Five

Someone’s left a log on the side of the bowl. No biggie. We have something equivalent to an employees’ restroom, located near the attic upstairs. It’s inaccessible to customers and therefore not prone to mishaps like the one I just described. It’s also a great place to take a dump in peace. Senior citizens do not see a locked door as a deterrent and will knock and knock and attempt to hold a conversation with whomever’s inside. They never hear me say “Go away, I’m taking a shit.” In the rare situation I find myself on the downstairs potty, and one of these senile fools are banging at the door like their lives depended on it (who knows, perhaps it does), I deliberately take twice the time I normally would to come out. Fuck ‘em. For the most part I’d rather avoid the noise and go upstairs.

Some of the women folk don’t see going upstairs as an option, and that’s understandable. It can be a little scary up there in the darkness. In a room just past the toilet is where old dead machines and discarded sales racks and shelving reside, waiting for the day when they might be useful again. The scary part isn’t necessarily the dead space, the darkness, nor the silence, though those things may hold their place in some peoples’ fear. No. All that is just scenery. Danger often requires a combination of elements. Scenery is one such element. Opportunity is another, and that occurs when a potential victim finds itself at a convenient place and time (the scenery). The most important element, of course, is the stable of unstable freaks, and losers this store seems to attract, both as workers and as consumers.

Crazy customers aren’t a big deal. Considering what we sell (arts & crafts supplies), kooks and crazies are at least a quarter of our target demographic. Most of us enjoy that crowd to some extent and find them preferable to the old ladies who used to watch Bob Ross make “happy accidents” on TV.

The freaks who work here are a big part of the fun too, but, for some, they represent a great potential for danger and unthinkable nastiness. Here’s a brief run-down of just a few;

Vincent D’Amato – You’ve met him briefly. Full of shit. For the most part, that’s no crime. His social life is almost completely based upon hanging out in bars with his mother. He’s thirty five-ish and has never so much as held the hands of a woman not related to him. His relationship to reality seems to be his major failing, which is probably just a polite way of saying he’s full of shit. He has a tendency to stalk young female co-workers barely out of their teens and way out of his league. In my estimation he’s no threat to anyone.

Warren the driver – I don’t know his last name. I often just call him the driver. He’s about six foot, seven. Balding, blond hair, and thick bi-focal glasses. Stocky, but kinda dumpy, he emanates an odor that I imagined was something like wet live stock, more specifically, a wet pig (I say imagined because I have no idea what live pork smell like). He often seems to be hovering like a float in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade rather than walking. When we heard a former school bus driver had been hired, many of us thought the same thing: child molester. But this thought had mainly occurred in jest. Unfortunately some people live up to stereotypes. This forty-ish behemoth found himself gravitating uncomfortably close to young male co-workers. Like Vinnies’ prey, they were barely out of their teens, and sometimes they were part-timers still in high school. Still, he hadn’t done anything bold enough to get himself fired, though it seems he’s certainly tried hard enough. When making a delivery to a client, she asked him to open a package. He gladly obliged, kneeling so he could pull a bowie knife, sheathed, just over his right sock.

Rick Torey - Sixty years old, 250 lbs. and probably a cross dresser. He comes across with a demeanor similar to a 1940s New York City cab driver, but there’s something about his appearance - long press-on nails and his face, which appears as though he’d just removed a ton of make-up - that seems very inconsistent with his attitude. I’m not sure if that makes much sense. You’d probably have to see it. He works in the paper department.

Darren – a little snot nosed goth type. He doesn’t dye his hair or wear makeup or anything so obvious, but he won’t let go of the black trench coat. Do people still wear those? He’s actually okay, but he has a natural tendency to inspire peoples’ dislike simply by existing.

Ibo Fanaka – a name like that makes people think he’s from the motherland, but he seems plenty American to me. A likable guy, but one can be put off by 1) his need to preach the gospel (he rarely speaks, otherwise), 2) his turrets. At least I think it’s turrets. He has these occasional guttural outbursts, that are something like loud sneezes but without the wetness, the shh sound at the end. “Ah” without the “choo”. I guess that makes a little more sense, hmm? And 3) he’s got this really intense stare that seems to freak the ladies out.

I’m probably forgetting one or two. If they’re important they’ll come up. There are thirty plus employees in all and we’ve all got our issues. Even me, but we won’t talk much about myself right now. More on “me”, later.

next...