This is the first chapter of a seven part story that will run all this week.

“I need you to have a talk with Mrs. Drury.”

Those were the first words the Manager said to Chad when he walked in the back door at the Piggly Wiggly Monday morning.  Not at all what he had in mind, but then that’s how the morning had gone since the alarm went off.

The kids were still asleep when he woke up, a rare occurrence.  He thought it might afford him and Prudence the opportunity to have conjugal relations.  Nothing long and drawn out, just a quick start to the week that would perhaps put a smile on his face and give him something to think about the rest of the day.  Turns out, what he would end up thinking about the rest of the day was the look on Prudence’s face when he made the suggestion.  Back when she worked in the Produce Department, she’d have been the one making the suggestion.  Chad could barely keep up with her.  That was quite a while ago.

“What do I need to talk about with Mrs. Drury?”  Chad had a pretty good idea, but wanted to hear it directly from Management’s mouth.

“I think you know,” he said. Then waited. Chad didn’t give him the gift of offering what he thought the talk might be about. “The odor situation. I’ve been getting complaints. They died down during the pandemic, when everyone was wearing masks. Since then, things have gone back to normal, and so have the complaints.”

Mrs. Drury had been the checkout lady on Register 4 since long before either Chad or the Manager had been employed at the store. It was her domain. She had rung up enough groceries from her perch on the stool in front of that register to feed the entire Great Southwest. She was an institution. She was Piggly Wiggly to a large part of the population of Fort Stockton. A monument to the grocery cashiering sciences.

So was her Metallic Blue 1977 Plymouth Gran Fury Brougham 4-door sedan.  The lighter blue vinyl top and white vinyl pin-stripping set off the outside of the big sedan.  The vinyl seats, vinyl dash, and vinyl wood grain appliqués sprinkled throughout the cabin must have been what made it a Brougham.  Some speculated that Mrs. Drury’s hair was actually vinyl, as well, seeing as how it hadn’t changed in color, style, or texture since the ’77 Plymouth was showroom new.

There is an argument over at the Klip-N-Dye as to whether there was ever a Mr. Drury.  Some folks vaguely remember one coming to church with her at Second Baptist of Fort Stockton, back in the day.  “Could have been a brother, or cousin, though.”  Trixie notes.  “That was a long time ago.  She is Mrs. Drury, so that would indicate she’s walked down the aisle with someone at some point.  And I’m not talkin’ about the canned goods aisle!”  Trixie is always quick with a joke.

Everyone who worked at Cactus Plymouth-Dodge-Dodge Truck back then has long since moved on to other careers or is taking a dirt nap, so the details on whether or not she had a spouse with her when she special ordered the car are long gone.  The fact that it only has 10,000 miles on it makes it look like it could still be sitting in that showroom.

When she filled out the order form, Mrs. Drury checked the boxes for the 360 cubic inch V8 and the Torque-Flite three-speed automatic transmission. She went for power brakes, full wheel covers, and a push-button AM/FM stereo radio. Mud flaps, vent windows, and dual side mirrors rounded out the options she decided would be worth her hard earned money. “It’s got an exclusive hood ornament,” she liked to tell people whenever they asked her about her low mileage Plymouth.

What it didn’t have was air conditioning.

“How the hell can anything be called ‘Gran’ or ‘Brougham’ that doesn’t have an air conditioner?  This is Fort Stockton, Texas.  Triple digits are a way of life down here four months of the year,” Rusty from the hardware store says.  “You can’t get the damn thing going fast enough, even with all four windows down and those wing vent windows wide open to cool you off in August.  Who orders a new car without A/C?”

Well, the answer to that question would be Mrs. Drury.  And the fact that she did was one of the leading causes of the ‘odor’ that Chad had been directed to discuss with her.

“You’re the Manager,” Chad said.  “You should really be the one discussing the situation with her.”

“Probably, but I’m already booked up.  The parking lot restriping project starts today and I need to be out there supervising it. Have to be sure the cart corrals are strategically placed.  And don’t even get me started on the handicapped spaces.”

“But all that is on the drawings that have already been approved by Corporate,” Chad noted.

“You’ll understand someday if you ever make it to the top spot. You don’t leave details like the cart corral to chance.” Chad noted how similar the look on the Manager’s face was to the one on Prudence’s earlier in the morning.

It was hard to define the exact nature of the aroma.  A fine wine will contain hints of berries, chocolates, and perhaps a combination of fermented grapes and fruits that, once put together, leave one with a distinct  sensory experience.  Mrs. Drury’s situation was nothing like that, although there were fermented notes that were a sensory experience.  One could detect White Diamonds perfume, KOOL menthols, Juicy Fruit that had been chewed long past its usefulness, and of course, the overriding effects of riding in the un-air conditioned Gran Fury atop vinyl seats in hot weather.  Chad wasn’t sure exactly where Mrs. Drury lived, but it was far enough away that a full lather could be worked up during the commute.

For the second time that morning Chad had resigned himself to accepting his fate. Biting the bullet. Answering the call of duty. “Mrs. Drury,” he said. “Might I have a word with you for just a moment in the break room?”

“Why sure, Honey.  Anything for you, you know that,” she replied.  “Let me just finish with these customers in line and I’ll be back there in a flash.”

She was sweet, really, he thought.  Once you got past ‘the issue’ she was by far the best employee they had.  Never missed a day.  Knew the store like the back of her hand.  Would come in on short notice, stay late if she needed to.  She was probably older than his own mother, and a lot more forgiving.  She’d bring him a sample of whatever she baked on her day off.  And she always called him ‘Honey’.  It was endearing and irritating as hell, both at the same time.  Again, just like his mother.

Chad waited in the break room. He looked around and remembered all the different things that had happened in that very room. The first time he and Prudence had seen each other naked. Instinctively, he went over to the cabinet and wiped down the counter with Formula 409 and Bounty paper towels, even though it had been years. This was the room where he’d been offered the Assistant Manager’s position. The next rung on the ladder. Promises of bigger things, if he worked hard. He thought to himself there had been a lot of carrot and stick maneuvers in this room and tried to determine which had won the most of those, the carrot or the stick?

As he was putting the Formula 409 back under the kitchen sink and throwing the paper towels away, Mrs. Drury walked through the break room door.  She’d obviously stopped by the ladies room and touched up her ruby red lipstick so she looked nice for the meeting.  He knew it was her before she came through the door due to, well due to the reason he’d asked her back to the break room.

“Thanks for coming back, Mrs. Drury,” he said. “Please, have a seat.” Just as she smiled at him and sat down, the Manager came through the door to get a drink from the soda machine, his thirst a result of all his efforts in the parking lot.

“The Manager asked me to have you come back so he could have a word.  Here he is now.  I’ll be at the checkout counter, covering for you till you get back.”  Chad headed to the door, smiling at the Manager.  But before he left the room, he turned back to Mrs. Drury.  “And promise me that someday you will give me a ride in that Gran Fury Brougham sedan.  I swear that’s the best looking car in all Fort Stockton.”

Mrs. Drury beamed with pride.

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