“Since you was busy fightin’ to stay seated and lookin’ for pigs to shock, you ain’t for sure knowin’ how many pigs the other fellow zapped and it all comes down to integrity. My cousin Kevin’s an honest fellow and I’d take his word for his count and vice versa. The one with the most shocked pigs wins. Second best part of this here game, winner gets to shock the loser!”
I’m laughing my face off and am completely stunned by this accounting of farm life. “Holy shit! Are you serious? You really did that?”
“Plenty of times, son, plenty of times. That’s what we call good ol’fashion fun!”
The beeping on my watch lets me know that my break is up. I put out my cigarette and tell ‘good ol’ Creighton that I now think I’ve heard it all.
He laughs and says, “Oh, you ain’t heard half of it man! I got a whole bunch of stories from the farm. I tell you what, you tell me all about this here city and I’ll have you in stitches with tales from the farm. Put’er there.” He extends his hand once more and I smile as I take it. “Not a problem man, not a problem.”
He gives it a vigorous shake and says, “You gotta go back on in?”
“Unfortunately yes, my ten is up. What time do you start?”
“I’m on in fifteen.”
“See you in a bit.”
Organized chaos is unfolding somewhat smoothly as I reenter into the store. I’m tying my apron strings when Jeb steps up and in hushed tones asks, “I saw you talking to Mr. Fire-Crotch, what did you think?”
“Triple tall non-fat, no foam latte and a doppio espresso for Jane! Thank you!”
I turn to Jeb and say, “Actually I found him to be a rather pleasant fellow. He shared a ribald tale and was very personable. I can’t say I detected any untoward malice or even a trace of this ‘ginger rage’ you were speaking of earlier.”
Jeb raises an eyebrow in disapproval and asks, “What was this ‘ribald tale’ he told you?”
“I’ll take a pound of Sumatra. Do you still give out a free cup of coffee for purchasing beans?”
I laugh and say, “You’ll have to ask him for a recounting, but it’s funny as hell.”
Jeb continues to waggle his eyebrow in quiet scorn and says, “We shall see my ‘friend’, we shall see.”
“We sure do. Which one did you want? We’ve got House, French Roast and Decaf Sumatra on tap.”
I get to helping customers because they’re waiting, as a bonus it frees me from further discourse with Jeb.
“Hello there. What can I get for you today señorita?” I say for the thousandth time.
“Yeah, umm…you know, I’m not sure. Can you give me a minute?”
I smile and reply, “No problem, take all the time you need.”
Dirty Little Secrets
The mall I work in, Horton Plaza, looks like the handiwork of M. C. Escher. Corners jut out of the middle of walls. Stairs wind around leading people off to sectors of the mall they didn’t think they were heading. Most of the shops can be seen from the main floor but finding the correct route of passage is similar to the difficulty of solving a Rubik’s cube. You stand next to a staircase leading up to another floor and it would seem the Banana Republic clearly visible to you should be easily reached by taking this staircase. You take this staircase and you find yourself walking up next to Wilson’s Leather Experts and now Banana Republic is clearly below you. It’s genius, pure and simple. The architect of this maze of a mall created it as such so you will be forced to walk by many, many shops before you finally reach your previously chosen destination.
Those plagued by impulse shopping bugs are doomed here. They may have had the sole intention of buying a hand-bag, and only a hand-bag, but that insufferably charming little devil sitting on their shoulder whispers into their ear “Oh my! Look! We’ve mistakenly arrived at The Gap! Look at that beautiful blue blouse! You can get that and the purse. What’s this? Not the hand-bag shop? But oh come on! You know you’d look lovely sporting this season’s pleated dress pants from Bebe!”
The mall is much like a Vegas Casino; it’s easy to enter, damned near impossible to find the exit. The frustrating thing for me is that no matter where I try to hide in this labyrinth, the very people I am trying to avoid seem to find me anyway.
Today I came to work a little early to hang out with the Flower Girl and discovered quickly she was not at work. I took refuge in one of the rarely traveled staircases to enjoy my book for a little while before work when Jeb comes walking up the stairs. He saw me first, so any chance of escape is down the toilet.
“Well, well, well, look at what we’ve got here. If it isn’t his repugnant unholiness himself,” says Jeb.
“And who is the ‘we’ you are referring to Jeb? Your imaginary friend perhaps? You know most kids stop having those at a much younger age.”
Jeb snorts, meaning he’s got nothing. I fold up my book, knowing there isn’t a chance I’m going to get to read it now. This same type of scenario has occurred many times in the past.
Jeb gives a theatrical sigh and plops down next to me. “So, I worked at the store over on University and Richmond yesterday and boy do I have the most disgusting thing to share.”
“Not interested.”
“Oh, you’re interested. You just don’t know it yet.”
I lean back, away from the unwashed scent of him. “You rarely have anything of true interest to share with me Jeb.”
“Seeing how you’re brainwashed by The Man, I’ll have to agree with you. But this, I think even your dogma-filled mind can appreciate.”
I already know Jeb is going to tell me whatever it is he is dying to share anyway, so I just cross my arms and wait.
Jeb arranges his person to what I assume to be a comfortable position and says, “Like I was saying, I worked in Hillcrest yesterday, right. You know the tips in there are like four bucks an hour?”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I’ll make more in tips working one day there than I’ll make for the rest of the week here. It’s the gays. They tip so much better than the suits we see every day. This is because gay men have the biggest disposable income and they aren’t tight asses with their money. The suits probably make more money, but many of them have families and greedy little black hearts. I mean, they make four and five times more than us and we’re lucky if they drop a dime in the damn tip jar. We have The Man to blame for this. If they would just unplug from the bullshit crammed down their throats and—“
“Dude, I get it. You hate the Suits. You think they’re brainwashed. You think The Man is trying to keep you down. Yadayadayada. Continue with your deeply fascinating story please.”
Jeb’s mouth opens and hangs there for a moment before closing. “Well, if you’re going to be like that, then maybe I won’t even bother.”
“Fine with me,” I reply and open my book back up.
A few moments pass and predictably Jeb pipes in, “You know what? I’m going to forgive your rudeness in light of the fact that you are so desperate to be welcomed into the brainwashed realm of the Suits and I’ll continue.”
I close my book and wait.
Jeb clears his throat and begins again, “Anyway, I worked a pretty long shift over there and when I went on my break I needed to use the bathroom.
“I’m in there taking a piss, looking around, you know. And I lazily spy the usual: hand sink, mirror, and trash can. Then I see next to me another, smaller trash can. There on the top is a sign designating this little waste bin for a specific purpose. It says, ‘Please dispose of feminine napkins here. Thank you.’
“Immediately I think I must have mistakenly gone into the women’s restroom. But I’m standing there and I’m like, no, I’m pretty sure I went into the men’s restroom. Well, I zip my pants up, wash my hands and whatnot, then I leave. When I step out, the first thing I see is the door to the women’s restroom. I look at the door I just left and clearly before me is the sign telling me I did not piss in the wrong toilet. Now, before I tell you the re
st, let me ask you this: why do you think there would be a trash can specifically for disposing of tampons in the men’s bathroom?”
Despite myself, I’m actually interested in Jeb’s story. I give some sincere effort to puzzling out why indeed there would be a trash can for feminine napkins in the guy’s bathroom. “Huh. Maybe they have a lot of women customers using the men’s bathroom?”
Jeb laughs and says, “The store is in Hillcrest Jason. Come on man.”
“What, like there aren’t women in Hillcrest? Gay communities have lesbians as well as gay men living in them Jeb.”
Jeb throws me a look of total disdain and says, “Yeah, but the ratio has got to be like, I don’t know, 6 to 1, gay dudes to lesbos. But anyway, that isn’t the reason. The manager was working when I was there so I went on back to ask her. Now, I’ve known Tracy for a while and I ask her, I said, ‘Hey Tracy?’
‘Yes?’ she asked.
‘Why is there a feminine napkins trash can in the men’s room?’
She laughed a little and asked me, ‘Do you remember when my store flooded a few months ago?’
I did, so I said as much.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘as you might have noticed, we are located in Hillcrest.’
I didn’t follow where she was going with this so I said, ‘And...?’
She laughed some more and said, ‘You know there’s Tops and Bottoms in gay men relationships right?’
I said, ‘Yeah, what has that got to do with the trash can?’
She’s really starting to get the giggles at this point and she said, ‘Well, the trash can is for the Bottoms.’
I was so lost and I told her, ‘I’m still not getting it Tracy. Just tell me already.’
‘Think about it slick. Why would a man who often takes it in the ass need to make use of a trash can specifically for the disposal of tampons? Two words: anal leakage!’
It didn’t make sense still for a good moment. And then it hit me.”
Right then it dawned on me and I was immediately grossed out. “Goddamn! Are you serious? Gay guys use tampons to stop poop juice from leaking into their britches?”
Jeb is laughing his face off and stifles it to say, “That is exactly what I’m saying! But that’s not all. Remember, she told me she had to put that trash can in there because her store flooded right? Well, that’s because these guys were flushing too many tampons down the toilet! When the plumber came out to snake the toilet, he pulled out over 50 tampons! Now they have a trash can for the guys to dispose of their butt-plugs properly!
“And think about this: the ladies bleed for about a week every month. But a happy gay couple might copulate, let’s say, three or four times a week, every week. You do the math. All I got to say is I would hate to have to change the trashes at that store!”
“Yeah, no doubt.”
I decide it is time to disentangle myself from Jeb and his sordid tales. “Nice story Jeb. I have to take a piss, so I’ll see you later.”
I’m running down the steps and I hear Jeb yell after me, “Hey! Remember the moral of the story: don’t flush your plug, you might cause a flood!”
Dating Dilemmas
I’ve never been mistaken for a fashion guru when out in my usual wardrobe consisting of comic book t-shirts and plain jeans. Being fashionable has never been an endeavor of mine and now faced with a real adult date I wish I would’ve been a little more thoughtful when buying clothes. The closet doesn’t hold much hope for me this evening. I decide to go with a pair of slacks and one of my newer comic book t-shirts. My mother bought me a cream colored blazer a while back and I didn’t think I’d ever wear it. Putting it on shows how long it’s been in the closet.
I feel a little guilty going out tonight. I called Rachael, the Business Lady, and she penciled me in for a date on her next available day. Now it’s Friday and here I am struggling with what to wear and wondering about the rules of dating. Can you date two women at the same time if it’s in the early stages? If so, what is the protocol for disclosure? Would it be in bad taste to mention the Flower Girl or would it create a sense of rivalry? Does that make dating a competition?
These questions will have to remain unanswered as I’ve got thirty minutes to finish getting ready and get my ass down to the Civic Center. Rachael happened to have tickets to Cinderella starring Ertha Kitt. I said it sounded like great fun, but to be honest I’m halfway to backing out the more I think about watching a musical where I will assuredly be the most underdressed individual in attendance. My cell rings.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me. I’m running a little late, I can’t seem to find the tickets. I had them in my purse earlier and I think I may have left them at work. So I’m going to swing on by work real quick and check. Okay?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Do you want me to just meet you at the mall?”
“Umm, yeah, that works. I’ll call you in a bit then.”
“Alright. Bye.”
“Ba-bye.”
I hope she can’t find them. In case she can’t, I better come up with a back-up plan. San Diego is a small city, but it has a lot to offer in terms of dating. Maybe a nice stroll through Seaport Village with its quaint little cottages and duck ponds or maybe a nice dinner and some drinks at the Hilton’s Sky Bar with its grandiose view of San Diego’s skyline. Then there’s the island of Coronado right across the bay. We could take a water taxi through the still waters and eat at one of the water front restaurants. Plenty of things to do in case the play's out. Please, please, please let her not find those tickets.
I’m walking out of my building when my cell rings. It’s the Flower Girl. My stomach knots up and I’m on the fence on whether or not I should answer. I know I should, but then what am I going to tell her? I don’t want to lie to her, so I decide to ignore it. Has dating always been this stressful or am I just a goon with too many emotions running rampant through my head? I need some serious advice. After the Flower Girl’s call goes to voicemail, I start scrolling through my contacts, eliminating them one by one until I get to Elena. She is the one who instigated me into calling Rachael and she knows women a hell of a lot better than any of my other friends. I press call and hope for some sage advice.
“Jason, what is going on?” she answers.
“Hey Elena. Sorry to bother you, but I’m in need of some womanly advice. I’m going out tonight with that Business Lady that came in the other day and—”
She interrupts, “Really? I’m surprised Jason. I didn’t think you’d muster up the cajones to actually call her.”
“Well, I did. And now we’re supposed to go to the Civic Center to see Cinderella the play but she might have lost her tickets so I’m trying to think of something else to do.”
“Hmmm. I see. You want me to suggest a place to take your date, huh?”
“No,” I say, “I’ve got that part pretty much figured out. The thing is, I’m also kind of seeing this other girl, but we’ve only hung out twice and I wouldn’t really call either of those times a ‘date’ but we’re getting to know each other and I do kind of like her so far. Is it wrong for me to go on a date with this Business chica?”
She laughs for way too long before she answers, “Look at you pimp-daddy! Dating two girls at the same time!”
“I’m serious here Elena. You know I don’t have any skills when it comes to women. I have a hard enough time just talking to a girl if I think they might be interested in me. You know what, thanks for nothing. I’ll just figure it out on my own.”
Before I hang-up Elena interjects, “Wait! I’m sorry I was making fun of you. Lighten up a little will ya? This is what I think: You haven’t known either of these girls for very long, right?”
“Right.”
“Easy. Go out with this lady tonight. See how it goes. If you’re not into her, cool. If you are, well then you got to decide who you would rather date and tell the one you don’t choose that you’re seeing someone else and you’d like to stay friends but anything els
e right now wouldn’t be fair to either of you. That way, if the one you choose turns out sour, maybe you can pursue the other if she’s still interested. Who is this other girl anyway?”
Feeling much better I reply, “You know the girl that works at the flower shop by our store?”
“The Flower Shop girl? Wow, Jason, she’s beautiful. How’d you come up with the courage to talk to her?”
“Your confidence in me is inspiring Elena.”
She’s laughing as she says, “Sorry Jason, I didn’t mean...all I meant was...look, you’re so shy around women and whenever they’re really beautiful you become so flustered if they talk to you.” More laughing, “I don’t get you Jason. You’re a very good-looking guy and I think you’re totally unaware of it, because the girls love to flirt with you in the store and you never catch it. Why do you get all tongue-tied around women?”
The pit of my stomach feels empty. “You really think I’m handsome Elena?”
Silence for a moment then, “I do...um, hey, you better get going Mister. A woman likes her date to be on time. So stop wasting time talking to me and get down there. Tell me how it goes later?”
The pain of liking someone who’ll never be interested in you is wrenching and terrible. “Yeah, no problem. And Elena, thanks for the advice.”
“De nada, adios Jason.”
“Good-bye Elena.”
Why do I fall for the ones I can’t have. When I was in the ninth grade I had the biggest crush on Jessica Beller and she and my best friend Luke Smith were pretty much tied at the hip. My junior year was spent longing after Kristen Johnson, a new girl from Kansas that maintained a long distance relationship with her boyfriend since the sixth grade. Now here I am repeating the same dance. Elena the untouchable, the one who makes the others feel like kid stuff. I yearn for a woman I can never have. Instead I call her for advice on the girls that will never match up to her.
The Dark Roast Page 7