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SHOPPING CART DICHOTOMY - chap 1 (wip)

Draco didn’t think anything could top his trademarked worst day ever, but after today he’s willing to rethink.

It’s 4:30pm on a Monday and he’s only an hour away from clocking out of his meager wageslave position–or job, as some would say. To each their own. All he’s left to do is collect the wayward shopping carts because apparently some individuals don’t have the decency to wheel them a few feet further into the cart bays. Draco’s appalled that he’s grown sympathetic to the cart pusher position, but working it sheds new light on his previous ignorance.

It’s been a long and arduous day, the kind that leaves you on edge, prepared for the final tendril in your thread of patience to be cut loose. Draco’s been teeming with wrath just begging to be unleashed, but alas, capitalism wins. He needs this job. The fact that he even needs it does no help in quelling that bitter anger.

Being disinherited from your multi-million dollar cushy lifestyle tends to make a person bitter, and with no career opportunities after being promised by your spiteful father that he’d never vouch for you again, you’re left with the dredges of society. Draco’s indignation is justified, expected, even.

There’s a plethora of reasons to be angry, most of which having to do with why he’s now acquainted with the working class, but not limited to it. For example, just as he’d been preparing to leave his flat this morning he was met with a sputtering coffee machine. Upon further inspection Draco had come to find that it was malfunctioning, yet he couldn’t pinpoint the cause. He’d never needed to be handy in the past because being rich allows you to throw money at your problems instead of fixing them. If he had the funds, a malfunctioning coffee machine would be replaced without a second thought on repairing it.

Blaise had been more of a nuisance than a help in this predicament, suggesting he pick up his usual espresso on the way to work. This only served to piss him off, leading to him grumbling choice words on his way out the door. Draco knows just as well as Blaise that neither of them have money to spare for such luxuries, despite how much he yearns for it.

Arriving at work half dead on his feet with a distinct lack of caffeine, Draco supplicated himself to a long day.

The break room was as dreary as it always was, if not for the addition of Neville Longbottom–certified pain in Draco’s arse, as well as his superior. Fate found it amusing to humiliate him further by giving this nervous wreck seniority–mulling about, wringing his hands in clear distress. Absently, Draco acknowledged that the room’s usual mildew smell was masked with a tropical scent mixing rather unpleasantly with it, leaving him with the aftertaste of chemicals and no true protection from the indiscernible staleness forever permeating the air. Peering around the room in order to avoid confronting Neville, Draco’s eyes landed on the whiteboard which delegated tasks for the day.

Usually, he’d be tasked with stocking in the back, cleaning, or other mundane tasks that kept him hidden from customers. While he wouldn’t have been able to hold this job had he been incapable of proper customer service, he’d been written up twice so far for rather unpleasant encounters with them. Upper management deemed it better safe than sorry and stuck him with the gruntwork. Draco was rather happy with this arrangement because it gave him less run-ins with blatant stupidity, and more time to listen to his audiobooks. Though he’d never admit it aloud he quite enjoyed the mindlessness of it all.

Due to the fact that the universe decided it was torture Draco Malfoy day, the space next to his name on the board was empty. Spinning around he heaved a long suffering sigh and made his way to an already staring Neville.

Neville bit his lip, taking a steadying breath. “Uh–I figured you’d rather be told up front about your task for the day than read it on the board.” He tried meekly. Draco felt inclined to disagree, but for the sake of shortening this interaction as much as possible, he swallowed his rebuttal.

“Ok, go on then.” Draco replied slowly, raising a brow expectantly.

“I know you usually prefer to work independently, but the back is currently busy with inventory– y’know pallet moving and organization. It’s heavy lifting, and it’s overseen by George. He’s been divvying orders out like a tyrant, so I figured I’d put you somewhere else. There was only one job left… cart collection.” He rushed out, voice lowering a bit at the end.

Draco blinked as he took that information in. Amidst all the anxious rambling Neville somehow managed to inform him of bad news. He’d applaud the floor manager for his upgraded confidence if not for the pit of dread swelling in his stomach.

Every positive feeling he’s ever felt about this job has now been erased. Fuck this place.

Neville gulped audibly.

Following his less than favorable news Draco walked out into the mid morning heat. Between evading cars attempting to back into him, internally cursing every individual to leave a stray cart in the far corners of the parking lot, and glaring at a homeless man who had been eying the cart bay like an open house, he was strained and exhausted. Draco really wished he’d heeded Blaise’s advice saying ‘fuck financing’ and bought that 5 dollar espresso.

Just as he was connecting the long line of carts to the motorized retriever, he spotted a man out the corner of his eye abandoning a cart off to the side.

He felt his last tendril of patience snap, anger bubbling up like a ferocious beast preparing to tear this oblivious man apart. This was bullshit, the bloke had to have been fucking with him, right? There’s no way he hadn’t seen the cart drop off only a parking space away. How inconsiderate could a person be? Draco was standing right there, obviously an employee doing his job. Does this man have no shame?

Draco turned to the side, clearing his throat loudly. Hearing his overtly loud call for attention the man turned to face the glare pinned on him, curiously advancing and leaving the cart behind, he noted with further distaste.

“I’d hope you’re aware that a cart bay is no less than ten feet away from where you’ve so kindly decided to drop your cart off.” Draco raises an eyebrow, tone icy. “Surely you must know that some people have to finish your lazy parking job.”

Blinking at him in surprise, the raven haired man pauses for a beat. Quickly, his bewildered expression schools into a more practiced state of nonchalance.

“Would I be right to assume you’re some people?” He pauses, gaze tilting down to Draco’s name-tag. “Draco—huh, like the constellation?”

intrigue glittered in the man’s emerald eyes, sending a wave of unease through Draco. For a moment, he flounders, anger making way to skepticism as he purses his lips.

“Well… yes. What does it matter to you?” Draco replies curtly, narrowing his eyes.

Lips tilting up ever so slightly at the corners, the man hums. “My name’s Harry. I apologize for the cart, I’m just in a rush.” He said, not sounding particularly sorry. Something fake hung in the lilts of his tone that made Draco simmer. Harry stuck his hand out as a way of compromise, or damage control. Draco swiveled his eyes to it for a moment before landing back on his face.

“Maybe sweep the area for an employee next time before dumping your cart to the side so carelessly. It’s horribly rude.” He finished, weaving around Harry to grab the discarded cart.

Draco missed the way Harry gawked after him, hand hanging uselessly in the air.

—

Storming rather dramatically through the doorway and flinging his keys onto the kitchen counter, Draco comes face to face with a squinting Pansy. She’d been inspecting a bottle of Bacardi—presumably the bottle they keep on hand for particularly shitty nights—with a small frown. There was only about a quarter left in it, courtesy of a night spent watching Arrested Development reruns with Blaize and joking about their shitty families.

Leaning over the counter he snatched the bottle unceremoniously from her grasp, uncapped it, and took a long swig. She gave him a blank, disapproving look as his face twisted from the burn coasting its way down his throat and lining his stomach.

Reclaiming the bottle with a tug, Pansy pointed to the bottle, voice annoyed from the scuffle.

“This was nearly full last time I stopped by, do you mean to tell me the two of you practically cleared a liter in three days?”

Now recovered, Draco clicked his tongue. “Blaise got dumped.” He supplied blithely.

Pansy’s brows furrowed in confusion for a moment before understanding hit her. He’d only been seeing Cantarella for a month, after all. They’d met her once in passing as she scurried out of Blaise’s room and across the apartment before stopping dead in her tracks at the sight of them. She made quick work of ushering an apology, murmuring something along the lines of “late for work” and “i didn’t mean to stay”. By the time she fled through the front door, neither of them had gotten a word in.

“Wait— you mean the girl that worked at the smoothie place by the theatre?” He nodded. “Looks like I won’t be trying their loca mocha drink anytime soon.”

Draco hummed his assent, forgoing a proper response in favor of dragging the bottle back to his lips. Irritation still lined his shoulders, but it began to slink away as the artificial warmth liquor induced wrapped him up.

Pansy grimaced, huffing. “Do I want to know why you’re drinking straight rum fresh off your shift?”

“I’m feeling particularly murderous, and I need to get drunk.” He replied, blowing air through his nose in an effort to distract himself from the sting.

Blaise strode out of the hallway from behind, bumping shoulders with Draco

“Well, I’m not opposed. Are we going to the usual place?” [insert bar name once you decide]

“You’re looking for an excuse to find a rebound, aren’t you?” Pansy leaned against the counter, propping her head up with a freshly manicured hand.

“As if you’ve got noble intentions.” Draco said wryly, pointedly scanning her outfit. She glared at him.

Pansy adorned sleek black heels long enough to avoid being entangled with her dark washed bootcut jeans, meeting her waist at a low-rise, allowing a sliver of lace to peek out from underneath. They were her signature going out jeans. It may or may not have to do with the fact that they make her arse ‘look spectacular’. In addition she wore a fitted black long sleeve that slipped down to accentuate her clavicles, sporting necklaces galore. Her eye makeup wasn’t any less of a statement piece, full throttle eyeliner with a smattering of glitter. Pansy was prepared to go out.

“At least people know what to expect with me. We shag and that’s it, no loose ends. Unlike someone else we know.” She said haughtily, causing Blaise to scoff.

Just as Blaise opened his mouth to reply with what he’s sure will be another scathing comment, Draco set the bottle back down abruptly, cutting him off.

“Ok, less arguing and more pregaming. I’m going to change.” Draco said, twisting around and swiftly making his exit.