Ping Yi Yee - Issue 36

Ping Yi writes poetry, short fiction and creative nonfiction, after a three-decade detour in public service. His work has appeared in Impspired, Slackjaw, Little Old Lady Comedy, Defenestration, No Crime in Rhymin’, The Haven, Orbis (nominated for Forward Prize), The High Window, The Stony Thursday Book, Litro and La Piccioletta Barca. Ping Yi lives in Singapore with his spouse and their son.

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A Fair Price!

The Unbearable Lightness of Retail Loss Prevention

	“Wh–what year is this?” Steve jerked his head up, crusted eyelids flinching at the fluorescent glare from the gypsum ceiling. His digital wristwatch blinked: 1743. “What… star… system is this?” he managed to continue, more urgently.

	Around him the people swirled, danced their native rituals, arms shifting about at speed, hands moving precious items from one receptacle to another, wielding space-age grips with whip-long tails, weaving complex nested patterns that were utter chaos yet utter… efficiency. They babbled, a hubbub of guttural exclamations barely within hearing, punctuated by insistent beeps and occasional flashes of red fire from inside strange, upturned crystal bowls.

	Two distinct individuals, attired in colourful alien fabric that signalled some badge of office or other, strolled up and down the processional aisle leading to the various booths. Their concise movements were subtle but effective, helping to make each ritual even more correct and enabling a more natural flow of energy through the devout practitioners. Qi, that was the term used on Earth, a long time ago. As each small group completed the required ceremony and moved off, the next group quickly stepped in to begin theirs, with varying levels of passion and agitation.

	Steve’s temples throbbed, and his eyes began to glaze over. This was so hard. He had failed abjectly with their own ritual. They must have been here for a week, perhaps almost two – a month even. They would never leave this place, but would be interred where they stood. He wished he had left a message for his wife. His hands shook badly; rigor mortis setting in.

	“Oh give me that!” Steve’s mum wrenched the barcode scanner from his right palm. “I know this store better than you!” She deftly nuked each item in quick succession, but the entire checkout kiosk locked up after her second item. Crimson light bathed both their faces, as the Luddite Alarum wailed within its petite blast radius.

	“Hah!” said Steve, triumphant.

	“Hello! Miss!” Mum hollered at the nearer of the two employees. “Need some help over here!”

	The nice lady had already reached their counter, her override card against its sensor while her other hand tangoed across the keypad. “Here you go!” she chirped as she resumed her patrol, barely breaking her pace. She had fully reset and voided all their transactions. It was as if they had never been, no trace of their landin–

	“All right,” Steve breathed in again, cracking neck and knuckles. “We can do this.”

	First, all groceries back in the basket on the ‘incoming’ microscopic weighing tray to the left. Pick up one item. Zap item. Immediately place same item on the ‘outgoing’ nanoscopic weighing tray to the right, before the droids activate gun turrets. Pick up second item, zap it, right tray deploy deploy deploy. Pick up third item, scan, put it down, BEEEP oh you missed the right tray by half an inch so the total weight is off by two nanograms. That makes you a heinous serial pickpocketing felon – spread ’em!

	The still-nice-but-grumpier lady came back to cancel out just the third item. Back to No. 3 again, scanned, re-weighed for parole. Fourth item, zap, right tray. Fifth, done. Oh let’s scan the sixth, seventh, eighth items at one go since they’re all mini yogurts anywa– BEEEEEEP! Steve wondered where the nearest portable defibrillator was.

	Tenth item, eleventh… By this point, the outgoing tray had surpassed the most phantasmagorical film prosthetics permitted by the Motion Picture Association, the last half dozen items abandoning The Titanic for linoleum and achieving escape velocity. But they were done scanning the whole basket.

	Onward to: ‘Select Payment Type’. “What shopping rewards or stars for this store?” Steve knew better than to not ask.

	“Wait! I need to use my health coupons before that. They’re expiring!”

	“But Mum we’re in a hurry, Dad’s waiting for dinn–”

	Mum elbowed Steve away from the screen, but was stumped by the fork between ‘Coupon’ and ‘All Other Payments’. “I have no memory of this place,” she conceded. The heavens whirled above them…

	“… Oh here we go! You see, easy. Healthpoints, not LinkPoints. This health promotion app lets me earn 26.7 cents a day with 10,000 steps. Free money, y’know.”

	“All right Mum, now can we go?”

	“Let me cash out my thirty bucks. I got the town council to print them out from my phone last week.” She rummaged in her bag.

	Steve’s brain hung, and couldn’t reboot itself.

	“The coupons come in fivers, so just six more barcodes. Then we can pay.”

	BEEP.