DUCT TAPE

one of those 7-eleven stories

The 7-eleven is closing down for good. It sucks because I won’t be able to see Bartleby, the graveyard shift guy anymore when I get out.  I really liked him, too. The first time I met him he had on a tee shirt with a picture of Darth Vader on it and it said, I find your lack of faith disturbing. He was a lanky, myopic forty-year old, or so I surmised.  He had a headful of red hair. A real ginger, with those 80s Elvis Costello glasses. And he had an orange beard. Bol! (that’s the phonetic sound you make when you heave with nausea. I hate facial hair. I had an unpleasant experience with it once). Man, he was just asking for it. Luckily, I tend to gravitate towards these type of guys. They have real personality under all that nerdy facade.  I like to be prepared for war so I try to surround myself with these types. I want to know what they know and learn to speak Geek.  I understand there is a subculture teeming with Star Wars connoisseurs and I want to be able to schmooze them with a degree of descriptive proficiency because you’re bound to find someone who is an aficionado. And as a hot Asian female I want to be respected in their community for my familiarity with the Force and not just for my looks.

It was in the midst of a quarterly manic episode ( the hypo stage. There is a distinction.)  I wandered into a 7-eleven at four in the morning. It was in the of summer in 2002. I remember this because I had just done a three-week stint at Bellvue and was homeless again. I was three days into my homelessness and had no place to crash for the night so I decided to kill time (You never really kill time. It goes on and on ceaselessly, mercilessly)...I looked into the window and saw that there was no one in there. I learned that between four and six the world is completely bereft of humanity. There aren’t even any police out at this time. Shift change ends for them at four and the next starts at 6 a.m. I thought, “I could just go in there and rob the guy. Look at him. I could beat the s**t out of him in two seconds before he knew what was going on.” I’m not a violent person. Not really. Besides, I wanted to wash up in the restroom..

I entered the door and the guy looked up from his book behind the counter.  Without ado, I approached him and started a friendly conversation with him. “Hi. It’s so empty in here. How do they make money? Who comes in here at this hour? I like how those Slurpee things spin around and around like that. It’s like watching cotton candy spinning in a dryer. Or like the girl with kaleidoscope eyes. My favorite color is purple haze. So I would mix the blue with the red. I don’t think I’ve ever had a Slurpee in my life. It sucks having no money. Who knows they would even want a Slurpee at four in the morning? What happens if you spent all your money on drinks at the club? Do I have to pick up some guy to buy me a cup of coffee at the end of the night then Shangai  him into getting me a Slurpee instead? Did you know that Jimi Hendrix was in the army before he was Jimi Hendrix? Oh my god, is that Lolita you’re reading? The tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap on three on the teeth. Lo. Li. Ta. I love love love that book. Isn’t that amazing how Nabokov articulates the physical experience of enunciating her name? I don’t think anyone could love somebody as much as all that. It’s genius! I’m Magnolia.”

He just stared at me, literally with his mouth open. I get these looks all the time, but I know I looked like s**t just then. Shamefully, I hadn’t bathed in a few days. So I put my chin to my chest and say slowly, “Hi. I”m Magnolia. How are you?”

I realized that sometimes people tell me I talk too fast so I have to slow it down for those who can’t keep up.

He cleared his throat and introduced himself to me. “I’m Bartleby.”

“Like the Scrivener. You probably get that all the time. “

“Actually, I don’t. My parents met in a Herman Melville colloquium in the seventies.. Supposedly I was conceived that semester. Thus, I became an inside joke. I still haven’t forgiven them for that. ”

“At least they didn’t call you Ishmael.” And I started laughing my abs off. It’s the best feeling in the world. You’ll never know what that’s like. Unless you stop taking your meds. The only thing that could quell euphoria is the harpoon. But I digress.

“I get down on my knees every night and thank the fickle Universe,” he said. I love mordant wit. I usually get into fights because of it. It is a lofty and intellectual kind of humor that the homogeneous masses can’t fathom nor endure. That is why I’ve gotten into many a heated argument with strangers. Canaille. What are you going to do?

“So what brings you to Nabokov?”

“Some girl wanted me to read something intelligent when I was in college and I’m just reading it now. As though graphic novels aren’t a complex genre of literature.”

“A friend of mine gave me a graphic novel once when I was in the bin. It was Preludes and Nocturnes: Sandman or something like that. I liked it. I think graphic novels are highly respectable.”

“I wouldn’t figure you as a comic book fan.” he said suspiciously.

“Yeah. You just never know with people. So how do you like the book so far?”

“I gotta use the dictionary for most of it. Who uses solipsism in everyday use anyway? I thought he made it up because it wasn’t in the dictionary. I had to Google it.  Sounds to me like it’s. Narcissism without admitting it.”

“It was said that this work of art was his love affair with the English language. This novel has been vulgarized by the didactic mediocrity.”

“Well, this Humbert Humbert is a total perv.”  

“Poor guy. Totally misunderstood hero.  I read the book three times. Don’t you just love the reference to Edgar Allen Poe’s poem Annabel Lee?  Love and sepulchres.  It doesn’t get better than that.  I write poetry too,  would you like to hear a stanza?”

“Sure."

I cleared my voice and recited:

razor whispers rasp their mockery

between the crash of cymbals

pealing and careening

till the slingshot alarm

rives the silence

of a midnight smoke.

“Wow. That’s really good.”

“Thank you. I wrote that while I was in four point restraints at Clara Maass a few years ago.” I could see he didn’t know how to react to this. They just don’t know if I am being serious or not. They usually feel awkward. I like it. Let them.

“That’s a cool coffee mug you got there.” I said.

“Thanks. I won it on E-bay last month.”

“Hmmm... duct tape...the Force it is like...That is one syntactic atrocity. I take it as a personal affront. What would Chomsky say? He’d be rolling in his grave if he were dead right now. But nonetheless. It’s bad enough they have those head-last languages.”

“So a poet and a linguist.”

“A poet and a linguist, I am.”

“Spoken just like Yoda.”

“I’m a serial polyglot. So, Mr. Scrivener, would you like to treat me to breakfast this morning?”

“Sure.  No one’s ever called me that. I’m surprised you even know the reference.”

“I’m not a barbarian.”

“Of course not.”

“I get off soon, actually. Chu Mi comes in to relieve me.”

And so it went…

I crashed at his house for a couple nights. He took off from work.  He lived in the basement of his parents’ house who were spending the summer in the Canary Islands. It was small and jam-packed with Star Wars collectibles and other geekeries. The first thing you see when you walk in is a mannequin dressed like a Storm Trooper. He said he made it himself and goes to those conventions where people make their own costumes and compete for best in show or some s**t like that.  Apparently it is a lifestyle and not just a hobby. It’s no wonder the guy’s single.  It was nice to have a place to stay and a cool guy to hang out with, though. I tell you, they’re cool guys. He took a few nights off and we binged on Star Wars movies and ate Hot Pockets.

The second night he invited his friend, Aaron, over because he didn’t believe that some hot Asian chick who was also smart and had great b***s, was staying at his house and playing with his toys.  He had to see for himself. He brought over his Boba Fett costume that he just finished working on last week. I addressed him as A.A. Ron, just like that comedian on Youtube. He looked thirtyish. In real life, Aaron  was a computer programmer who worked for Massive Dynamics. Now, that’s hot. Hold on, I have to take a deep breath.

Suffer me this desultory tangent. I must confess that the  computer geek’s cyber-omnipotence turns me on. They operate under the guise of the inocuous IT guy. However, there is an elite population of phantom hackers who know everyone’s passwords and cyberspace is their playground. They have even more power than the Masons because they are invisible.  You can never tell who they are because they blend in like chameleons. They’re like Batman. On the outside they are just these unassuming, bespectacled, polo shirt-wearing nerds with their Wonder Bread ham sandwiches and their array of devices. Then at night their alter ego comes out as soon as the glasses get tossed and it’s blast-off. They become these super hero sex gods that only perspicacious women of the Cognoscenti, such as myself, can divine in the light of day. It’s the glint in their fingernails. They in turn have the ability to discern the cyber femme fatale whom I clearly epitomize. It helps that I was blessed with a masterful plastic surgeon who made my b***s spectacular. I just noticed Aaron’s Mediterranean blue eyes. I can  tell that he’s skillful at digital stimulation. Look at those fingers. Forget about it... I can picture him stroking my keyboard in a frenzy of deliberate prowess. Oh, my god. Can he read my mind?  I’m getting hot just thinking about it right now….but I digress.

“A. A. Ron, did you know that war is the only true hygiene of the world?” I said.

“Where did you get that?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of Futurism?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, it’s an artistic movement of the early 20th century, whose founder was a real iconoclast. He was a proponent of technology and violence. That was pretty big in the twenties and thirties. You should know about these things. You must be prepared for war.”

“Who is this girl?”  Aaron posited.

“ She’s like an intellectual P***y Galore. What is it with you and war anyway?” Bartleby asked.

“I like to know things. Information is valuable. Haven’t you ever heard of Sun Tsu? Well, that’s irrelevant right now. Why don’t we have a Star Wars party. You guys must have a lot of Star War friends. Especially that your parents are away.  We could have it upstairs.”

“That sounds like a great idea, Bartleby.”  Aaron said. “We could ask Jupiter and Leo to come. Jupiter made a mean Chewbacca last year at Cos Play. Of course you would be the only girl there, Magnolia.”

They started planning it.  Aaron made me a Princess Leia outfit. The one where she was chained to Jabba the Hut. But by this time, I had to get the hell out of there. I could feel myself descending into a dangerous high. I wanted to leave before it was too late. I told Bartleby there was a disturbance in the Force. I started getting paranoid. I accused them of keeping me prisoner. That accursed mannequin became menacing and I felt there was someone hiding in there and would kill me at any moment so I tore it to pieces while he was at work one night. As a matter of fact, I trashed the place with his Darksaber because I thought Darth Vader and Darth Maul had cameras in them and Bartleby and Aaron were spying on me because they wanted take me to Vulcan to do experiments on me.

 Well, the geriatric neighbor heard what was going on. It was three o’clock in the morning after all, and called the cops. Here we go...

And here I am at Trenton State Hospital. I started learning Papiamento from the nurse who was assigned one-on-one with me every minute of her shift. Conta cubo. That’s how you say how are you.  Bartleby came to visit me and brought me a purple Slurpee. He told me that the 7-Eleven was closing and that he was moving to Bayonne. He said he wasn’t angry with me and realized he had to let go of all that clutter and move on with his life. He said that Aaron got him a job at Massive Dynamics. I knew there was something different about him. It was the glint on his pinky nail. And he shaved his beard off! I told him how happy I was for him and that I would miss him something awful. His gaze lingered on me with a hint of regret. I knew what that look meant. I’ve seen it many times before. When visiting time was over, he gave me his Yoda coffee mug. I was getting verklempt when he got up to leave. I said, “Scriv, forget not you I will.  May the Force be with you.”

“May the force be with you, too, Magnolia.

Reviews

[roarke]

You sure do "hot Asian chick" well. I'm only a voyeur to geekism.... but the course of this break-neck, non-stop narrative certainly uses all the geek crayolas in the box. I have one critique, I'd streamline the first two paragraphs, get into the third paragraph sooner, slicker. The course of dialogue defines the story, so don't set it up too much at the top. This smacks of an excepts from one heck of a contemporary novel.... I want a signed first edition.

[Mia Sparrow]

thank you for your advice. i went back and pared down the first couple paragraphs as best i could. and i'm working on developing magnolia's character because she's too interesting to be contained in a single short story that looks like an except as you said. thanks for your feedback and giving me a fresh perspective.