The 7-11 Story

Oh to be senile

You know, the people who work at 7-Eleven are racist. No, not only are they racist, they discriminate against people with disabilities too. Now, I'm walking here with Freddie trying to keep myself from having a canary but I can't help it. I guess I shoulda known that 7-Eleven ain't no place for a blind man to be going.



        "I just want one of those slurpee things." I can't even see Freddie's face but I know he's frowning in such a way that says 'I sure-as-hell don't want to walk 8 blocks for a stupid slurpee'. He's so damn lazy. I swear if he wasn't my friend since I was little then I would never put up with him. He thinks that just cause we're in our early 60's�okay, fine late 70's, that we have to just up and die.


        "Yeah, OK Ben. I'll go but then we have to stop at the video store cause I want to get me a movie." I tilt my head towards the sky in order to feel the sunlight on my eyelids. I try to ponder what flavor I should get. I try and tell myself I want that blue raspberry crap because I know if I think I want the coke-a-cola flavored one, which I do, then God figures it out and makes them run out the second I get there so when I pull the lever a fountain of liquid brown stuff comes flying into my cup. Who the hell wants blue raspberry anyway? I mean there is no such thing as a blue raspberry, the government made it up just to see who is foolish enough to drink it. If it don't exist then I don't want it in my system.

                        
I push myself off of the porch and start out down the street, knowing that 7-Eleven is on my right. I've known that ever since I was 9 and my pop let me roam a few blocks by myself. And by myself, I mean me and Freddie. So anyway, Freddie takes this as an agreement and catches up to me.

        "There's a women with two dogs on your-"
        "I'm not blind, Freddie."
        "Why are you always saying that? You are blind! I'm trying to help you-"

        "Just cause my eyes are closed don't mean I can't see things." He's always bothering me to get some kind of help for when I'm walking. I say screw it. I always felt sorry for the people who were walking around with one of them. You look too vulnerable. Too�relient. I didn't need my mother when she decided to leave me with my pa when I was three and I don't need some stupid dog or a lousy stick. I ain't dead yet. I'm not gonna degrade myself by walking with some childish stick, or a dog that could easily piss on me and I wouldn't even notice until I felt the warmth hit my leg.

        "Well�alright then Ben, just thought that-"

        "Yep. Yep. Nice morning."


        We stop at Shelly's corner fruit stand because she always has the juiciest mangoes. Greatest invention ever, whoever made them is probably living the great life somewhere. So while Freddie is looking at something on the far side, I reach out to feel some fruits.
        "Hah hah. Shelly what do you got here? Never felt fruits like this before." I keep squishing them.
        "Excuse me!"
        "Ben! Stop that�that's�that's not fruit. I'm terribly sorry Ma'am." It's alright, she's calmed down now, I felt her turn around and give me the once over. "Ben, you can't be doing stuff like that. One day you're gonna get yourself slapped real good."
        "What? It's not like I can see." Freddie knew I knew exactly what I was doing, but what's the point in living life if I can't have no fun?
        I think back to the times when me and Freddie would go to the movies and con them into letting us both in for free. Yeah, boy whenever we left there Freddie always had a girl on his arm. After all, no one can resist a sensitive man who cares for his poor blind counterpart.
        We finally get to the 7-Eleven with my bag of mangoes and I walk in ahead of Freddie towards the slurpee machine. I immediately hear things fall to the floor. It ain't my fault, why don't they just go ahead and make the aisles smaller? That way they could crush my internal organs and I'd die and not have to deal with the ridiculousness of trying to fit through the aisles the width of a green bean when I can't even see. Freddie musta seen me making a ruckus and came running over.
        "Ben, you know where the slurpees are. Go to the-"
        "I know. You want one?"
        "Nah, I'm looking at the magazines. But look they got your flavor."
See, I told you. Just think of that blue crap when you want something, that's a valuable life lesson. Write that down or something. So I walk over to the dispensers and I go the first one and press a little bit onto my finger. Lemonade, not that bad. The next one is orange flavored and it tasted like if you were to take an orange jell-o mix and pour it into your mouth. Too much flavor for my taste
buds. I know the next one is that death of a drink the government deemed blue raspberry so I go and reach for the next one.
        "Sir. I'm sorry you can't do that." He sounded to be a teenager and scared of his own shadow. He was probably standing there thinking of how to confront me for ten minutes before actually speaking. I imagined him to be ugly and frail and covered in blemishes.

        "Well, I was looking for the cola flavored one, but seeing as I'm blind�I had no other choice."
        "Oh, I'm�I'm�I'm sorry. It's this one." He took my hand and placed it on the last lever. I was gonna give him a lecture on how he should never touch me ever again or I'd sue him until his grandkids were poor, but then I could sense his nervousness over everything and decided to let him free.
"Mhm. Thanks." Go back into the pond little fishy, I won't eat you.


        After filling up my cup I search for what felt like 20 straight minutes for one of those plastic tops because they weren't where they usually are. Once I found it I placed it on top of my drink and tried to get it to fit on right. I swear they make these tops just so people can watch you make a fool of yourself trying to put them on. This is when all hell breaks loose.
        So, I apparently pushed it too hard because next thing I know, I feel cold mashed up ice hit my trousers. If I had a dog right now I bet he'd be licking my trousers, making me look like a fool. But anyway, so I don't even have a chance
to think before Freddie comes running over and attempts to help me clean up the mess I've made, like he always does.
        I remember when me and Freddie were in grade school together, back when I could actually see. I had a few friends and he was always eating alone and staring at me like I made life that way. He got up and accidentally knocked milk all over his shirt.
        "Here" I said handing him my shirt. My pop always made me wear an undershirt, so I thought I'd be okay lending him the top one.
        "Why?"
        "Why not?" We would read comic books together every now and again up until High School when the accident happened. He let me borrow his bike one day and the wheel came flying off while I was crossing the street and I got hit by a car. Eventually I lost my sight. I knew he felt guilty. He really didn't have anything to do with it besides lending me the bike, but why would I say that when he was my only real friend? Hell, thinking about it now, it's great! In a -I-wish I could-see kinda way, but it has it's positive points: like the fact that I can get away with anything. Pity is a wonderful weapon. Oh, that's a good one too, write that down. Anyway, I didn't finish school and he was the only one who cared enough to stick by my side. It's like my accident forced us to see we would be good friends. I entertain him with my antics. He's a giver and I'm a receiver, it's like fate. He's been helping me with my spills ever since.

        I hear the sounds of the napkin holder clinking and I know Freddie is throwing napkins on the floor so no one falls.
        "Stop. Stop. You're wasting my napkins." This time it's not Mr. Awkward, it's a middle-aged man with an accent. "Just leave it. You're making it worse." Freddie guides me over to the candy rack while the man makes crater face get a mop.
        "Remember when we used to eat four or five of those sugar sticks and then see who could run the fastest?" I assumed that's what he put in my hand.
        "Yeah your mom would always call my mom and suggest we go to boarding school. If we had them now our hearts would stop." We laugh together as we reminisce, and Freddie takes the sticks and puts them on the shelf because we both know the latter part wasn't a joke. Instead I take some candies that felt like chocolate bars and dropped them in my bag with the mangoes. It's not like he's gonna go out of business from a couple of pieces of candy. Except for that one store that did go out of business because I would always steal Freddie his favorite things to make him smile. After his mother died, when we were young guns, we started spending the most time together just letting each other know we had support. I figured he stuck with me because we could relate. And the fact that I'm the best. But so steal him a shirt or a candy or a comic every now and again to keep his spirits up.
        "This isn't a place for conversation. Get your stuff or get out." Okay, now his voice is booming and it's getting on my last nerve.
        "Did you just tell me I'm not aloud to talk?" I walk closer to the jerk.
        "You're making a mess. Everytime you're in here you scare away the costumers. Get something or get out."
        "Sir, you're being extremely rude for something that was obviously an accide-" Freddie started.
        "Is it because I'm black?!" They both stop and I can feel their eyes on me.
        Freddie leans in and whispers softly to me, "Ben, you're not black. I'm black and I hate it when you-"
        "I wouldn't know because IM BLIND!" And with that I deliberately walk into a chip display, sending chips flying in every direction.
        "See! Get out! And don't think I didn't see you take those chocolates. I'm not-"
        "You're not WHAT?"
        "Ben let's just go."
        "No. I'm not leaving because this guy is a jerk. What's the matter? Is the BLIND MAN scaring you? Yeah, well wait until I tell the newspapers that 7-Eleven workers are discriminating against people with disabilities!!!" I picture in the back of my head the front page of the newspaper with a picture of me cowering under the man's fist with the teenager in the background hiding in fear. The headline reads: "Discrimination at local 7-Eleven. Man wins multi-million dollar lawsuit."
        " I'm calling the police. You're ruining my store." I laugh loudly. When does the cop not side with the poor old blind man?
        "Go ahead! It's not my fault you were raised by wolves! Check my bags for those chocolates so you can look like more of an idiot than you already are!" After several more moments of shouting Freddie comes to my side.
        "Come on Ben. I don't even know what you're talking about anymore." He pulls me by the arm out of the store, but not before I make sure to step on as many chip bags as I can find while screaming, "DICTATOR!" I turn to leave and get smacked in the face with the door. I guess I misjudged the spacing and now I'm laying on the floor. Freddie tries to help me up while the manager laughs at me. I can feel blood dripping from my nose.

        
        "Are you alright?"
        "I'm fine. I'm fine. Leave me be. That man deserves a disease."
        "Hah! Ben you don't think you were wrong? Since when are you an orphan child?"
        "Well�"
        "And I was unaware that we hitchhiked through several states to get to 7-Eleven for a simple slurpee."
        "Well that was for effect!" I say with a laugh while Freddie tries to hold in a laugh.
        "Old age really does make you crazy."
        "What are you talking about? I'm only 60."
        "Well alright let's go to the video store before you get arrested." I stop in my tracks and turn around to face Freddie again.
        "Who said we're going to the video store?"
        "Come on. I want to see that movie with that blonde boy. Tom Damon or something or other."
        "It's Matt Damon" I state as I walk back towards home. Who wants to watch Matt Damon anyway? I'm doing Freddie a favor, you know. I'm convinced Matt Damon is a terrorist anyway. Yeah, hired by the government to take over the world. But that's another story�