Captain

A Story by thebusch

An analysis of Gen Y from Gen Y

"Aerscrern."
I don't ask for much. Just an easy job, make a little bit of money while I get through uni. But no. I have some guy whose face looks like an arse hole tapping me on the shoulder.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Aescroom."
I wasn't exactly sure if this guy was being serious. I doubt someone could perform at such a low level and not expect raised curiosity.
"I'm sorry sir, but I can't understand what you're asking me for."
"A*s crewm."
A supermarket has a diverse range of consumer goods. From fresh fruit and produce, to prime cuts, to your ordinary grocery items. After many years of working here I have become acquainted with the most unusual of these goods. Canned hot dogs, pickled eel, Spam. But never a*s cream. The pharmacist can handle that s**t.
I continued to look at him blankly.
"Eyes creem."
"Ice cream?"
"Yers."
I'm not going to lie, I was just glad it wasn't a*s cream.
"Isle 10, back wall. Other end of the store."
My initial blank expression now looked back at me.
"That's okay, I'll show you."
That decision to take a walk with arse hole face, whose a*s cream was probably facial moisturiser, changed my life.

"F*****g Aborigines."
That expression was shocking on two levels. For starters, after two minutes of puerile gibberish, this man swore perfectly. Secondly, it made me feel like a British coloniser.
"Sir, you are going to have to keep you voice down-"
"F*****g Aborigines! They are kidnapping my superannuation!"
S**t was getting real. This guy was obviously pro intervention. I was still caught up on a*s cream.
"I'm sure they aren't kidnapping your superannuation, sir. But seriously, you need to be quiet."
"Why should I?" There was a tear in his eye. For a moment I thought he looked up to God. "I have nothing. And they're taking it all. Them and the Government. Stealing my welfare."
Domino effect, I was thinking. But beyond that I wasn't thinking of much. Reacting to a situation like this was not common for a twenty year old guy.
"Oh yeah, you know how it is.."
"But that's not all."
It never is. "What do you mean?"
"I've lost something."
His arse hole looking face drew to a point. He was looking deadly serious.
"What is it? Can I help you find it?"
"It's hopeless. It's gone."
"What's gone?"
The man leaned over so that I was unfortunately within smelling distance.
"I've lost my DNA."

I always thought there was two levels on which to lose something. Level one is tangible. I've lost my phone, my wallet, my child. Level two is intangible. I've lost my pride, my innocence, my virginity. My child. But losing your DNA probably creates a third tier.
"What do you mean you've lost your DNA?"
"It's gone. I don't have it. It's why women don't love me."
I supposed that could be one reason. That and you wreak of methylated spirits. Just tossing it up there.
"I don't think you can lose your DNA."
Naturally, this man looked at me as if I were stupid.
"You will never understand." He was becoming emotional. "As long as you have a woman giving it to you, you will never understand."
His logic was strange, be he was technically right. I did not understand. I had no clue what was happening, to be perfectly honest. I did, however, know where the ice cream was. So I directed him to his dessert and left him.

It was when I got a second tap on the shoulder that I knew I was in for a bad night.
"Lernernerd."
A learner aid probably would be helpful, yes. But we were fresh out.
"Sir, I really can't-"
"Lernem aird."
"Lemonade. Aisle six, half way down to your left."
Nothing.
"I guess you're coming with me again."
He was holding his ice cream, so there was the consolation I was being of some assistance to this fellow. Mix it with lemonade, why, he was probably making himself a spider. Not what a normal 70 year old man would do at 11pm on a Thursday night. But hey, who am I to judge. I most likely bought a packet of tiny teddies and a Big M when I knocked off and watched Letterman.
"F*****g Government!"
There was an anger that I didn't see earlier that took me by surprise. I passed previous accusations as drunken rambling. Now I wasn't too sure.
"F*****g Goverment is taking my super I have nothing! Absolutely nothing."
Well you do have ice cream, I thought, which placed him in a better position than myself at that time. I was about to direct him to this unappreciated fact when the man collapsed to the floor, wailing in agony.
"The muscles in my legs, they're gone!"
As he began convulsing in a way that looked painfully artistic, I just felt like pointing out that his muscles were still in his leg. There was no possible way they could have eroded spontaneously. It was a little pathetic really.
"Come on sir, let me help you up."
I knelt over to give old arse face a hand when out of no where, he jumped up, standing bolt upright. He was looking directly at my friend, who was stacking milk in the fridge. Suddenly arse face ran straight towards milk man, screaming, "you're fucked you c**t!"
Milk man, totally unperturbed, flowing with lactating confidence, turned to arse face and retorted, "you want a piece of me?"
While I contemplated whether the origins of that phrase were rooted in cannibalism, arse face came to a screeching halt. He dropped his ice cream and ran down aisle four, leaping over the closed register once he got to the end.
And there we were, milk man, myself, ice cream and two others, laughing.

***

It was 1pm. Our store had just opened. It was ANZAC Day, and people were naturally pouring in to appease their withdrawal symptoms. A young lady asked me for a few bags of cinnamon donuts. For the sake of small talk I asked why. She said she had taken a few men her church looked after to the dawn service. Veterans who had fell upon hard times. Fell into the arms of liquor. I discounted the donuts for her and wished her a nice day. Good deed done. I felt good. I walked to the front of the store to see the gentlemen's appreciation. And there he was, with a row of medals pinned to his left breast.