How to Make a Human

Like most epic party animals, I was sprawled out on my couch, a plate of sliced turkey near by to ease my hunger (don't judge me, turkey is the best snack on this planet), and a health book opened to the chapter on oral hygiene. Earlier in health class (after finding out that I was doomed to a month long project with Derek Effing Banderton) we were given an opportunity to meet our partner and plan our project. Well, apparently we both have no interest in actually learning, so we did the easiest thing that we could think of: oral hygiene.

I was almost excited to work on a project with Derek. The excitement stemmed from the hopeless romantic part of me, that wanted nothing short of a cheap cliché and for him to sweep me off my feet. The "almost" part stemmed from the whole I'm-socially-retarded-and-I accidentally-hit-your-brother-in-the-face problem that seemed to be a pertinent part of our relationship.

"Deli meats? Really, Bobbie?" Oma grumbled as she grabbed my plate of turkey, picked up the remote, turned off the TV, and pushed my feet off of the couch in one fluid motion.

"I was hungry," I shrugged.

"Well, now your lack of self control has cost you a trip to the grocery store. Maybe next time you'll think twice before you eat the food in the refrigerator."

"Am I not supposed to eat the food in the fridge? When did this rule come along?"

"You know what I mean. Try not to eat a whole package of turkey when we use it for school lunches."

"Oh. Sorry."

Oma rolled her eyes and turned to go into the kitchen, mumbling, "Verdammter Abfalleimer [1]."

There was a long silence where I stared at the blank TV screen. "Do I seriously have to go to the grocery store?" I finally shouted, maintaining my far off look.

Oma stepped out of the kitchen looking over a grocery list. She handed me a set of car keys and shoved forty dollars in my hand, glancing at the grocery list one more time before handing it to me.

I groaned and pushed myself off of the couch, straightening my crinkled school uniform. I shoved the money and the grocery list into my jacket pocket and skulked to the front door, angry that I had to leave my comfortable position.

"I'll be back in a minute," I grunted, leaving the house and making my way to the ultimate granny mobile. I drove to the store like a panicked ape and parked across two spots because I'm incapable of behaving like a normal person.

The grocery store's fluorescent lights flickered and cast a sickly pale glow across all of its inhabitants. The grocery store was mainly empty, save for a couple of people ambling about slowly, with no real goal in mind. I browsed through the deli meat selection, wearily eying a sketchy employee who was sleeping in a shopping cart. His red uniform shirt was untucked and partially unbuttoned at the top and he had long skinny legs that dangled out of the basket. On his feet was a pair of ratty sneakers with a whole in the toe of the shoe, showing the whole in the toe of his sock. His hair was black and tangled and had clearly been dyed a multitude of colors. He wore headphones around his neck, a cigarette behind his ear, and a piss poor attitude on his face.

I feared the prospect of him waking up because he would probably glare at me and snarl angry curse words that I don't understand. Another red uniform shirt appeared behind a stack of soup cans and I saw a girl with skinny legs and big marshmallow-y shoes run towards the back of the store. Moments later Marshmallow-y Shoe Girl was with a fat bald man, pointing at the hooligan sleeping in the shopping cart. Fat Bald Man had a determined look on his face as he stormed to the shopping cart. I almost pitied the hooligan, but I think if he knew I pitied him he would have gotten drunk and burned my house down or something. He seemed like that kind of guy.

Fat Bald Man grabbed the hooligan's shoulders and shook him roughly. "Wake. Up." Fat Bald Man hissed.

The hooligan blinked several times before his eyes focused on Fat Bald Man. "Oh shit."

"Oh shit is right, Mr. Markens." Fat Bald Man agreed, holding the cart still so that Hooligan could get out. Hooligan pushed himself out of the cart and rubbed his eyes.

"Sorry, man," he mumbled. "I guess I was tired."

"Well, I guess you're fired," Fat Bald Man responded. Marshmallow-y Shoe Girl squeaked slightly and covered her mouth. Either she felt bad for tattling on Hooligan or she thought it was just as funny as I did that "tired" and "fired" rhymed. Regardless of the reason of her squeak, Fat Bald Man gave her a vicious glare that caused her to vanish into the produce section. Meanwhile I continued to pretend I gave a crap about deli meats so that I could listen to the conversation.

"What the fu--"

Unfortunately for me I couldn't hear the rest of Hooligan's sentence, because I was attacked by a short little blob who thought that I wasn't a moron. "Bob-eee!"

"Hi, Bear," I mumbled, looking over her shoulder longingly at the conversation between Fat Bald Man and Hooligan. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here with my step-mom," she gestured to a petite blonde woman looking at the cheeses.

"Oh. Cool."

"Not particularly," she shrugged. "What are you doing?"

"Buying turkey."

"Ah, yum."

"Yum indeed."

A lengthy pause followed.

"So I heard you're partners with Derek for some health thing?"

"Oh, yeah. I am. I think he thinks I'm weird," I answered.

"Oh no! Bobbie! He doesn't think you're weird!" Bead defended.

"What does he think then?"

"He thinks, that um. I don't know. We haven't actually talked about it," she lied through her teeth. If Derek told her that we're working together, he certainly had to have had a reason to bring it up. He probably talked about me. Not enough to be considered gossip, but enough for Bear to want to lie about.

"Bear, it's cool. I know that I kind of creeped him out," I shrugged. I looked behind her shoulder to see Hooligan knocking over a tower of cans and storming out angrily. Bear looked behind momentarily to see what the loud crash was from before she looked back at me.

"I don't think you were that creepy. You probably just… zoned out and it looked like you were staring at him or something. I don't even think he cared that much."

Bear unwittingly told me that she had talked to Derek about my creepy behavior. Awesome.

I shrugged. I was only a little bothered that I freaked him out because by now I was accustomed to it. Plus, I was distracted by Fat Bald Man picking up the cans that Hooligan knocked over.

"Do you think it would be weird if I asked that fat guy for a job?" I asked, my mind in a different place entirely.

Bear turned around to see Fat Bald Man picking up cans. She looked back at me. "You want a job at a grocery store?"

"I want a job. Period. What should I do?"

Bear floundered, not like she was offended, but like she couldn't believe she was talking while I was in need of a job, "Uh… I don't know… Um, go help him pick up the cans or something. Go from there!"

She flashed a peace sigh (Bear was one of the rare few people who looked cool doing it) and jogged off to her step mom. I took a breath and walked toward Fat Bald Man with determination. Of course I wimped out in, like, eight seconds, turned around, and pretended to be distracted by Lunchables. I glanced inconspicuously at Fat Bald Man. He was grunting and trying to wrap his porky fingers around a can that kept rolling away. I took another deep breath, clenched and unclenched my fists, and then, before I could back out, I picked up a can and handed it to him.

"Here."

"Thanks," he grunted, grabbing the can from my hand and throwing it in the cart that Hooligan was napping in earlier. I squatted down next to Fat Bald Man and began picking up as many cans as I could and throwing them into the cart. I am pleased to say that I actually doubled, maybe even tripled, Fat Bald Man's efficiency in picking up cans. I mean, he was freaking slow, most likely due to the fact that he was about fifty years old, huffing, puffing, panting, and sweating every time he blinked.

Fat Bald Man pushed himself off the ground and nodded to me, "Thanks again."

"Oh, not a problem." I paused. "Anything else I can do to help?"

Fat Bald Man gave me an odd look. "I'm fine, thanks. I hope you enjoy your shopping, and I apologize for any inconvenience we may have caused you."

Fat Bald Man turned to walk away, but I grew a pair of balls and stopped him, "This may be a bit too early to ask, but are you hiring?"

Fat Bald Man turned around to faced me with his hand on his hips. "Well, I can set up an interview for you, but we generally have a pretty hefty waiting list."

"How hefty?" I asked.

"The soonest I can get you an interview is maybe… five to six weeks… minimum."

"Ah…"

"And even then, with all the applicants we have the job will probably filled by then," he continued.

I had no ideas grocery store jobs were in such high demand.

"Oh, okay. That's fine. Then don't worry about it, it was random anyway," I answered, pretending I didn't care, even though I was really quite bummed and kind of embarrassed.

Fat Bald Man sighed. "I'll tell you what, I have a friend who is hiring at his restaurant. I'll call him up, put in a good word, and the rest is up to you."

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts looking for a number, "Do you have a cell phone or something you can enter this number in?"

"Oh, uh, I don't have a cell phone." I searched through my pockets for a pen. Fat Bald Man pulled a pen out of his pocket and handed it to me, "Are you ready?"

I scribbled on my hand to make sure the pen worked and nodded my head. Fat Bald Man looked at his phone, "His name is Tony Bruccini, and his number is 410-8901. He runs Fat Tony's Pizzeria and they are currently hiring waiters. So, you know, just tell him you heard they were hiring, if he doesn't answer, leave a message. You know the drill."

I didn't know the drill, so I was thankful that he covered the basics. "Thank you so much, Mr.--"

Fat Bald Man stuck his hand out, "Bretter. Rob Bretter."

I shook his hand with the hand that didn't have the number on it, "Thanks a bunch."

"Not a problem. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Oh, Bobbie Heising."

"Heising, eh?" he squinted his eyes in to the fluorescent lights and it was only then that I realized how bushy his eyebrows were, "That's an interesting name."

"It's German."

"I see. Well, I wish you luck, Mrs. Heising."

"Thank you, sir."

Fat Bald Man smiled and headed down a random aisle, probably to avoid an awkward pause. I ran back to the deli meats and grabbed a random package of turkey. I jogged to the cashier and paid for the turkey before I remember the shopping list that Oma had given me. I ran like a mad woman throughout the store, looking for the items on the grocery list before I got tired and decided that walking is my preferred mode of transportation. Once I had gotten everything, I hopped in the car and drove like a teenage asshole all the way home.

I rushed into the kitchen and threw the bags on the table, digging through my pockets for the phone number I was given, before I remembered that it was written on my hand. I dialed the number and immediately afterward felt panic.

Holy shit.

I didn’t plan anything to say.

Anything at all.

The fuck am I going to say? “Hi, Tony or whatever. I’m Bobbie and I want a job or something. Some fat guy should be giving me a recommendation. I didn’t pick up an application because I’m easily excited and I often forget what I should do when distracted by bright prospect. Oh. And I barely even understand the position I’m applying for.”

I tugged nervously on the phone chord, not really thinking about what I should say, but thinking about how I should be thinking about what to say.

The phone stopped ringing and I almost shit my pants before I heard:

“ ‘Ey, this is Tony, owner of Fat Tony’s Pizzeria. I’m busy eating right now, but if you need anything, feel free to leave a message.”

“Hi, Mr. Bruccini. This is Bobbie Heising and I… uh. Fuck.”

Best message ever. I waited for the message options to come around, so I could delete it and start on my next message.

“Hi, Mr. Bruccini, this is Bobbie Hei--”

“Bobbie? Is that you? Are you home?” Oma hobbled into the kitchen and began sifting through the grocery bags to see that I got what was needed.

“Oma! I’m on the phone.”

“Did you get all of the groceries?”

“Jeez, yes. This is Bobbie Hesing, and I heard that you were hiring.”

“Who are you talking to? Who’s hiring?” Oma asked as she began to unpack groceries.

“Oma! Please, let me talk and then I’ll explain.” I was a bit snappy, but I tried to not be a total ass.

I once again deleted the message and started over again. “Hi, Mr. Bruccini. This is Bobbie Heising. I was recently told that you were hiring, and I was just calling to set up an interview. If you could just call me back at 331-8976, that’d be great. Thanks!”

I hung up the phone and prayed that I didn’t accidentally leave one of the many messages that I had royally fucked up. I then proceeded to tell Oma what happened at the grocery store.

“Really? Bobbie, this is so great! I think A job will do you well! You have lived a very privileged life, so this will at the very least teach you some work ethic.”

Old people like to patronize the youth. Jeez, Oma, sorry I didn’t have to sell my toys to put food on the table when I was a child.

“Yeah, I think a job would be pretty cool.”

Like hell I knew what cool was. Up until a few weeks ago I was raised by two old people in Mormon country.

Ben entered the kitchen, sifting through the groceries Oma was unpacking and grabbing the package of turkey before Oma slapped it out of is hands. “You’re getting a job, Bobbie?”

“I’m trying.” I shrugged.

“That’s neat. I think I’m getting a car.”

“A car?” Oma squaked. “We can’t afford a car!”

“We can if I get a job,” I interjected. It was a lie. It’s not like I’d be getting paid enough money to buy Ben a car, I just wanted to turn the subject back to me. I know it’s selfish, but Ben has always had a way of changing the conversation to suit his interests. It’s not like he’s unsupportive about what I want, he just has the constant glow of a pregnant woman that just draws people to him.

Even though the attention was off of my blossoming work life, I felt content.

I am satisfied.