Correct Placement

“Oh no, he’s attempting to slip in the chip’s packet beside the celery! Will he get away with it?”

Shaking his head, he eyes off his comrade from the commentary box, saying, “So far, so good, sports fans, as he tempts fate by slipping in the big block of chocolate.”

Ooh, bad call, my man. Should’ve gone for the smaller size, it’s easier to slide between the bread loaves.”

“I agree. But wait, no, she spotted… the chips!

“I blame the orange packaging. But he has to take some credit for the poor choice of trying to hide it amongst the greenery of the celery. He should’ve gone for the mandarins.’

“I’ve said it before, camouflaging by correct placement is key. Remember that Sports fans, camouflage. Your tip for the today, Reg?”

“Timing. It’s all in the timing to pick that precise moment when they’re not looking.”

“I agree. Always wait for the distraction, then bam–in goes the contraband.”

“It’s a true and tried tactic used by the greatest. Their tactic is to patiently wait for that distracted moment to slip in the hot-goods at the front of the trolley between the tinned tomatoes and toilet paper. The opposition can’t see because they’re at the back pushing, then you help unload from the front.”

“Yes, the helpful-aide tactic works every time. You gotta dump everything onto the conveyor belt in big piles. They’ll be too distracted ticking their lists or sorting food into groups to notice you.”

“Another good tactic is to use the frozen goods. Last on, first off, and we know those frozen vegetable bags make lots of noise.”

“Yes, perfect cover for the crisps.”

“So how is our hero doing today? Nooo.

“DamnShe found both the crisps and chocolate. You’d think at his age he’d get that past the wife?”

“Or did he marry his mother?”

“He’s not walking away? Dude, where’s your pride? Get back there.”

“You can’t leave this supermarket, not until the weekly food smuggle into the shopping trolley is finished.”

“Diet Breakers everywhere are counting on you…”


(350 words)



Black goo coated his teeth and tongue, sliding down the back of his throat. He gagged into the sink, clawing the gunk free. Loosened his tie, winced at the rank eye-burning
odour, turned on the tap and washed out his mouth, lips, and chin. Cuffs on his white shirt smeared with black spots as he continued to rinse and repeat over the kitchen sink. “What the hell was that?”

She picked up the sandwich from the lunchroom floor. “Creamy boot polish. That’ll teach you for stealing my lunch. Oh, there’s a call for you line two… I’ll take a message.”

(100 words)