Hot Sauce and Cigarettes

"Oh I'm proooud to be an American, where they search my bum and kill my cat..."

I had no mind to look at The Crazy Guy like he was... well, crazy. I was too busy thinking about what profound quote I wanted to come up with before I died. In that moment, my only focus was being jostled like a fish in a plastic bag and musing inwardly how in the world he managed to get this small car to pack such a punch.

The roads of Europe wind like those strange doo-hickeys you are naturally drawn to in the doctor's waiting room. The things with the colored little wooden shapes that you push with your finger and try to get down the aimless spirals of chipped-paint metal. His car sure looked like one of those shapes--bent, irregular, and painted a faded ugly pink salmon color. A color more likely found within the pages of a 50s housewife furniture catalog, and not on a 21st century abandoned road.

Trees lined each side of our course, but I couldn't really discern them. The tunnel too, went by in a gray blur. I imagine the speed he was going would be very useful when rushing away from zombies or ninjas or something to that effect. But really, that was not likely to happen so I did not appreciate it.

He honked. Europeans in my town are infamous for honking just for the sake of it. It is like music, or a friendly greeting, or a prophetic claim to the world.

Lanes are mere opinion for The Crazy Guy, I would soon realize. He makes his own lanes.

"The speed limit is eighty." I proclaimed as we passed a white and red sign.

"Is it. FLOOR IT!"

Faster now, and he leans with the velocity.

"Can we... please slow down?" A hefty semi honked and veered as he established a new road for himself and his car and my poor crippled bike.

"Oh! Oh, why didn't you say so?!"

He braked, catapulting my head towards the dusty dashboard. The collection of ancient bags of fast food accompanied me. Then he putted. I sighed, realizing this was a useless endeavor in itself.

"You have pink stuff on your shoes."
I looked glumly down at the mess of milkshake covering my shoes and pant legs. Maybe he had ADD, and couldn't remember he'd caused it.

Either way, he shoved a roll of paper towels in my face, which I gladly accepted.

Sid

Beepidy. Beep. Beep. Working here is like watching Jerry Springer without all the topless weirdos and fighting and incest. Oh, and the midgets. Everything is magic when a midget appears.

I once asked a midget costumer how the weather was 'down there' when I saw he had Florida liscense plates. Didn't get a tip. Jackass.

"Jesus Q. Christ this is boring. I need to do something. Before I start having doing something withdrawals."

Riley twirled his mustache. Riley didn't need to say too much in a situation. I liked that about him because if someone talked as much as I did... I think the universe would explode or something of that sort.

"Lookit Tim." I pointed to him over at his register, "His smile's faker than my ex girlfriend's knockers."

"Pretty fake." Riley said. I also liked that he didn't seem to mind when I said what I wanted, even though he didn't really say stuff like that. He wasn't too much of a prude like Tim. He had a crazy streak, he just let it out at the right moment. He was the balance of our troupe, the middle road. I would say I loved him for it, but that would be kind of gay... Marvin.

"I wonder where Georgie is."

"Dunno. The Crazy Guy's usually here by now too. Bollocks."

"Sid."
"Huh."
"What does bollocks even mean?"
"Hell if I know. Go ask a brit."

"But I thought you--"

A costumer came, loudly braying:

"Where's Joseph? Can anyone tell me where I can find Joseph?"

Joseph answers in one of his weird voices:

"Oh that guy? He's dead."

The costumer looks offended, saying, "That's a horrible thing to say!"

"What difference does it make? We're all going to die."

Joe always did stuff like that. It was weird how no one complained. I think Joseph had a couple of screws bent up in his brainstalk, if you know what I mean.

Georgie

He hummed along to a song that was not a song, but rather, a murder plot. Some ridiculously morbid poetry accompanied by a steady and unrelenting beat. I hated that I was tapping my foot to it. I found I was anyways. I didn't complain, I was rather interested in the stuff he played on his little mp3, now hooked up to the car stereo. I found it funny that he'd installed such a lovely stereo system in the tiny old vehicle. I'm guessing that, like me, he needed music to accompany him at all times.

I hate sitting silently in a car with someone, so I decided to try and get some dialouge going:

"It's nice of you to fix my bike."

"It all depends on your definition of fix." He put special mumbly emphasis on the last word, half laughing at this, staring out of the window.

I let my eyebrows press together in scrutiny, then tried to change the subject. I couldn't pull conversation topics out of wikipedia like Timothy but I could give it a shot, "There's a lot of old take out meals in here..."

"Hm." He rubbed his face, messed up his hair. I shifted uncomfortably.

Talking to people is hard. Talking to crazy people is harder.

"Want some gum?" He then held out a pack, shaking it urgently in my face. Again, his flair for eliminating personal space boundaries reared its head.

I took some. He took some. It was cinnamon. He blew bubbles proudly, and I chewed silently.

And there was silence the rest of the way, the exception being his odd taste in music.

Reeves

"No. I said no. You know what? Will, I really don't want to talk about it. I said..."

Demeter tapped her heeled toe impatiently on the lonely square of sidewalk. By now I could read her face well, and now it was not happy. Most of the young cashiers will tell you she always looks that way. But I know how to differentiate between many different states in all of my employees, namely because I care to pay attention.

One of my weaknesses, you could say. Caring.

I could hear the other line die and I flicked the ashes of my cigarette in disapproval. She jumped when I said something:

"You need to ditch that guy."

A shrug. Could've been 'Leave me alone' or 'I know'. With Sara, you could never be too certain on some things. She pocketed her cell phone, sitting down next to me on the red metal bench we'd set up out in front of the store, right next to the automatic glass doors leading into our sunny store. It was a quaint area, surrounded by pots of tiny blooming flowers and cigarette butts that got washed away in the nearby drain when the rain came. That was about every 15 minutes in this country--right now was a sunny period, so we came out here to beat up our lungs.

I have important reasons why I'm in this silly little european country. For now, I cannot reveal them.

Demeter rubbed her brow and lit another cigarette, squinting sharp eyes up into the sunlight.
Like I said. Very important, very secret.
"What was that about anyway, Sara?"

"Nothing."

Then again, everyone thinks their own secrets are important.

Georgie

For anyone who has ever been to a military base, you know you need to get through a gate to pass through, and to get through that--an ID card. Crazy Guy--well I guess I should call him Abraham--held out a hand expectantly as we reached it, and I handed it over. There were still no words, I was too nervous to speak to him. Being in the company of a man who dares to lick a dollar bill is enough to make me nervous. Plus, he looked busy with himself. His eyes were everywhere and he made about a million expressions in the course of the ride. Which was odd, I didn't see anything to get emotional about. He blinked more than the average person, and I noticed he chewed at his fingers too. I guess there was a lot of emotion and deep thinking inside, and it was looking out.

My mother says I read too much into things though.

He laughed at my ID card photo. His laugh was weird, I can't really describe it. I guess he had a right to laugh. I never looked good in those things. My expression was that of one who's dog just died. Also, I'd chopped all my hair off before it was taken, years ago.

"You look like a boy." He threw my ID at me and we proceeded to drive on to Thompson's Grocery. I frowned at him and he blew a bubble with his gum.

Yeah, maybe I do read too much into things.

Reeves

Demeter's phone rang again.

"Oh come on." I rolled my eyes.

Georgie

I was very embarrassed. Because I was late, my pimple felt like a giant radar, and The Crazy Guy was walking right next to me. Too close.

"Uh." I said. Sometimes that's the only thing to say. Crazy Guy doesn't agree.

"I don't speak that langauge." He just smiled, matching my quickened steps, "I wonder if they have any oven cleaner this time. I'll ask lady woman."

"Lady woman?"

He cleared his throat and chewed his pinky.

I cleared my own, "Thanks for the ride, Cr.. um. Abraham?"

"Yes well, thanks for the bike."

"I didn't give..."

"Ah! Lookie!"

We reached the doors, but were distracted by my two bosses sitting on the bench outside the store. The red of the bench was an interesting color choice against of the yellowish brown of the store, as were our purple wizardy robe things. Demeter was wearing hers proudly, but Reeves always opted for loudly patterned shirts and sometimes ugly ties instead. I guess when you're the boss you can do that. I also noticed Demeter was pacing, back and forth, and she continued to hiss into the reciever of a tiny cell phone. Reeves just looked off, smoking.

It's kind of funny how...

Crazy Guy vocalized it: "People always stalk like little cats when they talk on the phone. They just walk and walk and walk nowhere. I always wonder: is it because we need to walk to talk? Or talk to walk? What do you think, kid?"

What do I think? Only my best friend or professors ever asked me that. I paused in surprise.

"To distract them. From thinking."

"I like that. I like you."

I laughed. I stopped in front of my bosses and my hands shook. I fiddled with them. I also stepped slighty away from Crazy Guy. Again, fruitless effort. Lots of things I do seem to be those.

Sid

"Fellows."

"Yeah Tim."

"It appears The... The..."

Riley now, "Just say it, it's not cursed or anything, man."

"Oh really? What about the bathroom?"

"Bathroom's haunted, not cursed. Get your facts straight, bucko." I messed with my hair a little. You don't know about the bathrooms yet, but you will soon. Don't worry. Soon, all will be revealed.

Pfft. I'm starting to sound like Tim. He sighed then, defeated by the embodiment of peer pressure itself--Riley and Sue. Er, Sid.

"It appears... the resident lunatic, otherwise known as 'The Crazy Guy' has driven the new blood..."

Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ would the man ever spit a point out?

"..George to work."

"Eh?" I said. Partly because I wasn't paying attention after the sixteenth word, mostly because I didn't believe they were true, "That's bollocks, how would you know?"

"Her bicycle is strapped to the back of his vehicle." Tim tapped the glass idly and turned to go on his little fifteen minute break thing. Baggers take breaks when they choose, and Store Workers like Riley usual just walk around the store until a new delivery to the warehouse pulls up. Which is kind of like having breaks.

Riley and I jumped up, staring out the window, eyes eager and heels tilted. I love that the whole front of the store is just glass window. Lots of fingerprints, yeah, but lots of staring and being nosy time too. It's almost better than watching tv. Almost.

"Holy jumpin' cheesecake! But hell that could be any shitty bent up bike."

Sometimes I sound like a badass 60s Robin, I can't help it.

"It's hers." Riley said simply.

"Bollo--"

"Trust me."

And we ran to the entrance, to confirm.

Georgie

Demeter pocketed her phone, Reeves stamped out his cancer stick and all attention condensed and focused on me. And the brute who grinned like a chimp next to me. Demeter looked more angry. I don't know whether it was the fact that I was so late or that Crazy Guy was here, but it was enough, apparently.

"Hi." Was all I could say.

"Been awhile." Reeves smiled meekly and I couldn't help but laugh. Demeter just stared, from me to Crazy Guy and back again.

"DOO DI LOO DO DOO DI LOO DO DOO DI LOO DEE DOO!..." Crazy Guy brought his fingers up to his ear and mouth, morphed into the familair shape used to mimic a phone, "Yes? Mhm. I see... She's right here."

He then held his hand up to Demeter's face: "It's for you!"

She glared, unamused. He dropped his hand awkwardly to his side, but didn't flinch.

"Who was that on the phone?" Crazy Guy asked suddenly, cocking his big square head.

"None of your business..." Demeter began.

"Her boyfriend." Reeves said at the same time, the wrong time. Demeter turned, and even though I couldn't see it, I sensed a cold look. She turned back to us. I could tell I was right, because her face did not shift one inch.

"Why are you here?"

"I need oven cleaner," He answered quickly, "Oh, popcorn butter too. Annnnd ...cond--"

"I do not. Want. To hear what you are buying."

He shrugged, "I was just being a good little citizen and giving my friend a ride. Her bike went ka-blooey."

Demeter raised one eyebrow. This can be very intimidating, if you do it right. And Demeter is an infamous perfectionist. It must be why she hated Crazy Guy--Abraham--so much.

Crazy Guy smiled. I, however, shuddered under the weight of authority. Reeves walked over and slapped my back,

"It's okay, you can make up late hours later on this week. Let's get you inside and.. cleaned up. You have pink stuff on your shoes."

I knew that.

Demeter hesitated, still staring at Crazy Guy. They weren't talking. I think they were cussing each other out with their eyes. She caught up with Reeves and I very quickly, just as we swooshed through the automatic doors. Riley and Sid were waiting as I suspected, jumping up and down frantically within their tall and skinny frames. Demeter said:

"Quit it."

And they quit it. But their eyes were still jumping.

"I'll tell you about it later." I whispered.

"Georgie." Demeter piped up loudly, too brightly, for a costumer was near us.

"...Yes?"

"Have you ever been a Self Checkout Attendant?"

"No."

"Ah! Then today, that's your job."

She smiled at me, and it was a smile too big and too happy to be real. Reeves chuckled.

Sid

"Shit. She's putting her on Self Checkout."

Riley nodded, "Demeter must be really mad today."

"If she survives, we should invite her out to celebrate."

"Yes." Riley smirked.

"If... She survives."

Georgie

"Being a Self Checkout Attendant is like being a Flight Attendant. Only the people aren't sitting down and they've lost all their brain matter and bowel control and/or motor skills. Just four malfunctioning machines, and eager people who want to do the job you've been trained to do yourself. Only they don't have a clue how to do it. I repeat: Self Checkout. Also known as Cashier Hell."

Was it getting hot in here?

I stared at the strange foreign metal objects placed behind the registers.

Timothy stared innocently with his big blue eyes and gave me a little plastic key card, the best friend of the Attendant, he said.

"Good luck, comrade." He looked at me, and gave me an awkward half hug of support.

And then, I was on my own.