Hot Sauce and Cigarettes

Abraham

Truthfully, there is a kind and poetic heart beneath my exterior.

Trouble is, I choke it on so much root beer and tacky clothes and babbling nonsense that the kids at the checkout lines and the devil lady woman and the strangers on the bus and my therapist don't know he's there.

I quit therapy. Don't ask me why I had to go, I won't tell you.

I'm tired of the world trying to package me, bleeding and pickled with perservatives, into something they deem permissable, normal, functioning. Like hamburger meat stuffed into flimsy plastic wrap.

Lady Person has a boyfriend. Why does this make me want to chew my thumbs?

(1999, New Years Eve went awry NO MORE POTATOES)

"Abe, buddy, I don't think you should quit, you're pretty unstable, you've almost hit a breakthrough..."

"I'm not your buddy, guy..."

(MULTIPLE PERSONALITY DISORDER WHAT'S THAT ALL ABOUT)

Where the hell is the oven cleaner.

Georgie

Some things in life cannot be taught. They can give advice, hand you crappy text books to study, give you boring videos to watch

(whoever they are)
but in the end, you'll never know until you step into the actual situation, the wilderness. Self Checkout Attending is one of these things. It should be featured on the Discovery Channel or something, it's probably more dramatic than watching truckers on icy roads or fisherman hauling in loads of crabs.

Sid

I caught crabs once.

Aw shit did I just think that aloud?

Georgie

You've probably seen these machines at your own grocery store. They have scanners, lcd screens with a special program for costumers, and a bagging area. In my town, they are slightly smaller, more prone to earn the 'out of order' badge, and have their own personalities. Mr. Reeves even had nicknames for them.

He stood by me on my first shift dealing with the things, leaning back slighty with his his veiny hands on his nonexsistent hips, proudly displaying a tie with palm trees on it, although it wasn't close to summertime and we were thousands of miles from anyplace with those trees. He pointed to each metal device:

"That one, near the candy stand...? That's Zoloft. He always just breaks down randomly, hardly ever wants to work most days... painfully slow." He muttered so the costumers couldn't hear, "Next to him is Pep, and she gets ahead of the costumers. Also, her volume is a little louder for some reason. Across from them we have Oops and Larry. Oops is never out of order, but has the most bugs in his system."

"What's wrong with Larry?"

"Nothing, I just like to call him Larry."

Larry, Oops, Pep, and Zoloft all have the same voice that instructs the patrons on how to purchase and bag their own groceries. It is the pleasant and overly-polite voice of a robot woman who is on the verge of getting pissed off but is still too nice for you to get mad at her in return. After a few hours of hearing her from four different directions within my skull, I soon learned that if I ever met this woman in person I would punch her out of pure, subconcious hatred.

Freud can stick that in his pipe and smoke it.

"Ma'am, this thingy won't scan."

I shuddered. I didn't like being called Ma'am. In my own eyes, I was still a kid. A kid who liked to watch cartoons and ate peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon when nobody was looking. I didn't do things "Ma'ams" did.

Still, I walked over, beaming cheerfully and asking the tall man what was wrong.

"I just told you. The thingy won't scan."

There are two basic types of costumers--heck, people--those who think they know everything, and those who know they really don't know anything. I don't know which is better or worse.

The "thingy" was a pear. Fruits and vegetables didn't scan. I'm not certain why, even today, but I think partly it was to keep cashiers busy. You see, we substituted for a code system. Soon potatoes become 'pass the 3210s' and bananas turn to 'don't slip on that 4011!' For self checkout, we had a handy produce lookup menu that didn't work very well.
You could get to it by pressing a big bright button surrounded by clip art of bananas on the screen labeled PRODUCE. People didn't see it. Maybe it wasn't big enough. When you finally got past the ominous button, the fruit/veggies were listed in alphabetical order, even had a picture of each thing you wanted to buy in case you couldn't read.

"We had to add pictures in, because ... I won't say names... this certain person got annoying one day and said he suddenly had dyslexia. He held up Larry for thirty minutes, no joke." Demeter told me later.

Sometimes the list wasn't accurate. The pictures weren't very pretty. A sweet potato looks like a fat man's finger and Bok Choy looks more like an alien probe that's been ...places. Just saying.

I simply guided the costumer to the button labeled "pear" and pressed it. He didn't say thanks or even look at me as he left and it grated my nerves a bit. I rubbed my neck. Couple of hours here, I was babysitting strangers with higher IQs, and robots with personality disorders (though Larry seemed nice enough). It still hurt.

"Hey! Hey look! I found it!"

I looked up and smirked slightly. He held up the can of oven cleaner like a trophy. The other four costumers turned slightly from their solitude, shaking their heads and rolling eyes in sync. They knew about him too. He didn't seem to notice their gestures of pity and disapproval, which they shared only with their shoes, looking down at the ground. He just stared up at the lights thoughtfully. For some reason, that fact made my smirk evolve into a smile.

He pranced up to an open machine, the one the rude guy with the pear finished using. I got a bit concerned and perked up, wondering what shenanigans he would put me though today.

I screwed my eyes shut tight before he started, taking a deep breath.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I opened them. Nothing. He was... normal. Whistling, ringing up his cleaner, tape, and ice cream and popcorn butter. One potato, always just one. He even used the PRODUCE lookup smoothly. I watched, waiting for him to do something or throw something to the floor or call for help.

He didn't.

This was bad. Something was seriously wrong. I had to do something. I couldn't alert the other customers that I was being nosy so I asked a typical cashier question.

I cleared my throat, "That all for you today, sir?"

He hummed lightheartedly, "No, I'm hiding the other half in the store somewhere and you have to go find it. Maybe it's in my butt."

Ew.
Okay, stupid thing to say on my part. I sighed, turning around.

"Hey! Hey hey hey." Abe rushed, snapping his fingers.

I turned. Finally, something. I was beginning to get a bit worried.

No, he was finished, holding his receipt. He'd rolled it up and attached some of the tape to it.

He slapped it onto my forehead before my mind registered that this was a rather strange thing to do, and walked out.

I crossed my eyes, took it off, absentmindedly touched that pimple as I read it.

YOU ARE OUT OF PRINTER PAPER. YOU FIX THAT, I'LL FIX YOU. PEPPERCORN PIRATE WHIMSICALS.
nice to meet ya. :)

"Hello." Demeter suddenly walked by, snatching the message from my hand, "Goodbye."

"Go on lunch." She added. And on cue, Tammy switched places with me.

I obeyed.

Riley

"No man, I'm telling you, he's got connections! I seen him talking to really shady people in the parking lot. Everytime I ask Joseph, he shakes his head. He's hiding something. He's probably got all sort of murder weapons in his car and at night he uses the extra cash to buy more doughnuts."

Sid is worse than most girls sometimes. When he gets bored he likes to make up stories about people and share. Some people call that rumors I think.

"Okay." I said.

"Okay? Okay? You're all blind."

Tim, the master of conspiracy theories, even shrugged next to me. His face was always grim and serious, like he was some form of a detective. He dressed like one, it wouldn't surprise me if he became one.

Kim looks up slightly from her head-down-leave-me-the-hell-alone position:

"Shut up. He's just a weasel with weasel friends. The end."

This surprised all of us boys from our small table, and we turned and there were a few moments of silence.

Then Sid, impulsively hot-headed,

"Shouldn't you be working? Aren't there like three people out there? And are you bleeding out of your freaking--"

"Hey guys! Whew." Georgie shut the impersonal heavy metal door of the breakroom and trudged over to settle next to Kim.

"Ey ey there's my best buddy in the whole world, George!"

"Georgie."

"Right riiight. So..."

She bit into her sandwich and Tim interrupted, "I am infering that you are being so cordial to Georgie merely because she took a ride in Mr. Guy's vehicle?"

"You stuff your mouth, okay? "Infer." Big fancy words and such and such."

"Calm down, I'll get to it." Georgie said.

Sid tapped his foot impatiently as she took another bite. She was a funny eater, she always dropped bits of lettuce everywhere and crumbs on her purple uniform. Not that it mattered much. She gulped some soda, then paused.

"Well?"

"Well what."

"What happened?" Sid threw his hands up, very frustrated.

"Oh. Well... I broke my bike running into some stupid cat. Got bent up in the tracks or something. So I started to walk and he happened to be driving by so I took the ride he offered."

"Did you die?"

"Yes. Funeral's tomorrow. Lil Wayne's delivering my eulogy. Seriously, are you a girl?"

Sid ignored the insult, "What was his driving like?"

"He drives like a driver."

"Oh come on, quit playing games I wanna know. Right Riley?"

I shrugged, pointed to him to make a point.
"He wants to know."

Georgie sighed, defeated. Then, she spun a tale. She was good at that, we'd learn. Too good, because pretty soon her words brought me leaning in, right next to Sid. She got really animated as she progressed, her voice was pleasant and loud and she gestured amusingly. From the time she climbed into the vehicle to the time she got landed on self checkout became some grand adventure. It even got Tim to laugh (which he hardly does), and Kim picked up her head near the end, especially when Demeter came into the picture.

We all chuckled hopefully when she told us Crazy Guy used self checkout. Kim and Tim had plenty of stories to tell about that subject. He avoided Tammy, though, because she'd just glare at him and he'd turn away, whistling a song or something. Tammy was very talented at glaring, even better than Demeter. With Demeter's glaring, he was encouraged.

But instead of going on with more antics, she paused, slowed:

"..And... well, he was... normal. I mean like, as normal as he could be. Oh! He did leave a note though."

"What'd it say?" Sid urged.

"Told me I was out of printer paper. He said something about fixing me..." She shook her head, "Pepper pirates.... And then, 'nice to meet you'. "

We all looked at each other strangely.

"That's not all. He even told me his real name."

Gasps. Kim was checking her lipstick in a mirror she had, fully alert.

"What is it."

This statement was not given by any one of us. It was Demeter, standing like a phantom in the doorway. Georgie jumped in the skittish way a cat does when somebody shines a lazer pointer on the wall.

"Uhm."

Kim cocked her head in interest.

"It's Abraham."

Sid laughed loudly beside me, punching me in the back. I did too. Really put his whole Lincoln comment up to a new level.

At the time it was funny.

"Shut up. Laughter gives me headaches." Demeter frowned slightly, then smirked, then disappeared swiftly and without noise, just like she'd come.

"Hey lady you know what cures headaches?" Sid shouted from his cruddy metal chair.

But the door was already shut. Long gone buddy. No chance at a good comeback today, however perverted it would be.

This apparently set Kim off, because she jumped suddenly.

"That's it!"

"Huh."

"They're in love!"

We all paused over this idea, then the laughing started again, louder now. I grabbed Sid and we shook each other.

"No, no, don't you get it you idiots?" Kim yelled over our tears, "Forget about the mobsters or the ghost in the bathroom or the freaking chick you saw earlier with her thong hanging out! This is about unrequited love!"

"What girl with a--" Georgie began, obviously puzzled. She looked cute. I just thought I'd throw that out there. I smiled slightly.

"Ah, ah, ah," Sid interjected, "Leave your hollywood soaps out of this Kimmy, I know for a fact that those two would never ever for never ever ever be together.

Ever." He added finally, with a definitive nod.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah! Have you ever actually... She's a preying Mantis! ...She'll eat his fuckin' head!"

I snickered. He stepped on my foot, but laughed with me.

"Secret notes? Frequent visits? He's acting. She's playing." Kim insisted.

The tension between the two was hostile, but all the while Georgie and I sat. Georgie looked like she was thinking very hard about something, her nose scrunched oddly. I toyed with my facial hair, because that's what cool guys usually do.

"She doesn't play, gives her headaches." Sid countered.

"Guys, guys," Georgie said clearly, "We should consult a professional."

"Oh yeah, like a shrink or a love counseler or something's gonna talk to us..."

"My best friend's a psych major. She loves talking this kind of thing."

"Oh. right. She studies psychos."

"Seriously! Can.. can someone drive all of us downtown after work?"

"Hell yeah." Sid threw his fist proudly into the air, like some revolutionary on horseback. Tim shifted nervously, not wanting to be dragged into any plots, obviously.

"Then find me after my shift's over... in two goddamn hours, and we'll humor this."