So it went, on December 25th at 2:30 AM, rather than being asleep at home, visions of Sugar Plums dancing in my head, I was standing behind a cash register slinging cigarettes and hard liquor to what I have to assume were the less than reputable inhabitants of Mansville, Alabama.
Mansville is not the sort of place that I belong. I think the fact that someone could waltz into an area, establish a town named, "Mansville" and have no one raise an eye-brow at that for two-hundred years sums up the general population of this quaint little community better than I ever could given the limits of the English language, so I'll just allow that to speak for itself. That said, deservedly or otherwise, I do have quite a high opinion of myself when compared to the other residents of the town. I mean, I'm no Shakespeare, I'm no Einstein, but I'll say this: The fact that I'm working in a gas station at the age of twenty five is a god-damned crime.
The bell on the door jingled, rousing me from thoughts. I looked up from the counter I had been absent-mindedly staring at to see one of our regulars, A Mr. Evan Schaal walking into the store. As usual I kept an eye on him as he sauntered around the store, glancing up at me every two to three minutes as he jammed various products into his pocket. Like I give a fuck. Finally he approached the counter and addressed me, "Pack 'uh Marlboros," he grunted as he slid a case of Keystone onto the counter.
I turned to get the man's smokes and heard a quiet little voice pipe up from beneath the counter, "Daddy, will you buy me this?" I spun back around and faced the counter. I peered over it to see a golden haired little girl standing beneath the counter. I hadn't even noticed her. Where had she been? I hadn't even noticed her. She was holding one of the little wooden dolls from our frankly lack-luster toy-shelf up towards her father.
"Gloria, if I told ya once, I told ya thousand times: We can't afford shit like that right now. Necessities only." Something about this outraged me. Evan Schaal robbed the store blind every time he entered. For the most part, he knew I didn't care (or at least cared more about my physical health than I did about the financial security of the Gas N' Go) and yet he still didn't have the time to steal a dinky little convenience doll store for his daughter.
I turned and set the smokes down on the counter, "You know, Evan, it's Christmas and stuff, so if you just want take the doll, I could cover it," I said to him, doing my best impression of someone who didn't utterly despise him.
Evan Schaal stopped and blinked at me rapidly in a stupefied fashion. What I assumed was that he had been taken aback by my self-less attitude and willingness to help out my fellow man. I actually had begun to feel pretty self-righteous by the time he finally opened his mouth. "Th' fuck did you say to me?"
I stammered, clearly confused, "I-Er-I was just offering to help out Evan. I just thought, your daughter really seemed to like that--"
"Zip it pencil neck." Evan barked at me, "I don't need your fuckin' charity. My family," He beat on his chest, "Don't need your fuckin' charity. An' where I come from? That's a damn insult."
"Listen man, I didn't mean anythi--" was all I got out before I woke up on the floor. Head throbbing. Someone was flecking water on my face. I groaned, "What happened..."
I opened my eyes and was staring up at my manager, "Looks like you got robbed again, Mitch. Who was it this time?"
I struggled to my feet, "Evan Schaal."
"Again, man, Mitch, if this keeps happening, I'm going to have to let you go."
"I know, Dave. Can I just... Can I just get the hell out of here? It's Christmas. I think my girlfriend got me an ice-pack." Dave sort of laughed. He really didn't want to, but I got him with that remark. I rubbed my shiner as I walked out the door. It was a two-mile walk to the apartment. It was snowing.
Merry Fucking Christmas.
No comments:
Post a Comment