Errands

A man is forced to consider who should tend to the menial tasks

"Why do I have to pay three dollars and fifty cents just to see my balance?!" Chris grumbled at the money machine.

"Could you grab a gallon of milk at the store on the way home? Oh, and a bag of Doritos? Cool Ranch?" He had grumbled about that, too. Why couldn't she just run up to Postie's and get the stuff, for crying out loud?

The ATM finally spit out his money, reminding him that his transaction had incurred a surcharge. Chris sneered at the screen, then went back to the coolers to grab the milk. "Four seventy-five?! That's robbery!" He grabbed a bag of chips (also four seventy-five) and paid the cashier.

He all but slammed the chips down next to the milk. "It's just not that hard!" he exclaimed to the empty car. "Put on your shoes and drive the half mile to the damn store! Hell, you could just about throw a stone and hit Postie's; it's well within walking distance! Why do I always have to stop on the way home, when all I want to do is get home? Christ!"

Chris worked himself into a fine temper as he drove, ranting and roaring in a blinding diatribe.

When he got home, he was ready to give her a piece of his mind for always asking him to run errands she could do herself. But the house was empty. On the counter, he found a note: "Walked up to Postie's to get your favorite ice cream. See you soon. Love you!"

As he finished the note, there was a knock at the door, and Chris opened it.

"Mr. Beckner...?"

From the crestfallen look on the state trooper's face, Chris knew he would never be asked to stop at the store on the way home again.

NOTES: ▶︎

Word Count: 300
Submitted for "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 
Prompt: Use the words stone, store, machine