts for the day into a tidy ruffle of a square. ‘It’s for the shut-in in Room 32. And don’t spill it either.’ Room Service Boy never spills.

Sliding on the wet kitchen floor with a tin of Campbell’s Tomato Soup in his hand, Room Service Boy eyes The Cook. The Cook grumbles about closing time while Room Service Boy squishes his soles back to the mat. With milk, he remembers, this soup is an excellent source of calcium. His lips move slightly when remembering, but not enough to cause a stir. He brims over all of the six possibilities put together, the six possible ways a Safeway shopper might be helped out of Safeway with a single can of tomato soup.

1 Banana Tray Hair pays for the soup.

2 Banana Tray Hair carries the soup to the hotel.

3 Banana Tray Hair opens the can of soup.

4 Banana Tray Hair cooks the soup.

5 Banana Tray Hair pours the soup in a bowl.

6 Banana Tray Hair delivers the soup to Room 32 without spilling it.

Of Room Service Boy’s six possibilities for being helped out with the soup, he deems Number 6 least plausible, since she would probably spill some of the soup, marring his impeccable record of food delivery. ‘The grilled cheese must be golden brown and cut to corners,’ he says to himself. ‘It’s my job,’ he repeats for assurance. The Cook doesn’t notice Room Service Boy’s lips moving at all.