It’s a Wonder

(A contemporary tale of terror)

It’s a wonder we can all wait in line for cashier number nine at the grocery store, avoiding prolonged eye contact, with half the self-checkout screens papered over with out-of-order signs, and the rest announcing cash-only as persevering hunter-gatherers queue past the freezer aisle pizzas.

It’s a wonder how patient we all are with flannel-and-sweater man, head bowed, fumbling with insurance and debit cards in between wallet-sized school photos of grandchildren to pay for his corned beef, canned soup, dish soap, laundry detergent, applesauce, coffee, frozen dinners, and other small necessities. And the cashier, Ryan, I know him, calling for Cheryl, a hobbling store manager with a practiced smile and limb length discrepancy, adorned in southwestern turquoise jewelry, over from customer service to void the canned soup and two Stouffer’s Steak Salisburys.

It’s a wonder the lumbering lines of upright simians move forward at all, and pleasantly at that, politely, without harsh vocal admonishments or entropy, occasionally exclaiming gentle pardon me’s, thank you’s, and my apologies, without the shredding of garments and sinking our teeth into each other’s throats. The old splatter-splatter. The old gush-gush. It’s a wonder, yes, we can all be civil without smashing one another against case stacks of Rice Krispies, tearing open softened bellies with bare hands and shards of broken pickle jar glass, pulling squirming toddlers from their shopping carts, thrashing crying infants to the floor, thunk! thunk! It’s a wonder, oh yes, it’s a wonder, sliding on shimmering entrails into metal racks of chips and snacks, our red-caked faces like greedy hyenas rendering a downed, disemboweled, groaning wildebeest, crunching, ravenous, devouring, it’s a wonder, tendons and sinew snapping, and oh, the howling terror echoing from produce to bakery, the screaming savagery from housewares to dairy, the Acme transformed into a beastly butchery of cannibalistic bloodshed and gluttony. 

It’s a wonder I’m next. At last, my turn to place the humble order on the conveyor belt—reusable shopping bags first, then chicken thighs, frozen pierogies, grapes, apples, cat food, couscous, black-eyed peas, bread, and align my cart parallel with the bagging area ahead. I smile at Ryan. “It’s a wonder,” I say, and he nods, faintly exhaling an extended phew, as the store ceiling speakers crackle with a crispy static suggestion of electricity, interrupting The Doors’ Break on Through, announcing tensely, sharply, tinselly, “Clean up, aisle seven.”

(Words and Image ©2026 Henry Long)