Okay, here's that story transformed into a poem:

The oil, a slick betrayal,

Coated totes in a treacherous sheen,

Fluorescent lights glared, pale,

A cloying scent, a greasy scene.

Brian gone, I grabbed the TC,

Cool plastic against my palm,

Scanning quick, for all to see,

Salvaging goods, weathering the qualm.

Then Julie came, her voice a sting,

"Why that phone?" her eyes ablaze,

Damaged goods, I tried to explain,

But she demanded in a daze.

"Give it to me," her words like hooks,

I moved away, she shadowed near,

Her presence loomed, unsettling looks,

A knot of dread, a rising fear.

U-Scan's glow, Phil standing by,

A silent witness, a steady gaze,

Emily's loan, a lifeline nigh,

"Any problems?" in those early days.

Brian returned, oblivious and late,

The Julie incident reached its peak,

Tension hung, sealed by fate,

In the store's hum, the silence speaks.