Just Stop Talking

Fifty five minutes for a 5 minute errand. He just would not shut up. Heather was leaning out the door, bracing it open with her foot, about as subtle as a truck, trying to leave the store. He would not stop talking- about himself, his career, his pure potential. Heather's mentally calculating how late she's running for her 1 oclock appointment, trying to manifest a way to transmogrify herself via an imaginary telelporter to get to Chelsea in time.  Just Shut Up. An hour ago she was mildly smitten. He was a doppleganger of her ex, same ginger hair, dimpled chin, light blue eyes, perfect bow shaped lips, rare on a man. After twenty minutes of monologue all resemblance evaporated. His hands were small, nail beds torn and ragged, his neck showed premature signs of aging and a distinct lack of physical activity in his life. What was she expecting from a computer IT guy, not like he rips himself away from his motherboard to bust out a quick ten miler or 5 hour ride. All she needed was a replacement battery for her ancient  macbook and this was the only refurb shop in town still stocking them. She couldn't leave without it. Getting him to stop talking and sidle up to the cash register was akin to herding cats. Heather tried every diversionary tactic in her book including the almost imperceptible slow shuffle backwards toward the checkout. It was like tearing the top off a box of ferrets once he found out she was an actor too. Christ, just give me the battery, Give Me The Battery. Heather was afraid she would shout it out loud. Battery Tourettes. On an intake of breath she pushed through, grabbed the box and slammed her card on the counter. Jamming it into her bag Heather leapt for the door. Almost free, home free! This was worse than the JW's on her doorstep when she lived in the Annex. She makes a mental note halfway to her car: next computer will be a pc.

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