Trolley Pushers

by Acologic


Part 1: The Store – VII

‘Bye, Elm,’ said Ale, waving at her as he passed the gap in the skip wall. She was standing at the edge of the shopper park, near the staff cars, perhaps waiting to be picked up.

‘Bye, Ale,’ she said, waving back at him with a smile, which Ale was surprised to find made him feel a little bit better. They weren’t so bad, the store staff, really. He considered pulling out his Com to call his mother, but he’d already called before work and didn’t feel like speaking just yet, especially when he couldn’t think of anything to speak about. Still, he nearly went through with it out of habit. Most ponies had to remember to call their mothers. Ale had to remember not to call too often. Twice a day was a low for him.

‘Into the shadows we go, we go...’ he sang quietly as he walked home. ‘And into the shallows we row, we row...’

The sea was a stone’s throw from the road leading to his groundflat, and today it was peaceful, which was a rarity. The summer so far, though rarely dry, had been pleasant enough and, best of all, not windy. Ale didn’t really mind rain in the slightest. He infinitely preferred it to the sharp, hot sunshine. Sometimes he would curse the wind and the rain when walking back, but then he would remember what the alternative was and counted himself lucky. Any further south and he would have to tolerate long days of uninterrupted sunshine, which to some sounded very much like paradise. To Ale it was a tiring, sluggish nightmare. Working below the sun was even worse. In fact, whenever any of the store staff suggested that, on a sunny day, he was lucky to be outside, he privately seethed, but politely told them he didn’t fancy it. None of them knew the pain of pushing trolleys for hours under a vicious sun. Except for Ant, East and Lime, though they weren’t nearly as sensitive to the sun, it seemed, as he was. East, with her thin, sleek coat, had it the easiest on account of her father being a southerner.

When Ale reached his groundflat, he went through his usual routine of checking that the top lock was still locked and felt a thrill of dismay when he realised it wasn’t, which told him Farl had indeed made it back early. Ale didn’t have any negative feelings towards Farl. He was actually a very kind and thoughtful pony. But he hated – he truly, truly hated – having to talk to him awkwardly at the door every time he came home.

As luck would have it, the sound of running, splashing water behind the main-bathroom door greeted him as he stepped inside. Farl was in the shower. Grinning, Ale took off his underzipper, hung it and stepped softly across the corridor to his room, whose door he closed quietly behind him. He had his own en-suite, which meant he rarely had to emerge. Farl pretty much had the entire flat to himself when he was at home, but mercifully, that was rare. Ale knew that Farl was very sporty. When he wasn’t working, he was training for some race somewhere, which meant that he seldom stayed indoors. This suited Ale immensely because it gave him access to the kitchen and the living room, where he could cook whatever he wanted, eat however he wanted and sit however he wanted. He could also enjoy humming and singing. Ale went outside daily, but he very rarely ‘went out’, as ponies would put it. As such, his room was his home, though no one could have told him that it was his, which Ale prided himself on. The room was as blank and as neat as the day he’d moved in. Bland and bereft of the infuriating touches of personality that Ale so despised without knowing exactly why. Perhaps he associated posters and collectibles – clutter and mess in general – with school and the ponies from it that he hated to this day. He wasn’t sure, but enjoyed that he was the anomaly.

Ale sank into the only chair in his room, a fold-up he’d purchased from the store to spare himself the embarrassment of taking one from the living room and potentially having to explain it to Farl. His mother would say such behaviour was unhealthy. If you couldn’t even share a chair with your flatmate, surely something was wrong, and Ale could understand her concern logically. But he knew himself, and he knew that this was just how it was, how he felt. He was hardly a nutcase because he felt uncomfortable. Ale liked his comfort. With a contented sigh, he reached across to the chest of drawers in which he kept all his clothes, folded, and picked up the full packet of fruity gums he’d left there. He tore it open with a smile, dug in with his hoof and dropped a bunch into his mouth, closing his eyes at first when he chewed.

‘Fucking... perfect...’ he whispered to himself, holding up his hoof in a salute.