Chapter Three: The Breakroom Bash

BuyMore wasn’t known for its after-hours parties. Most “events” were loosely organized affairs involving a dusty cake, half-wilted balloons from the clearance rack, and Brenda sneaking tiny bottles of rum into her Diet Coke. Still, they did their best. And when Preston put out the word that there’d be a welcome get-together for the new guy—Eli, the brave soul of Aisle Eleven—most of the team showed up.

The party was scheduled for 7 p.m., an hour after closing. By 6:45, the front-end lights were off, the cash drawers locked, and the staff had migrated to the breakroom, which now featured:

One folding table covered in a crinkled "WELCOME!" banner taped hastily across the edge.

Three store-brand two-liter sodas (cola, lemon-lime, and a mysterious “fruit punch”).

A stack of sad-looking pizza boxes from the strip mall joint next door.

And Brenda's Bluetooth speaker playing a playlist she proudly titled “Bangers for Breaks.”

Eli lingered at the doorway like he wasn’t sure if this counted as a real invitation or a prank. He was wearing the same uniform polo, now untucked, with a new crease down the middle like he’d sat weird on the bus. His hair was slightly flatter from his headset, and he still had a pen clipped to the collar like he was afraid someone would give him inventory homework at any second.

“Hey!” Callie waved him over, already munching on a slice of lukewarm pepperoni. “You made it.”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping inside, “I wasn’t sure if I’d get hazed or fed.”

Brenda overheard and barked out a laugh. “Why not both?”

“Welcome to the circus,” Marcus added, raising his plastic cup of cola in salute.

Eli wandered toward the snack table, cautiously taking in the crowd: Preston talking too loudly about his fantasy football league, Jazmin from cosmetics trying to fix the Bluetooth connection, and Carl from stockroom standing like a statue next to the microwave as though it might do something if he stared hard enough.

“I brought ice cream sandwiches,” Callie said, holding one out to him. “They’re half melted. Like my enthusiasm for this job.”

Eli grinned. “Beautiful. Just the way I like both my desserts and my co-workers.”

Callie smirked, not catching the your co-workers comment as anything other than a general joke. “You’ll fit right in.”

They stood side by side near the drink station, watching as Brenda tried to teach Preston the electric slide and nearly knocked over the recycling bin.

“I wasn’t sure people actually did this stuff,” Eli said, unwrapping his sandwich. “Like, throw welcome parties.”

Callie shrugged. “We don’t. Not really. But you survived Aisle Eleven with dignity. That earned you some points.”

“I think I lost a small part of my soul to the pantyliner pyramid.”

“You and everyone else,” she said, mock-grave.

Eli chuckled. “So how many welcome parties have you been to?”

Callie considered. “Three. One was for Carl. He didn’t speak the entire time. The second one was for Jazmin, but she ended up making it her birthday party instead. And the third…” She trailed off, eyes flicking upward as she tried to remember. “Actually, I think someone got food poisoning. That might’ve been Carl’s going-away party. Which is weird, because he didn’t leave.”

Eli laughed. “So I’m special.”

“You’re something,” she said, taking a sip of lemon-lime soda.

There was a pause—not awkward, but quiet. Eli shifted his weight, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m glad I ended up here,” he said finally, his tone softening. “I know it’s just a retail gig, but… you made the first day suck less.”

Callie blinked, slightly caught off-guard. “Oh. Well, I didn’t do much.”

“You didn’t laugh when I apologized to the tampons.”

“I did laugh.”

“But not to my face. That counts.”

She smiled, not quite sure what to say. Compliments made her weird. Always had. Her brain had a habit of deflecting them like dodgeballs.

Eli took a breath. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were intentionally ignoring all my charming attempts to flirt.”

Callie nearly choked on her soda. “Wait, what?”

“I said—”

“No, I heard you.” She stared at him, baffled. “You’ve been flirting?”

Eli raised both hands. “Okay, light flirting. Soft. Gentle flirtation. PG-13 level. But yeah.”

She blinked again. “I thought you were just being friendly.”

“Well, yeah. I am friendly. But also—”

He gestured vaguely at himself. “You know. Available.”

She narrowed her eyes, trying to tell if he was joking. “Like... romantically?”

“Unless you thought I was offering you a coupon.”

Callie tilted her head. “You’re... kind of a weirdo.”

Eli beamed. “Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Still felt nice.”

Brenda clapped loudly to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, alright, gather up, team! It’s time for THE INITIATION.”

Eli looked at Callie in horror. “Please tell me that’s not real.”

She patted his shoulder. “Depends. Can you hula hoop while reciting your locker number?”

“...What?”

“Relax,” she said, laughing. “It’s just Brenda being dramatic.”

Brenda held up a paper crown made from receipts stapled together. “As is tradition, the new hire shall now wear the Crown of Mild Competence and proclaim their loyalty to BuyMore!”

Preston chanted, “CROWN! CROWN! CROWN!”

Jazmin added a drumroll with her hands on the table.

Eli gave Callie a helpless look. “Are they serious?”

She pushed him forward. “Go. Accept your destiny.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Eli walked to the center and bowed low as Brenda placed the receipt crown on his head like he was being knighted by a queen of coupon codes.

“I, Eli something-something,” Brenda intoned, “do solemnly swear to scan, stack, and survive.”

“I do,” Eli said, raising his right hand.

“To not mock the customers.”

“I’ll try.”

“To never, ever use the phrase ‘This isn’t my department’ in front of management.”

“Understood.”

“And to bring snacks on Fridays.”

“Wait, what?”

Everyone cheered, Brenda hit play on a cheesy 2000s pop song, and someone tossed a handful of thermal printer paper like confetti. It was objectively stupid. And weird. And incredibly fun.

Later, when the crowd thinned out and most of the team migrated toward the parking lot or the bus stop, Callie and Eli found themselves back by the vending machines, lingering.

“You know,” Eli said, adjusting his receipt crown, “I think this place might be growing on me.”

“You’re just saying that because we gave you sugar and a title.”

“True. I’m very susceptible to praise and empty carbs.”

Callie leaned against the counter. “You handled yourself pretty well tonight.”

“I’m honestly just relieved I didn’t trip and fall into the soda fountain or something.”

“That’s next week.”

They stood in silence again. Then Eli said, “Okay. I’m gonna try one more time, and you have to promise not to miss it.”

“Miss what?”

He gave her a look. “Me. Flirting.”

Callie squinted. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious.”

He took a breath, then in a low, hopeful tone said, “So. Would you maybe want to grab coffee sometime? Just us. Like… outside of the store.”

Callie blinked again. “Oh.”

He waited.

“Oh,” she said again, slower this time. “You’re actually asking.”

He nodded, a little more self-conscious now.

She shifted her weight. “That’s—uh—I wasn’t expecting that.”

Eli smiled, but it was smaller this time. “No pressure. I just figured... if I didn’t ask, I’d regret it.”

Callie looked down at the vending machine, at the glowing button that said “OUT OF ORDER” over the pretzel row.

“I’m not great at dating stuff,” she admitted.

“That’s okay. I’m not great at it either. But I am excellent at awkward conversations and recovering from mild rejection, if that helps.”

She laughed softly. “Let me think about it, okay?”

“Of course.”

He stepped back, giving her space, and took off his paper crown, setting it gently on the breakroom table like he was retiring from royal duties.

“Goodnight, Queen of Aisle Eight,” he said with a grin.

Callie rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. “Goodnight, Prince of Pads.”

And with that, he left.

She stood alone for a moment, still holding her cup of soda, still not entirely sure what had just happened—but kind of curious about where it might go next...