I don't belong here.

Do a drunk a favor, sometimes he'll repay you. Strange things can happen in a convenience store.

 

    I don’t belong here. It’s taken me more than twenty years to put words to something that I’ve known since I was born. It wasn’t until today that the truth finally became clear.

    My name is Mark. I work at KingMart. It’s a local convenience store. We sell candy, cigarettes, beer, condoms, soda – things you don’t really need immediately (save for maybe the condoms) but are willing to pay double for because the grocery store is another five minutes away.

    Most days are pretty boring. We’ve never been robbed as long as I've been here. And as for shoplifters, I don’t really care so long as they’re subtle enough that I can pretend not to notice. One time this guy smuggled four frozen pizzas out under his shirt. That’s going to far, and normally I would have said something, but we have a black and white TV and Cheers was on. The TV gets one channel, and if you come in between 6:00 and 6:30 on a weekday and I’m working, you can take whatever the hell you want.

    Sometimes you get the customer that wants to argue with you. It’s over the stupidest things too. “You overcharged me for these potato chips.” “The floor is sticky.” “No, my baby’s not going to be as ugly as I am.” I almost always win these kinds of arguments. I have mastered the art of staring. I’ve found that if you prop your head up with your arm and just look at them long enough, eventually they will give up and leave. If you do it just right, you can make them feel like you're sucking their souls out.

 

    So, I was doing the graveyard shift – 10PM to 6AM. Most of the time we get no one, but if anything interesting ever does happen, this is when it will be. Around 4AM, a middle aged guy walks in, wearing a suit, smelling like booze. He asks me if he can use the restroom. I tell him we don’t have public restrooms. He says it’s an emergency. I hit him with one of the best “this is not my problem” stares that I can manage. Mind you that I’m not used to losing arguments, especially with a drunk guy that looks like he’s about detoxify himself all over our bathroom/storage closet, but in the end, I gave in. He was just that convincing; plus I’d rather try and clean the bathroom than the counter/cash register/ramen noodles.

    I let him do his thing. A minute later, a flush, and even the sound of hands being washed. The guy looks way better, his hair's in place, tie is straight, and even doesn't smell like booze at all. He walks up to the register, places a business card face down, says “thank you”, and then walks out.

    At this point, I'm still more interested in what mess I might have to clean up than his painting/plumbing/Avon-or-some-other-crap business. So, I check out the bathroom/storage closet. Everything looks just as bad as it did before, and not a bit worse. So I guess he really just needed to use the bathroom. The only thing out of place was a quarter on the mini-sink. Leaving a tip to use the John? Weird, but it's money, so whatever.

    When you're working at 4AM, you get bored – really bored. I like to do what I call “making my rounds.” I blow some spit bubbles, which turns into making faces. After that sometimes I pretend I speak Arabic and sing fake songs with fake words in a language that I don't know. By the end I try striking up a conversation with the cigarettes. Then I sit there for awhile, and then it's back to the spit bubbles.

    So, you can see that even though I couldn't care less about the stupid card that he might have left, it was currently by far the most interesting thing around. “I wonder what kind of loser business you have” I mumble between the spit bubbles. There's no business listed on it, just a phone number and a note saying, “You need to call this number immediately.” Actually, I don't need to call that number. What I need to do is to sing some more fake Arabic songs. The mop bucket, or as I call him Ibn Al Habib has been dying to do some harmonies with me.

    As it turns out Ibn Al Habib is actually not a very good singer. So, you win drunk quarter tipping guy. I'd rather call your phone-sex line or talk about loan re-consolidation rather than give the mop bucket some vocal lessons.

    I go outside, put the quarter in the pay phone, and dial the number on the card. Shortly after a man picks up on the other end.

    “Who is this?”

    “Um. I'm Mark. Who are you?”

    “You're calling me and you don't even know who I am?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Good. Hang on a second. I have someone you need to speak with.”

 

    A minute goes by, and then a familiar voice comes on the line. “Hi Mark.”

    “Hi...”

    “Do you know who this is?”

    “I. I think. No I don't know who this is.”

    “Yes you do. Look, this isn't a conversation we're going to get to have a second time and I only get to talk to you for a minute, so I don't want to hear any stupid questions. Am I clear?”

    “Yeah.”

    “OK, here's what I want you do to. After we're done talking, you're going to hang up the phone and lock up the store. I want you to get in the car and start driving. Drive as far away from there as you can. The farther you drive, the better chance I've got.”

    “What do you have a better chance at?”

    “I told you not to ask stupid questions. Take a look at the number you have in your hand.”

    “OK.”
    “Now, take a look at the number on the pay phone.”

    “Um, they're the same...”

    “That's right. I'm talking on the same phone as you are.”

    “How is that possi-”
    “This is never going to work. I really was that stupid. Look, Mark. I'm you. I'm at the KingMart, talking on the same phone as you. The only thing is, it's ten years later where I am, I still work here, and no, I'm not the owner or the manager.”

 

    So, I hung up the phone and locked up the store. I don't know how far I can get on the money I've got and I don't really know where I'm going. But I can tell you that I won't be here doing the same damned thing ten years from now. I don't belong here.

 

Reviews

[Inda Lauryn]

That was totally brilliant. I liked the tone from the beginning. Kind of like CLERKS and that guy that used to work behind the counter of the Shell station I used to go to who was a bit too happy to be at work on a Friday night (I really should have asked him where to get some good sh*t because he obviously knew where to find it). Still, the twist at the end was so unexpected. This was such a great read.

[Abigail Alliah]

Just...amazing! Humor, suspence, credibility. Makes me want to observe someone on night shift. Simply wonderful. Seems like anyone could relate to it, the way its written.