The Robbery
Most soup cans tend to lead a carefree existence. They don’t need to accomplish much. Expectations towards them differ depending on their price tag, but usually remain relatively low. This particular can of tomato soup will soon be for sale for a total of 65 cents, making expectations towards it almost nonexistent.
Let’s take a look at the can in question. Right now it’s bound for a small, inconspicuous store in an equally unremarkable neighborhood. Neither of them look all too shabby, but affluent isn’t exactly on the list of words to properly describe them, either. The only aspect making either of them worth mentioning at all is this particular story happening to take place in this particular setting.
A smelly delivery truck that hasn’t had an oil change in decades hurls itself down the road across intersections, stoplights, and potholes. It rumbles past houses, fields, and empty concrete lots that nobody seems to have any use for whatsoever. The freight in the back of the truck gets shaken up and down throughout the drive in a way others might have referred to as the most uncomfortable back massage they ever had the pleasure of experiencing. A process, which seems rather mundane to an inanimate object however. They are often difficult to impress.
Rolling up to the store in question, the truck slows down and comes to a halt. A grumpy, middle-aged man in a brown uniform steps out and heads for the back. The sight of dozens of cardboard boxes greets him as he opens it. With a grunt, he reaches for the sack barrow to his left and pulls it out next to him. Stacking four of the crates onto it, he closes and locks the truck before heading into the store.
“Alright,” he calls, once inside. “Got your delivery. Four crates of tomato soup, as usual.”
“Ah, you made it,” the store clerk answers from behind the counter. He is best described as equally grumpy and middle-aged. “Well, you know what to do.”
“Yeah, yeah. Storage is out back. You got the money?”
“Have I ever not?”
“Fair point.”
The delivery man ventures into a small storage room in the back of the store, where he unloads the four packages before heading back and collecting his pay. Once he receives his money, the clerk and him spent a little while complaining about some baseball team that recently lost a game. Only after finishing their short conversation does he head back outside.
The truck starts up again before long, and off it goes down the road. Presumably it is headed to other small stores to deliver other crates of tomato soup. Not these four however. These stay right where they are.
They remain in the back for a few minutes until the clerk comes into the small room and breaks open the uppermost of the four. Taking out a half-dozen tin cans, he turns back into the store, carefully balancing them. Once back at his desk, he pushes them one after the other into a narrow gap on a shelf behind his counter.
The tomato soup can which is last to go on the shelf is offered a position with a great overlook of most of the store, as well as the back of the clerk’s balding head. If it had eyes and any sense for rational thought, the can may have very much appreciated being granted such an agreeable accommodation. Which it is, compared to the stuffy darkness its companions received.
Then again, the store isn’t exactly the most fascinating place to watch. There’s a lot of new things and details to discover at first, but doing so quickly gets dull. And with hardly any customers around and nothing else happening, it is entirely possible the can would have grown very bored after only a short while.
A young man enters the store now, and hastily makes his way through the aisles. He pretends to be interested in the wares for a bit, but it’s obvious from his nervous demeanor that he′s looking for something else entirely. Gathering up his courage after a while, he strides up to the counter, looking the clerk in the eyes.
“Alright now, hand over what you have,” he commands. “I mean it.”
“Sure. That’s what this place is for,” the clerk mumbles. “But it’ll cost you.”
“Nothing’s gonna cost me! Hand over your shit and no-one gets hurt, now!”
“What are you, a communist?” the clerk wonders with a snort. All it does is prompt his opposite to pull out a gun however, and shove it in his face.
“No, I’m just a guy who’s robbing you,” he says. “And you know what else? I’m pretty damn hungry is what I am. So you better give me something for that.”
“I can respect you approach,” the clerk replies. “At least you stand up for your own principles. It takes guts to do that.”
“Damn!” the robber wonders. “Shouldn’t you be more...I don’t know, intimidated by this?”
“Hey, I prefer it over nothing happening at all the whole day,” the clerk explains with a shrug, causing the robber to slightly cock his head.
“I’m not gonna lie man, that’s honestly kind of sad.”
“Yes, yes. No need to rub it in. Now, what do you want?”
“I, uh...”
The robber’s eyes scan the room for a moment, until they inevitably land on the tomato soup can.
“Tell you what, just gimme some of that tomato soup, and I’ll be outta here.”
“Sure. Anything else?”
“No, just that.”
The clerk reaches around for the soup can, and places in on the counter in front of him. His opponent grabs it, briefly opens his mouth to thank him, then closes it again after deciding it probably wouldn’t go very well with the rest of his act. Putting the gun away, he turns and runs out onto the street. The clerk watches him go with a scowl. Back to crossword puzzles it is.
Meanwhile, the man who only just robbed him races down the road, can in his hand. The gun is now more or less safely procured and tucked away below his belt, but it’s still a little too visible. Before long, a well-known pair of blue and red lights start to flash behind him, as a nearby police car enters the chase. It prompts him to go even faster at first, but trying to escape proves useless in the end.
“Police,” someone behind him yells. “Turn around and identify yourself!”
Realizing it’s no use to run, the man halts his attempt at escaping after a few more steps and turns to face his menace. He raises his hands above his head on command, one of them still clutching the soup can.
“Drop the weapon!” one of two officers screams. They both have their own firearms pointed at him now. Again, it this soup can were anything like a sentient being, chances are it would feel at least somewhat startled in that moment. “I said drop it!”
“Alright, fine,” the man yells back, before slightly lowering one hand and gently tossing the can in the police officers’ general direction. Not another second passes before two shots ring out from one of their guns, knocking the man on the ground. The policeman who fired the shots stares at the motionless body with wide, frightened eyes. His colleague produces a fearful shriek in the killing’s wake.
“God damn it! Why did you do that?”
“He attacked me, didn’t you see that? With a soup can.”
“Look, I saw what he...”
“A soup can, Steve!”
“Yes, I...”
“I mean, what is this country coming to, when...”
“Will you shut up and cut the crap!”
A brief silence settles in between the two of them.
“You were going to say something?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I was. So what if the guy had a soup can? You can’t just gun him down like that. Jesus Christ, do I really have to explain all this again? I can only imagine who’s going to have to mop this mess up. And write the report. And the obituary. But hey, at least you had your fun, didn’t you?”
“Calm down, I...uh...” He trails off. “Can I at least keep the soup can? I’m hungry.”
“No, you...argh! You can’t keep the soup can, that’s hard evidence! You said he assaulted you with a soup can, well, in court you’ll need to produce the darn can, won’t you? Or do you seriously wanna lose your job over this?”
They argue a little longer before one of them comes over to get the can, all the while being watched by a number of frightened onlookers. He unsuccessfully tries to scare them off. They both gently strap in the soup can on their car’s back seat while calling a cleaning service to take care of the body.
