Lex entered Joe's with a dodgy trolley.
Every few steps, the front-left wheel shuddered, forcing him to use brute force to drag the trolley across the concrete floor.
Every corner was a hassle; he had to force it straight with his hip before it could crash into a waist-high stack of toilet rolls.
He breathed in.
And exhaled out.
This is going to be tedious.
He pulled out his phone and checked the time.
3.03 p.m.
Fifty-seven minutes to find what I need, force it into the back of the shitbox and get outta here.
That was assuming his car started.
He sighed and pushed onwards.
"Damn you, university. Pick a different day to be relevant."
Lex had planned to leave half an hour early.
Then his module, Branding in Business, had somehow caught his attention. He even sat closer to the front, took real notes instead of doom-scrolling on his phone, and then spent another twenty minutes in the library going over them while they were fresh.
It was a tragic display of personal growth, if only for a day.
But it left him late.
Joe's Wholesalers never tried to make shopping there pleasant.
The lights hanging from the dingy ceiling were just bright enough to see by and little more. There was no music to block out all the voices in his head. Instead, he was welcomed by the chattering of ignorant customers and the rattling of countless trolleys.
He kicked his trolley again, pushing it out of the way of an oncoming granny.
She didn't even react, too busy walking with her stick to the next shelf, inspecting two different twenty-four-packs of jam.
The hell is she doing here by herself?
Is she going to be ok lifting that?
I hope she has a car, at least.
Although maybe she shouldn't be driving... she looks at least eighty-five years old.
He would have offered to help, but alas, he had somewhere to be.
He continued on.
The concrete floor was bare. And Joe's advertising style lacked the supermarket flair he was accustomed to seeing.
It consisted of red cardboard and white block capitals. Beautiful models whose lives had been transformed by laundry detergent had no place at Joe's.
That was because Joe knew why people came here.
It was cheap.
And there was lots of it.
Metal shelves rose towards the ceiling; there was actually a ladder there in case a customer needed something.
Seems dodgy.
They were packed with branded goods, obscure alternatives and brown shipping boxes which nobody had bothered to unpack.
Signs had been taped wherever there was room to tape.
BUY TWO, GET ONE FREE.
CASE DEAL - THIS WEEK ONLY.
50% OFF CONDOMS AND CRISPS.
Lex's eyes narrowed at that one.
What? Who made that sign and went, 'Yeah, looks grand'?
And why is there a deal specifically for that?
He shook his head, pushing his trolley further into Joe's.
You'd find some interesting contrasts among the people who came here.
There was a man wearing a clean black polo with MASON'S CAFE stitched across the back. He loaded two enormous bottles of cooking oil beside boxes of paper towels and cups. Just a little further along, a woman in a worn winter jacket held her phone in one hand, comparing the price per tin of two different soups.
One of them was here on a supply run for a business; the other was struggling to make ends meet.
Lex would usually be on the latter side.
But today was a bit of both.
He had come here plenty of times in the past, when his cupboards were empty and his fridge had nothing but a jar of out-of-date mascarpone sauce.
It wasn't even a fresh sauce; it was in the ambient range.
So why was it in the fridge? He couldn't tell you.
But this familiarity with Joe's was not the same as knowing where everything was.
The stock moved constantly. An aisle he swore contained rice now held car shampoo, nappies and several stacks of energy drinks. Whoever organised this place appeared to have lost interest halfway through.
A man stood nearby at an open checkout holding a large box of instant coffee while arguing with the cashier.
"Excuse me, but this isn't acceptable. This was eleven ninety-nine last week, and the sign's still up."
The cashier had a bored look on his face.
"That offer ended on Sunday," he said in a monotonous tone.
"It says 50% off, though, so why am I being charged double?"
He shrugged. "Selected lines."
"And which of those are selected?"
The employee looked at the shelf.
"None of the ones that are currently being displayed, apparently."
The customer folded his arms.
"That's ridiculous."
The cashier let out an exhausted sigh.
"I just stack it, mate. I'm not in charge of labels."
The argument continued, but Lex hurried on before his trolley swerved into it.
He still had the big question.
What the hell do I get for a tribe of goblins?
His lectures stressed the importance of market research.
But that research currently consisted of one conversation with the mohawked goblin and the crowd of green faces that stood behind him.
That Vargis fellow had called them Tribe Guram. All they carried were weapons, clothes and handmade packs.
That was about it.
He had never visited Guram Keep or asked any questions about the problems they faced. He didn't know how they stored food, what they considered valuable or whether handing them the wrong animal would start a religious insurgency.
At the moment, all this was guesswork.
Luckily, his visit to Joe's wasn't about filling shelves. It was just for samples.
Food seemed like the safest place to begin.
The goblins had mouths.
So presumably, they used them.
He followed the refrigerators lining the far wall until he reached the meat section.
Large packs of chicken, beef and pork sat beneath strips of dull white light. Whole joints shared the shelves with stacks of packaged steak and numerous bags of chicken breasts.
He lifted a packaged ribeye.
The cut was thick, evenly marbled and far better than anything he'd buy for himself. The meal with Herman had been his first steak in a long while.
Lex checked the expiry date.
Goes off in three days.
He glanced across the many chilled shelves.
The O.R.D. didn't have any refrigeration units or a freezer. Even if the goblins had somewhere cold to keep it, the products would spoil before he could sell them.
Fresh meat had to wait until he could set up fridges.
The frozen section was a no-go for the same reason.
Eleven minutes into Joe's Wholesalers, and he hadn't picked a single item.
So he checked the next aisle.
Cleaning products, it seemed.
The one after that contained cereal, batteries and commercial rolls of blue paper towel.
"Why wouldn't it?"
He continued until a tin rolled across the concrete and struck the side of his shoe.
An employee was building a monstrous pyramid of baked beans at the end of an aisle. Open cases surrounded her knees while a red cardboard sign hung above, its writing in block letters.
TWO TRAYS FOR £18
The display was already up to her chest, and from the look of it, it was only halfway done. Unfortunately, a corner had now collapsed.
A customer pushed away from the scene with a single can in his trolley.
The employee watched him leave with an irked gaze.
"Could've taken it from the bloody top," she muttered.
Lex picked up the runaway tin and passed it to her.
The employee gave him a thumbs-up.
"Cheers. At least someone has manners."
Her eyes looked tired, with dark circles starting to form beneath them.
Lex's gaze dropped to the label.
COUNTRY KITCHEN BAKED BEANS
A wooden barn stood behind the steaming bowl of beans on the front. Lex turned the tin around and found the address of a factory on the outskirts of Leeds.
He laughed.
"Country kitchen, what a joke."
The employee also looked at the label.
"They all come from the same factory, as with everything else in this store."
"Good to know the countryside has finally industrialised," Lex said sarcastically.
The girl chuckled.
He looked down at the name tag; it read Nala.
He nodded to her.
"Hope your shift passes swiftly, Nala."
"Yeah, same. Thanks for the laugh."
She had a slight smile on her face.
Lex saluted and lifted a tray of beans into his trolley.
Beans could be eaten cold or heated over a fire and stored in portable tins. Whether goblins actually liked them or not remained to be tested.
The pyramid had done its job and got his first item into the trolley.
"Do you know where the tinned goods are?" he asked.
She pointed two aisles over.
"That aisle, next to the spirits and mop buckets."
Lex looked in the direction of her finger, then back.
"Why?"
"No idea."
"Fair enough."
Onwards with the trolley.
Lex groaned as the trolley rattled harder beneath the added weight.
Corned beef, haggis, tuna and sardines, all tinned, had been stacked onto the shelf with little care.
He picked up two different five-packs of tuna.
Lex compared the ingredients.
Tuna, water, salt.
Inspiring.
Same fish, different tin.
He put one back and grabbed a tray of the same brand.
The corned beef and haggis required more consideration.
Half the tins needed an opener. The rest had ring pulls.
Lex chose the ring pulls so he didn't have to buy the openers.
He also had the funny image of a goblin opening a can of tuna with a sword.
He added a few trays of corned beef, haggis and chicken.
His phone read 3.27 p.m.
"Fuck."
He had to hurry. Imagine if Herman arrived first and Lex was the late one; he couldn't bear the thought of what Herman would say.
Lex moved quickly.
He grabbed several packets of beef jerky from the next aisle, checking that they had at least a year left before they expired.
A case of UHT milk followed.
He paused with both hands beneath it.
Do goblins drink milk?
There was no way to know without asking one.
He dropped it into the trolley anyway.
If they couldn't drink it, Herman would finish the lot within a week.
Lex found cheap lighters hanging beside disposable cutlery, then two coils of rope buried beneath gardening equipment.
He understood none of the numbers concerning weight or breaking strain.
The packaging said HEAVY DUTY.
Good enough.
Several bars of soap went in last.
By 3.34 p.m., his trolley resembled a supply run for the world's most poorly planned camping trip.
Beans, meat, milk, jerky, rope, soap and enough lighters to concern the cashier.
It wasn't much.
That was fine.
They were samples.
If the goblins hated everything, at least he wouldn't be stuck with hundreds of tins of haggis.
Lex pushed towards the checkout.
The damaged wheel resisted the entire journey.
"Come on, you bastard."
He joined the shortest queue and immediately regretted it.
An elderly man stood at the front, counting coins onto the counter one at a time.
Lex checked the next queue.
Four people.
Of course.
He stayed where he was.
Thankfully, the cashier finished counting for the man and started scanning Lex's products.
She lifted one of the ropes, then looked towards the lighters and tinned meat.
"Camping?"
"Business."
"What kind of business needs this?"
He looked at the goods and struggled to think of a good reason.
"...a camping one?"
She nodded slowly.
"Right."
The final price appeared on the screen.
Lex winced.
The terminal had transferred enough money to cover it, but watching that money leave still felt like being stabbed somewhere important.
He tapped his card against the reader.
PAYMENT ACCEPTED
3.41 p.m.
"Nineteen minutes."
"What?" the cashier asked.
"Nothing."
Lex stuffed the receipt into his pocket and rushed towards the car park.
His hatchback looked even smaller beside the fully loaded trolley.
He opened the boot.
An old gym bag, two empty bottles and a jacket occupied most of the space.
"Move."
He threw everything onto the passenger seat.
The beans went in first, followed by the tinned meat and milk. He forced the rope into the remaining space and shoved the jerky wherever it would fit.
One tray refused to clear the parcel shelf.
Lex pushed harder.
The cardboard bent.
"You're going in."
He folded one of the rear seats and tried again.
This time, the boot closed.
3.46 p.m.
Lex returned the trolley and dropped into the driver's seat.
He turned the key.
The engine clicked.
Lex stared through the windscreen.
"Don't."
He tried again.
The engine coughed, shuddered and fell silent.
"I swear to God, if you make me carry all of that—"
The third attempt brought it to life.
Lex slapped the steering wheel.
"Good shitbox."
The first stock of the Otherworld Retail Department rattled behind him as he pulled out of Joe's Wholesalers.
He had thirteen minutes to reach the store.
Lex put his foot down.