Hot Sauce and Cigarettes

Georgie

"Ey George-face."

"Hm."

"You should come to The Dubliner's with us next weekend. Bring your chick friend."

Everyone knew The Dubliner was for hooligans and alcoholics. I'd already been invited by The Beret Kid (the english major from my writing class) and his stout friend out to a nice little cafe, anyways.

"Sorry, Sid. I'm going to Hemingway's this weekend."

"Hemingway's? Hemmy's? Doood that place is for losers."

Riley laughed, and I merely frowned at the two of them. Their laughing faces turned to me, then swiftly pivoted back to the Christmas candy cane stand we were building. Everything was silent between us for a while, except for the hollow sound of boxes being stacked.

What was this strange new power flowing through my veins?

I didn't have time to think about it, because The Phat Boys came swerving by on their motorized carts, almost knocking over our stand.

"HEY NOT COOL!" Riley shook his fist at them.

"You'll never outdo Crazy Guy and The Tuna! No use tryin'! YA JERKS." Sid echoed.

"Uhm... you dropped your wallet! Sir?"

They came whizzing up again. Sid and Riley groaned.

Their leader sped ahead, revved, stopped dead in front of me. He held out his wide expanse of wrinkled palm, and I dropped the wallet into it. His large belly heaved, laughed.

"What a nice young lady. Huh boys?"

They grumbled and coughed a collective "yes"

Sid and Riley wrinkled their noses. The little bristles on Sid's baby face stood up and Riley's mustache twitched.

"Sorry 'bout the newspapers the other day." The Phat Boys said then.

"No problem." I smiled. The group of geezers nodded, spinning their carts to leave.

"Roll out, fellas! ...Oh!" The main Phat Boy called as they sped off at a harrowing speed of 5mph, "Hippie Boy's in the produce isle, wearing some kinda dead animal suit. Thought you'd like to know!"

A few moments passed as the three of us sighed and tried processing this information.

"Get Demeter." Riley said, "I'm not dealing with him."

Sid grumbled, "Dementor's on her smoke break. And I'm on Crazy Guy probation. Orders from Mrs. Brown-pants."

"Fine," I sighed, "I'll do it."

There are very few moments in my life I can say I've frozen up from shock. I believe most of them occurred within Thompson's yellow walls. This was one of them.

The Phat Boys weren't lying. Crazy Guy was indeed casually perusing the produce section, and he was--no joke--wearing a giant turkey suit. Not just any old turkey costume you could buy at your local costume supplier or order deep in the bowels of the internet. No, no. That wouldn't be creative enough. This was something crudely fashioned and homemade.

As I gathered my feet, my jaw, and stepped closer, I could see he'd covered his clothes with construction paper. The ugliest browns and flattest oranges attached to his person, accented by broken lines of silver duct tape, complete with a bright orange handbag as opposed to his normal purple one. He'd even made a paper beak that covered his nose and lower jaw--wrapped around his head with a rubber band. The pride and joy of his outfit, however, had to have been his towering hat: a mess of faux feathers and elmer's glue that made him seem a foot taller.

This fashion disaster was so unexpected, so avante garde, that it could have any fashion designer in tears. Luckily, I was not a designer and I could approach the patron saint of horrible arts and crafts projects directly.

"Excuse me, what the fu--"

"Oh hey kid!" He spun around after dropping a single potato into his hand basket. He was hiding something again. His paper beak muffled his voice and you could only see his brown eyes, twinkling with excitement, "They have a new face wash scent! Grapefruit!"

"That's nice. Huh can I ask--"

"Now. Now. I know what you're thinking! How can they fit such a smell into little tiny bottles? How can they capture the essence of such a wonderful fruit? But they did it. They really did!"

He paused as a little kid passed us and kneeled, waving his feathered fingers. The little one stared, dropping his sippy cup to the floor.

"You're scaring the kids." I said.

"Am not." He bent forward, waving so intently that some feathers fell from his hat.

The boy screamed, toddling away.

"Dammit," Crazy Guy huffed, "It's people like you that have to ruin my reality."

"Oh. Sorry." I looked about at the other customers, all filling thin plastic bags with grapes or broccoli or kumquats. I found it strange that I was the only one (besides The Phat Boys or the little kid) who would even glance at the man in the giant turkey suit.

Well... there were laughs, snickers, shakes of the head. But they were all directed at the scratched tiles or the fluorescent lights up above.

Abe was right. No one really looked at him anymore.

"It's a nice costume, Abraham." I smiled.

"Well now gee. Happy Thanksgiving, Georgie." He winked, turning his glued-feather-rear around and rustling towards self checkout.

Demeter

I did enjoy the November gray sky. There was some peace to the smoky coolness of it, the overcast and sunless sky. Some called it gloom, I called it relaxation. It was nothing like the loud and bright building I worked in. Out on the red bench, all alone, I could be happy.

I tilted my head back and, closing my eyes, exhaled a breath of smoke.

A fit of coughs above me. Male. I frowned.

I opened my eyes and jumped, startled. Not by who the space-invader was, but by what he was... he was...

"What the hell are you wearing?" I couldn't hide my confused tone this time. I didn't even flinch at the fact that his beak-mask-thing was touching my forehead.

"You have a pointy little nose." He grinned underneath the orange scrap of paper (I guessed).

Then he blinked, cleared his throat and stood up at full height. I did the same, perching the cigarette between my lips and crossing my arms at him.

Rose

The automatic doors of the store opened and shut, but I hadn't gone in yet. Instead, I'd stopped to stare at a guy who looked as if several turkeys died a horrible death to make his... very tall hat. He looked a little familiar, even though his face was hidden. I spotted the pretty handbag he carried. It was a different color today, but I only knew one male customer in my coffee shop who ever carried one.

Abraham. Myself and my dull workmates knew him as the polite and quiet guy who always sat in the corner and drank his coffee alone. He dressed funny, sure, but he was the nicest male I'd ever served.

And now here he was.. wearing... that outfit. Being Georgie's best friend, I knew the woman he was talking to had to have been her infamously jaw-clenched boss. I watched as each stared the other down. From where I stood--by one of the large, boring pillars near the door--Abraham's back faced me, and Demeter stood puffing a cigarette. She was backed away from a red metal bench surrounded by pots of flowers---a barrier between them.

Abraham spoke first. His loud and unforgiving honesty made me realize just how different mine and Georgie's views of him were:

"You look sad all the time. Is there a reason you look so sad?"

Demeter frowned, opened her mouth, shut it.

"I don't have time for this." She replied finally, "Especially with you and that... You're a turkey, yeah? I get that. But what's with the hat thing... whatever.. you're wearing?"

"Does it offend you?" He put his hands on his hips. He was mocking her.

She laughed and coughed, "Everything about you offends me."

"Look, just gimme a sec. I just wanted to say--"

"You want another date."

"WHAT. FFFFUUU--" He cawed, "No, no. I--I don't want. That.”

"Take off that hat. I can't take anything coming out of your beak seriously." She looked down, kicking some ashes that had fallen on the sidewalk.

Abe shuffled his feet on the ground, lifting his hands carefully to his hat. Head still down, he reached up and lifted his headdress--beak feathers and all--slowly and carefully like he was taking a crown off his head during his own coronation, shocking all the guests around the throne.

The haircut was a small surprise to me. People got haircuts all the time, who cared? It seemed to be important though, since Demeter literally dropped her mouth and (almost) her cigarette at the same time.

“I just wanted to say I feel bad… “

Demeter’s eyes sparked, like this was something worth listening to. She inhaled some smoke and waited while he blubbered helplessly, all while staring at his hair, now cropped down to size. It was still messy, of course. Just didn’t hide his face anymore.

“I think we got off on the wrong…. I feel… So--No. Actually. I want another date. Today? Today. Yep.”

Demeter’s face tightened back into a frown. She held up her hand, the one without a cigarette. Something glinted dully in the not-all-there sunlight.

“Do you see this? This is a promise ring.”

“That thing high school kids get their girlfriends to shut them up?” Abe asked innocently.

“No--”

“Why doesn’t he buy an engangement ring? Have you ever asked him about it? Too poor? Or maybe he doesn‘t lo--”

She yelled at him to quit, faltered, put her hand down.

“You deserve better.” He said it plainly. That hurt her more. Demeter flicked her cigarette aside.

“Well if you think you’re better, you’re wrong.” She walked past him bitterly, ruffling the feathered hat hanging limply in his hand, and headed back into the store. While she passed me she muttered softly to herself, “….Besides, I can’t go today I have an appointment.”

“Never said I was better.“ Abe didn’t even turn around. He sauntered off into the parking lot. Half-whistling, half muttering and flinching at everyone who passed him.

I turned away from the mundane soap opera confrontation and entered the store. Thompson’s was always colorful and bright and too loud. I didn’t like to spend more than fifteen minutes here.

I passed a man in a black professional suit talking to a crooked, balding man with the nametag “PETER REEVES”. The nameless guy in the suit kept asking about where “a friend of his” was. The woman named Demeter passed them without giving the kindness of a glance and barreled through the customer service door. I sort of looked for Tim but didn't see him. Over at self checkout stood a blonde girl drinking water out of a gallon-sized bottle and fingering through a pamphlet about eggs. Beyond that, two of Georgie’s work friends were setting up some Christmas decorations and laughing. I asked the one with a Mohawk where Georgie was. He looked embarrassed and quickly took the Christmas bulbs off his ears. He said “George” was probably in the bathroom but it was probably too late, the evil demons got her.

I shook my head and walked towards the restroom.

Oscar Wilde said once that life is like a play, only the play is badly cast. Maybe that was true. Most--from customers to employees to passerby--certainly acted like prima donnas or eccentric hand-wavers in this environment.

A woman with a big fur sweater who reeked of cat litter and food appeared through the door first. Then my best friend, with a wrinkled nose.

“Months, here. You’d think I’d be used to Cat Lady’s smell by now.” She whispered, laughing.

I smiled back.

“You here to shop?” She asked brightly, “I found some old coupons in the break room! And they have a new face wash. Grapefruit.”

“Actually,” I interrupted her, “Remember how ‘The Crazy Guy’ took your bike?”

“How could I forget.”

“Well. I ..kind of... found it.”

“You did!” She jumped, “Now I don’t have to bum for rides anymore!”

“Yeah… about that. I said I found it. But… I don’t think you’re going to like what's happened to it.”