//------------------------------//
// Part 1: The Store – I 
// Story: Trolley Pushers 
// by Acologic 
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‘Shit.’

‘Mm?’

Lime’s hooves were all over his Com, and that wasn’t the half of it. First, he hadn’t strapped the ten mainfleets he was pushing, and second, he was pushing ten. Ale ignored this and pushed his eight around van parking, felt the familiar tug on his hooves as the front accelerated on the uneven tarmac and compensated automatically, pulling the back of the row hard to the left, which turned the trolleys to face the main bay. He clattered them in and stepped aside as three shoppers passed him without a word to grab themselves a trolley each. 

‘What?’ he asked Lime once they were out of earshot. Lime pocketed his Com and rammed his trolleys into one of the spare rows beneath van parking. 

‘I was supposed to get some chocolate picked up for Gourd,’ he boomed, ‘and she’s just asked which kind I got her. Shit. I forgot to list it.’

‘Aw man,’ said Ale, wondering whether he should offer to pick some up during staff hour. He thought it was too awkward a thing to ask. 

Lime puffed out his cheeks frustratedly and stretched his neck from side to side, sticking out his barrel chest. ‘Our shopper’s in there just now. I’ll message her.’ He pulled out his Com again.

‘Gat’s not going to be happy that you’ve got that out,’ said Ale as casually as he could.

‘Well, guess what. I don’t give a shit.’ 

‘Just saying.’ Ale had no desire at all to stay and speak to Lime, who, like Ant, couldn’t shut up about whatever topic they stumbled onto, however little he knew about it. The difference was Ant knew quite a bit about quite a few things, whereas Lime, though likeable in his way, was thick as a paint can. Gat had no way of telling what either of them were actually up to on shifts, but he could calculate exactly their trolleys pushed per hour, minute, second, anything. And Lime may have been OK with a bad rep, but Ale – though he was unsure about a lot of things as regards work and responsibility – at the very least thought it a duty to do the job he was being paid to do well. Well enough, at any rate. 

He walked off quickly to bays four and five, at the far end of the shopper park. He stepped aside to let out a car, entered the trolley bin, then pressed his strap head onto the farthest handle, encompassing nine or ten trolleys. He didn’t really care about the eight-trolley rule either, but they’d had a training refresher recently and he was conscious about the dos and don’ts. So he pulled off two from the end and pushed them back into the trolley bin, tugged out the eight with a grunt and turned them onto the road to be pushed back to the main bay. 

Then he spotted a sight deplored by all trolley pushers: a lone trolley, a walk away, left behind thoughtlessly. This one was beside the recycling bins, where the shopper park finished and the low stone wall separating it from the pavement beyond began. With a sigh, cursing whoever had left it under his breath, Ale pulled the row out of the way of the road, turned and strode toward the rogue trolley. He reached it and grabbed it roughly by its handle. He felt the top of his hoof clip something on the road below him. 

‘What the –?’ He clipped it again and flew forward, hanging on to the trolley for support. ‘Shit!’ he gasped, wincing as he grazed his leg. He limped to his hooves, swaying on the spot, and looked down at the road, searching for the hazard. The last thing he needed was an injured shopper in the shopper park. Gat would cut his hours, and though he wasn’t desperate for the money, by no means did he want to face the stress and worry that came with finding another job. 

He saw that he’d stumbled over a protrusion in the road, a dark piece of concrete-like material with which someone had once patched a pothole. He’d seen its like before, but it struck him as odd that he’d never noticed this one. Still, it called for a hazard cone, and they were kept in the trolley hut at the bottom of van parking. Knowing he’d re-encounter Lime, Ale sighed, returned to the row he’d set up and pushed. 

Lime didn’t look as though he’d moved. He was standing by the main bay, his high-vis jacket draped carelessly across his shoulders, his Com out in broad daylight as, Ale presumed, he messaged his shopper for chocolate.

‘There’s a loose bit of road up by the recycling,’ explained Ale as he passed him and Lime looked up. ‘Do you still have the shed keys?’ 

‘Yeah, here. You’ll need a hazard cone,’ added Lime as if Ale didn’t know. 

Ale sighed in his mind, rolled up his strap and said, ‘Ta.’