TAKE ALL OF YOUR FOOD HOME says the sign taped over the glass siding door leading to the grocery store parking lot.
Odd, you say to yourself as you push your shopping cart over the sensor pad. The door does not open, which you also find odd. You push the cart back and forth across the sensor pad to no effect.
“Having trouble with the door?” calls out a voice behind you which you recognize as belonging to the more-blood-spattered-than-usual bag boy, whom you assumed to be special needs, that placed your groceries in the cart at checkout.
“Yeah, it won’t open,” you reply, turning to face the bag boy.
“Oh, what a shame,” he says, and gives out the evil, tittery laugh that you know only the joy of the mentally deficient is capable of eliciting from a human larynx. “Did you read the sign?”
“I did!” you exclaim. “What a weird thing to put on the door of the store. I mean, I came here to buy stuff, and now it’s telling me to take all my food home? Like, what kind of person is going to go all the way to the store, buy food, and then not-“
“Shut up!” shouts the bag boy covered in blood and holding a machete that you’ve assumed is retarded but now know for sure is really rude to customers. “Did you read…the fine print?”
You turn back to the sign. In tiny 6-point font at the bottom of the page is a sentence fragment: …if you can.
“Take all of your food home if you can?” you ask once again turning to face the bag boy. “What’s that supposed to mean? Of course I can take my groceries home, I came in a car! Y’all really need to get this door working so I can leave, it’s wine night and this cork ain’t gonna pop itself if you know what I mean. Hey, what are you doing with that knif-“