The Arrogant Clerk and the Model Criminal

I go to bed every night hoping to experience this anecdote eventually.

Roy looked over his shoulder in a feeble attempt to divert his attention away from the customer walking through the door.  Maybe, he thought, they’ll go away.  Not today, cap’n.  Not ever.
  
    The stereo pumped out arena rock hits of the 1980’s as he filled cigarettes, again trying to shut out the inevitable interaction with the free soul lurking within the store.  He envisioned all of the things he wanted to say, do, feel... He wanted to be honest.  Honesty, in his line of work, was hard to experience.  Roy worked at a convenience store, where the very nature of the store’s livelihood is based off of location.

    Roy wanted the customer to leave because he knew there was going to be a rash exchange of words coalescing into a lot of bad noise from the customer about how prices are so high for gas, cigarettes, candy, produce.  Roy’s problem was that he was the only one present, so no manager would be there to take the blame (not like they would anyway).  Hopefully she has a gun, he thought.

    The customer was a young twenty-something brunette, hair straightened and clothing carefully picked out for a typical Friday night out on the town.  Her appearance on this summer night was, as Roy would later tell the police, in such a way that said she would never take "no" for an answer, and that she would never have to pay for her drinks.

    I was thumbing through the latest issue of The Onion by the newsstand next to the cooler when out of the corner of my eye I found that afternoon’s Wall Street Journal.  I gave the Journal a quick glance, and switched back to The Onion, realizing the content was relatively similar and the price was better in the end.  After settling on some literary drivle I went to the cooler and opened up the door next to Roy’s only other customer in present in the store.

    She finally settled on two Redbulls, and I went with a bottled water.  I hate impulse spending like that, but after kicking smoking a few weeks prior, I had no other choice but to pick up other addictions along the way.

    Her name was Margaret.  As I walked down the chip aisle, it occurred to me that the young woman dressed to kill was in fact named Margaret, and we had a class together last semester.  All of this only popped in my head when as I rounded the corner of the chip aisle to walk up to the counter and pay for the water I saw a rather odd look creep over Roy’s face.

    He pushed his glasses up with his index finger and didn’t blink for about fifteen seconds as they seemed fixated on Margaret’s chest.  Maybe it was the necklace.  It was probably the snub-nosed revolver she pulled out of her purse and held close to the counter.  Her speech was quiet, mild-mannered.

    "I’ll just have these, and you do cash back, right?" she asked.  Roy glared and a smirk started to creep over his face like some kind of frantic instinctive reaction only found in the psyche of the average convenience store clerk.  Margaret calmly glanced over her left shoulder as I peered down at a sane person’s idea of current events.

    "No, I’m afraid not," he said.  By now I was staring obsessively at the situation from above, courtesy of the camera above the counter and its display on the small monochrome television screen ten feet to the back.  Margaret was tactfully weilding a nickle-plated revolver, careful to not move her hand too far away from her purse which was on one side, and a candy display on the other.  "We do have an ATM," he replied.

    Mother of god, I thought.  On top of all of this, Pitchfork was giving music a rating of 6.7!

    Two cars started turning into the lot toward the gas pumps.  Roy’s small smirk grew to nothing short of a cheshire grin.  Margaret gave a light giggle and looked at him, gravely.  "I’m not sure you understand," she said with a smile, not hesitating to flaunt her white teeth contrasting with her well-polished skin and weapon.

    "Like I said, we do have an ATM.  Our system wasn’t designed for cash-back with a debit card.  Sorry!"

    The drivers started exiting their vehicles and each began to walk toward the door.  Margaret began to get fidgity, looking back in my direction every few seconds.  This time I didn’t look at the satire in my hand, and instead opted to make eye contact in the usual unspoken customer interaction, telepathically saying, "Will you hurry the hell up?  I’ve got things to do and people to see, for Christ’s sake!"

    As it would happen, Margaret had ESP, and not wanting to stall things any further decided to speed the process along by raising the gun and pointing it in my direction.  "Do anything and you’re fucked," she said.

    "If I cared, I would have done something already."  I started to chuckle, as did Roy.  Roy popped a cigarette into his mouth and lit it up.

    We both started laughing uncontrollably as Margaret turned back around and put the gun directly in line with Roy’s forehead.  The two customers outside were about four feet from the door when Margaret couldn’t control her trembling any further and stashed the gun in her purse and made a dash for the door, her car running outside.  A man in his thirties held the door open for her as Roy came from around the counter.  "WAIT YOU F*****G B***H!  YOU FORGOT YOUR MONEY!  GET THE F**K BACK HERE AND SHOOT ME YOU CHICKENSHIT W***E!"

    The thirty year old man stood their with a middle-aged woman, both staring at Roy as if he were Liberace playing for a Klan rally.  "What a f*****g b***h," Roy muttered with the lit cigarette dangling between his lips in the non-smoking facility.

    I paid my $1.57 for the water and sat outside on the warm night, sipping comfortably and reading the A.V. Club.  The manager showed up within about five or ten minutes, with two squad cars coming about thirty minutes later to calm down a feud between Roy and the thirty-something man, apparently because the man requested Trojan Magnums and Roy said the guy had a tiny pecker.

    The cops never asked me any questions, though I was on the tapes, and the charges were dropped on Roy in light of the circumstances.  Margaret stopped by my gas station the other night, as a matter of fact.  She might have been unarmed, I didn’t care.  I was busy that night.

Author's Note

This was, and is, to be considered a passing thought. Passing it felt like passing a kidney stone, but damn it felt good once it was gone. Let me know what you think.

Reviews

[[untitled]]

It's got an offbeat, post-modern air to it. In an odd sort of way, I could visualize the whole thing playing out just as you wrote it.

I enjoyed it. Welcome to the Cafe... I'll be back.

[Sierra,love]

this is good
i cannot wait to read more of what you have

welcome to writescafe!!
:]