The Convenience Store Knew My Schedule

Photo: Unsplash.

The convenience store was three blocks from my apartment and open twenty-four hours, which meant it had seen every version of me: early, late, hungry, overconfident, and once wearing two different shoes.

I usually arrived at 11:40 p.m. The clerk would be arranging bottled tea into exact color order. I would buy sparkling water, a rice ball, and something sweet that I pretended was an accident.

One Thursday I entered at 11:38. Before I reached the refrigerator, the clerk placed my usual three items on the counter.

“You are early,” he said.

“By two minutes.”

“We were concerned.”

There was nobody else in the store. I looked toward the ceiling cameras.

“Who is we?”

He pointed at the hot-food cabinet. “The chicken has been waiting.”

I did not normally buy chicken, but one piece sat under the lamp with an orange sticker marked RESERVED.

“That isn’t mine.”

“It could be.”

The automatic doors opened behind me, although nobody entered. A recorded voice welcomed the rain.

I bought the chicken.

The following night, I decided to prove that I still possessed free will. I arrived at 10:15 and selected orange juice, noodles, and a packet of seaweed.

At the register, the clerk scanned everything without comment. Then he reached beneath the counter and added my usual sparkling water.

“Complimentary,” he said. “For the difficult phase you are going through.”

“I am trying something new.”

“We noticed.”

Again, he said we.

For a week I avoided the store. I walked six extra blocks to another one where the staff did not know my habits and the shelves felt professionally indifferent.

On the eighth night, I returned at 11:40.

The clerk was arranging bottled tea. My three items waited on the counter. Beside them was a tiny card:

WELCOME BACK. THE CHICKEN FORGIVES YOU.

I paid without asking questions.

Being mysterious requires energy. Being a regular earns you reserved chicken.