I just realized the other day that I haven't written anything substantial in roughly eight months. And we all know that if you don't use it you lose it ("it" being mad writing skillz). So rusty or not, here we go again... another chapter from the life of Salongo Wendland.
Most of you know that I am homesteading it at the Uptown Mini-Mart, the cultural bastion of south-central Idaho. My official title is "clerk." I know, it's not even capitalized. I have given myself the subtitle of The Opener, as in clerk: The Opener. I have opened the store at 5AM every day since the beginning of December, with a combined total of about seven days off when I was out of state. I am working on the astral projection thing, but it just hasn’t come together for me yet.
You can imagine the characters that stagger through the doors of a convenience store at five in the morning. Every day is a new adventure.
Last Friday, I had finished the books and moved on to my morning coffee and crosswords when just such a Character slipped through the doors. I say slipped, because he was one of those people that seemed to glide around in a drug-induced haze.
He oiled his way to the register, and tossed a full grocery bag onto the counter.
“Hey, do you, do you, like, want some bread?”
“Um, what?” I’m sure I’ve had enough coffee to understand spoken speech, but this is beyond me right now.
“I found this outside. Someone left their bread. Do you want it? Cuz I don’t need it. You can have it.”
With a blink of incredulity, I poke a tentative finger at the bag, opening it slightly to see three loaves of what appears to be week-old bread from the local grocery store. It is frozen from its time in the snow bank from which this Character has disinterred it.
Well, what the heck am I supposed to do now.
“Um, are you sure you don’t want it? Because I don’t really need it, either.”
“Well, it looks like someone lost it. You should probably just keep it back there,” he motions to the small counter behind me, “because they’ll probably be back looking for it. I mean, they lost it.”
I gingerly pick the bag up from the counter and put it behind me, on the floor. Brushing ice crystals and bits of snow off the counter, I say thank you. Well, come on. It’s 5:45, I’m not thinking clearly yet. Hence the coffee and crosswords. Caffeine and mental stimulants.
He just stands there.
“Can I get you something?” This is what we say instead of “Are you buying cigarettes?”, because one time in a hundred they are not loitering about waiting for you to get them their smokes.
“Pack of Camels.”
I turn back to my crossword after giving him his change. Mini-Mart street smarts dictate that you never encourage a Character like this.
But most of the time they don’t need the encouragement.
Before I can even get to a 4-letter word for “fishing spots” (hole) he is leaning on the counter again.
“So, do you, like, have a boyfriend or something?”
You would think that the baby sleeping in a car seat beside me, or perhaps my wedding ring, would have discouraged this question.
“Yeah, I’m married.”
“Cool, cool. You’re really pretty.”
“Thanks.”
“So does your boyfriend do taxes?”
I really feel like I’m missing vital pieces of this conversation.
“For a living?”
“No, like, does he do his taxes and stuff.”
“Um, yes?” I say this with a question mark, because I mean it with a question mark. As in, what the heck?
“OK, well, I have this, like, coupon or something, for doing your taxes, do you want it?”
“We actually have an accountant do them for us. Thanks, though.”
“OK, cool, cool.”
Before I can even glance back down at my clipboard he’s back. He has an open, honest face, and his skin is too good to be seriously into drugs. Maybe he’s just high. Maybe he’s just…simple?
“So, do you, like, mind if I smoke outside?”
I bite my tongue on “It’s a free country,” and instead shrug, “No, that’s fine.”
It really only seems like seconds before he’s back, when I know for a fact that he smoked at least one cigarette because I saw him outside, leaning against the garbage can by the corner of the building, hunched against the cold in the early morning darkness.
“I’m just going to get some coffee. So do you live around here, or what?”
Oh my lord. Are you serious? No, I live in New York, I’m just on vacation. Of course, it’s Characters like this that are some of our best customers…be civil to the customer. The paying customer. “Yeah.”
“Cool, cool. OK, I’m just going to get some coffee.”
Back at the register with his coffee, into which I swear he poured half the container of sugar.
“Seventy-three cents.” Yes, our coffee is ridiculously cheap.
He hands me a dollar. “So does your boyfriend live here, too?”
Squelching the sigh that nearly came out, I manage to reply, “My husband? Yep. He’s lived here all his life.”
“What’s his name? Maybe I know him.”
“Last name’s Wendland? He has two sisters, too. One would probably be about your age.”
“Cool. So what’s your name?”
What, am I on the four-year weirdo pick-up line plan? “Sal.” Rule number three: never reveal your full name.
“Cool, cool. Thanks for the coffee.”
Well, technically you paid for it, but whatever. “Sure, no problem.”
Roughly 65 seconds later he glides back through the doors. This time he veers past the counter without comment, and heads straight to the Cheap Beer Door. This is the door of the cooler that houses the Natural Ice, the PBR, the Keystone Light, and of course, the malt liquor.
He plunks two 24-oz cans of Olde English on the counter. “Is that your baby?”
“Yep. Can I see your ID?” He looks about 24 or 25 to me, but you can never be too sure.
“Cool. Yeah.” He turns around and leaves.
I wait for a minute, I have no idea why, before reaching for the cans to put them back. The door swings open, arresting me mid-reach, and a very pale, very skinny girl with hair as black as her pupils strides directly to the register, holding an ID out to me.
1985. Check. “$3.26, please.” She silently hands me four dollar bills, picks up the cans, and leaves, not even waiting for her change.
I chuckle as I get back to my clipboard. I don’t know if she’s a sister, a girlfriend, or a ride to work, but I can’t help murmuring “Opposites attract!” as I fill in 3 Down: Legend in the ring (Ali).
