In Line

By Aaron Fried

I stood in line, waiting as fast as I could, when I happened to overhear the conversation of the
two people behind me.

The first words I caught were those of a man in his mid-twenties wearing blue jeans and a yellow
Be Wired Not Tired sweatshirt. “This reminds me of the time a friend of mine and I went to a
Dunkin’. We stepped inside and no one was there. No customers, no one behind the counter, no
one cleaning up, no one. We called out, ‘Hello, anyone around.’ Nothing. It was in the middle of
the day, with the lights on and the ‘Open’ sign on the door. Very eerie.”

His companion, a woman in her mid-twenties who looked rather chilly in a green floral sundress,
leaned toward him. “Yeah?”

“I told my friend we should call the police. But he didn’t want to, he was sure the worker was in
the bathroom or something. My friend peered behind the counter and started shouting, ‘Customer
here, hello!’ But there was no response. I pictured someone having a heart attack, unconscious in
the back and us leaving him, or her, or them, to die. I didn’t know what to do, but I couldn’t do
nothing. I just couldn’t.”

Her eyes widened.

“So, I called nine-one-one, told them what was going on, and they said they’d send a cop over.
My friend freaked out. He started screaming at me. What if the dude was doing drugs in the back
and the cop shows up and shoots him? Or what if the worker was just in the bathroom, maybe
our call would lead to him getting fired. My friend was furious with me, but someone could’ve
been dying back there.”

“What happened?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. After I hung up, I got on my bike and took off.”

She shook her head. “You know stories are supposed to have conclusions, right?”