Checked Out

You readers are simply frightening.

It’s spooky how many of you--5,626 to be exact--have bizarre enough imaginations to submit entries to our fifth annual Halloween scary story contest. And, yes, blood-draining as it was, we closely eyeballed each and every one.

Oh, the gore, the guts, the annoying sisters who meet deservedly bitter ends, the green zombies who masquerade as elementary schoolteachers, the outer space guys who turn little boys into ground meat (yes, bones and all).

Martha Stewart moves to our house!

Christmas season presents Tickle Me Donny Osmond dolls!

Marv Albert asks, “Do you have that in a 40 short?”

Stop, stop, stop. Life in Southern California is scary enough.

Well, here are the winners--four adults and four children in the writing category, and an adult and a child in the drawing category. These lucky 10 each win four tickets to Disneyland.

Here are a few samples from those who didn’t make it:

Understatement of the Pile: “Two years ago there was a boy named Max. He was not very nice. He robbed an old lady. He felt bad. So did the old lady.”

Best Last Line: “It’s been a year since Scott’s death. I’m sad about this tragedy, but at least I’m popular.”

Call David Letterman: “It would be a scary Halloween this year when . . . your mother generously volunteered to provide entertainment (defined as singing and doing the polka) at the annual school dance.”

Take me to Funkytown: “The Boogie Man wore a white polyester suit and a gold chain around his neck. . . . Gerald could feel the life drain out of him as he was compelled to do the Disco Duck and then the Hustle.”

And now the winners:

Taking off her shoes and hose, Edith sank into her recliner and put her swollen feet up. A grocery checker for 27 years, she thought about all the changes she had seen in the supermarket business. For one thing, the customers used to be polite and patient; now they were always in a hurry and often rude. Just today someone yelled at her, “Three’s a crowd, so get a move on, lady.” And they were careless. One of them dropped a bottle of starch on the counter and it spilled all over the new cash register tape she was about to use.

Well, that was another change. It didn’t make much sense to call this newfangled machine a cash register. No keys to push, no big display of numbers, no friendly jingle when the sale was complete and the cash drawer opened. All day long she pulled each product over a red light called a scanner and it read the price from some fancy black lines on the label. Then it made a horrendous high-pitched beep every time; hundreds and hundreds of beeps all day long, jarring her ears and jangling her nerves.

She could deal with grumpy customers and even scanning products, weighing produce on the digital scale, and waiting while the same grumpy customers tried to use the automatic payment system (another so-called improvement to the shopping experience). But she never got used to those beeps, even though the system was installed eight years ago.

When she had worked there for 25 years, the manager had a little party for her, even announcing over the intercom: “Attention shoppers. One of our checkers, Edith at Register 4, has been with us for 25 years. Let’s give her a big cheer.” Well, that was very nice, but it didn’t compensate for achy arms, tired feet, and the constant beeping in the ears. She thought about retiring then, but stayed on out of company loyalty, something else that was in short supply these days.

Relaxing now in her recliner, sinking ever deeper into its cushions and her mind drifting away, she imagined a package of napkins as a headrest and her feet bathing in warm Jell-O. Deeper and deeper she sank, until she heard voices,

“Hurry up lady. Three’s a crowd. Call another checker.”

“Where’s the peanut butter?”

“Paper, not plastic.”

“These bags are too heavy.”

“That’s not mine.”

“Oh, the eggs are broken--get another carton.”

“I need help to my car.”

“Get me a pack of Camels. What? Listen, lady, I’m 21, just get them.”

“I said paper only!”

“How does this debit card work?”

“That’s the wrong price. It’s on sale.”

And the sounds. Beep. Beep. Beep.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP . . .

Then she felt groceries coming at her: lettuce, juice, detergent, potatoes, ice cream, lamb chops . . . .

And the cash register tape, all wet and sticky from the starch. . . . She screamed and opened her eyes. All was quiet. “Oh!” She sighed with relief. No voices. No groceries. No customers. No scanner.

“I am retiring tomorrow!” she announced to herself.

She wanted a drink. She tried to lift herself out of the recliner. But what was this? She couldn’t move. Looking down, she saw cash register tape wound tightly around her body. Arms, legs, torso. She was mummified! She was about to scream again, just as the cash register tape covered her mouth. Wrapping itself around her nose, across her eyes and behind her head, it was too late to retire.

*

* Singer, 48, is “CEO of the family,” which consists of her husband, three children and two dogs in North Hollywood.