The Snap

A row of canned peas teetered worryingly close to the edge of their rack in the supermarket, and Cameron pushed them back with an irritated huff. These dog days of summer were really terrible to work in a chain grocery store, he thought grumpily. Customers hurried through the store with only their own agendas in mind, swiping cans off the shelves as they pleased. It was just too much work.

Music was what mattered to him. He needed a break, a break to learn guitar, maybe a lucky break for a real producer to notice him, and a break so that he could put his inspiration down on paper. Absently, he began to stack whole wheat loaves in the bread display. The sheer monotony of the task still boggled him.

“Daydreaming?” Jolted from his reverie, Cameron glared at Dennis Allen, the nosy, all-knowing store manager. Dennis was over 6 feet tall. The employees fondly called him “String Bean Manager.” He tolerated the nickname- in fact he tolerated everything. Dennis was hard to upset. He always had the best advice for his employees, and never hesitated when they called in favors. Still, Cameron didn’t appreciate being interrupted in his peaceful, boring duties. Conversations with Dennis Allen waxed lyrical and often lasted a long, long, long, long, long time.

“I wasn’t daydreaming,” Cameron replied coldly. “I was exploring my ambitions and developing a plan for the future.”

 “Ah,” Dennis Allen acquiesced. “Advice? That’s my area of expertise.”

“No,” answered Cameron, without ceasing the motion of placing stacks of bread in the store shelving unit, “I’m just bored. I’d do anything for a less boring job. You should be excited by your plan to make money, not miserably bored.”

Dennis snapped his fingers. “Done.”

Cameron ignored him, but Dennis didn’t elaborate. When Cameron finally turned to look at Dennis, he was gone. Cameron knew better than to think about it. Dennis Allen was an odd fellow who had inexplicable, no-method-but-madness behavior, and it was frankly best to ignore his moods.

Later that morning, Cameron was summoned to the cash registry by a new colleague. The new guy wasn’t sure how to scan a box of dried mangoes. He explained to the guy how to check the box’s barcode and helped him scan it. “Thanks,” said the new guy, whose name was Diego.

“Hey, no problem,” said Cameron in a friendly way. “Stay calm and you can scan them…” he snapped his fingers. “quick as a wink!”

The dried mango box disappeared from the counter. In its place sat a crate of fresh mangoes. Cameron had already turned around and missed both the confused start of the new cashier and the bamboozled inquiries of the customer. He wended his way back to the storeroom in the back of the shop, examining the task list before finding a package of mixed nuts to display.

Dennis wandered by. “Cameron! Chips rack! Snap to it already!” Chuckling, he loped away. Cameron shook his head and switched to stacking potato chip bags. Snap to it indeed, he thought. Absently, he snapped his fingers over the cart full of potato chips. Instantly, the chip bags disappeared and the cart filled with large brown potatoes, cannisters of oil, and pouches of white salt. Cameron leaped back, startled. What? He glanced around the aisle, which was empty except for himself. Gingerly, he reached out to touch a potato at the top of the pile and drew his hand back lightning quickly. It was a real solid potato. What in the world?

He wondered faintly if some new chemicals they used in the chips caused supernatural events like this, before dismissing the thought from his mind. Cameron was a sharp STEM student. He grabbed a bag of chips from the shelf and added it to the shopping cart of potatoes, oil and salt. He waited, holding his breath. Nothing happened. Slowly, he extended his right hand over the bag and snapped his fingers. The chip bag was immediately replaced by two large potatoes, a tiny carafe of oil, and a bag of salt, all of which tumbled down the pile already in the cart.

Nervously, Cameron pushed the cart out of the chip aisle, before running it right into Rita, the assistant manager. “What are you using those potatoes for, Cameron?” said Rita, staggering backward from the cart and blinking. He froze. “A….a display of chips?” Rita looked disbelieving.

“You know,” Cameron added, clutching at straws, “A sort of… here are the natural products that become your chips… kind of thing.”

Rita paused for a second, then nodded approvingly. “It’s creative ideas like that which make sales!” Cameron hurriedly deposited the cart in the storeroom and hurried home. He snapped over a slice of pizza someone had left on a park bench, and watched the slice disappear and get replaced by a carton of tomatoes, a sprig of fresh basil, salt, pepper, a carton of flour, a bottle of olive oil, and a good block of mozzarella cheese. He snapped over the park bench itself, and after hesitating a second, snapped his fingers over his cell phone. Nothing happened. The snap was turning food products into their rudimentary fresh ingredients. Troubled, he hurried home.

His brothers were arguing over a board game. He walked quickly past them into the kitchen. Darn, no mom found. His youngest brother Jimmy swaggered in and began to rummage in the fridge.

“Jimmy, where’s mom?” Cameron asked, as Jimmy sat next to him at the kitchen island table and popped the top of a can of orange juice.

“Bank,” said Jimmy laconically. He took a sip of the orange juice. One of their brothers yelled “Jimmy!” from the living room. “I’ll be right back, don’t drink my orange juice. It’s the last one.” With that, he slipped off his stool and left the kitchen.

Cameron sat, thinking hard. Where had this strange superpower come from? Had he perhaps always had it? No, he had definitely snapped before, and it had never happened. Could he still do it. Pensively, he snapped his fingers over Jimmy’s orange juice. The can disappeared as he’d expected, and instead appeared a small bag of oranges, a box of sugar, a tiny flask labeled “Vitamin C”, and a travel-sized bottle of water. It began with Dennis Allen, he reflected. He’d have to go back to the store and figure it all out.

Jimmy reentered the kitchen, and screamed. Cameron jumped.

“MY ORANGE JUICE, CAMERON!??” Cameron wondered momentarily whether to tell him the truth. He thought better of it immediately. “Sorry!! Sorry, I drank it,” he began. Jimmy was so furious he could barely speak. Before he could regain speech, then, Cameron decided, was his cue to leave. He dipped from the kitchen and heard Jimmy’s furious rattling around the pantry as evidence that his little brother wouldn’t chase him with fury. A few minutes later, Cameron re-entered the storeroom. Dennis Allen and Rita sat reviewing what looked like an almanac. “So, you see,” Dennis was saying, “people buy the most when it’s mild weather outside…” He stopped as Cameron stormed in. Before Cameron could say anything, Dennis snapped his fingers five times. “Someone else needs that excitement in his day,” he said, and turned back to the almanac. Cameron blinked. Some mysteries are too odd to explore further. He picked up a box of orange juices for Jimmy, snapping his fingers over them just in case. Snap. Snap. Nothing happened. Cameron breathed a sigh of relief. 🍊