STORY: One Green Apple, Please

Sal Smith couldn't find the apples. She stood in the middle of the open-air market and looked about like a lost child. There were stacks of cabbages, carrots, orange, those square watermelons from Japan, but no apples. Sal began to cry.

"Lady," grumbled a man's voice behind her, "why the hell are you crying?"

Sall pulled her head from her hands and sobbed, "I can't find the..." her voice trailed away. She was speaking with a salemas, and behind his desk and register Sal spotted a cart full of apples. Eyes glowing not with a kind of hope unfathomable to anyone who wasn't Sal Smith, the woman floated to the register and boldly stated, "One green apple, please."

"What're you talking to me for?" griped the salesman, resting his chin in his pal and pouting angrily. "I'm not your waiter. This is an open-air market; you get it yourself then bring it to me to pay. Is that so hard?"

"Very sorry, sir," said Sal, embarrassed. She proceeded to circle the counter to pluck an apple herself.

"What're you doing?" growled the salesman.

"I'm getting an apple," Sal answered, bewildered that he had stopped her.

"You don't just go behind my counter, lady. That's rude."

"Oh, then, could you hand me one green apple, please?" Sal asked nicely.

"I'm sorry," grumbled the salesman, "we don't have any of those.

"What are you talking about? I can see them right there!" Sal pointed.

"I'm sorry, those are red, lady. Red."

"No, the ones next to the red," Sal shrieked. "No, not the yellow, the...oh my God. All I'm asking for is one green apple, please!"

"I'm sorry--"

"Augh!" Sal exploded. "For the love of all that is good in the world, that's all I ever hear! 'I'm sorry, we dont' have any tables available.' 'I'm sorry, I've never heard of a trombone.' 'I'm sorry, we don't carry toys at Toys R Us.' I'm cursed, I tell you, cursed! Ever since I waslittle, the more I wanted something, the harder it was to get. When I wanted people to call me Sally, they were physically incapable of doing so and ended up calling me Sal, which I hate. I feel like a man. Or a fish. I'm a man-salmon named Sal with salmonella! Uwaaaaahhhh!" And she burst into tears all over again.

"Woah, calm down, lady," the salesman lulled as if Sal were an escaped mental patient on the verge of lighting a baby on fire. "How 'bout I give you this nice green apple, free of charge, and you go home and take your happy pills?"

"Right," said Sal, shaking. She cupped her hands and accepted the gift, stared at it for a moment, then asked, "Excuse me, could I get a bag for this?"

"I'm sorry, we don't have any bags."