What Kind of Person Are You?
Zachary Efron
What kind of person are you?
(That's the only question.)
"I've gone by Zac since I was a kid. For as far back as I can remember. I've never really liked Zachary, anyway. Too many fuckin' syllables."
"And you just spell it Z-A-C?"
"Yeah. It looks cleaner, like it's been cut with a razor. Swick." He slices his hand diagonally through the air.
I half-nod, like I get it, and I ask him about what he's here for.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he leans back in the chair, eyes flicking up to the corner of the room as he thinks. He thinks, and I wait. I'm used to waiting, honestly. I remember reading this article about this person on Who Wants to be a Millionaire? taking forty-five minutes to answer one question.
Finally, Zac's eyes flick back to me, and he answers. "I took a year off after high school so I could work and save more money for college. When I did move out, I found this studio apartment down in L.A. that wasn't too far from the UC of, which was pretty convenient since I'd sold my car to pay for my books."
He cracks a smile; it looks good on him. "So the day after I move in, I have to go to the grocery store so I won't starve to death or something.
"Before I moved out, I never really did my own grocery shopping because there was no reason for me to. So hitting up this supermarket was a bit of an experience.
"I've always liked the produce section for some reason. I think it has something to do with all the bright colors, and the life, and how neatly they stack everything. When I was a kid, I'd wonder which piece of fruit, or which vegetable, I'd have to remove from the stack to cause it all to come tumbling down. Like a game of Jenga."
He shifts in his seat, places his elbows on his knees. "The avocados were on sale, and I love avocados. So I put three in a bag, added it to my cart, and I was set.
"I get up to the register, and the man's ringing everything up. And I'm watching the screen to make sure everything's the price I thought so I don't overspend.
"So I'm watching, and he gets to my bag of avocados, enters them in. And..." His teeth press gently into his lower lip. "He puts in that there're two of them. It surprised me, but I didn't say anything. After all, what's sixty-three cents?"
His frown's almost imperceptible, and his shoulders jut up in a shrug. "I guess that's what kind of person I am."
(That's the only question.)
"I've gone by Zac since I was a kid. For as far back as I can remember. I've never really liked Zachary, anyway. Too many fuckin' syllables."
"And you just spell it Z-A-C?"
"Yeah. It looks cleaner, like it's been cut with a razor. Swick." He slices his hand diagonally through the air.
I half-nod, like I get it, and I ask him about what he's here for.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he leans back in the chair, eyes flicking up to the corner of the room as he thinks. He thinks, and I wait. I'm used to waiting, honestly. I remember reading this article about this person on Who Wants to be a Millionaire? taking forty-five minutes to answer one question.
Finally, Zac's eyes flick back to me, and he answers. "I took a year off after high school so I could work and save more money for college. When I did move out, I found this studio apartment down in L.A. that wasn't too far from the UC of, which was pretty convenient since I'd sold my car to pay for my books."
He cracks a smile; it looks good on him. "So the day after I move in, I have to go to the grocery store so I won't starve to death or something.
"Before I moved out, I never really did my own grocery shopping because there was no reason for me to. So hitting up this supermarket was a bit of an experience.
"I've always liked the produce section for some reason. I think it has something to do with all the bright colors, and the life, and how neatly they stack everything. When I was a kid, I'd wonder which piece of fruit, or which vegetable, I'd have to remove from the stack to cause it all to come tumbling down. Like a game of Jenga."
He shifts in his seat, places his elbows on his knees. "The avocados were on sale, and I love avocados. So I put three in a bag, added it to my cart, and I was set.
"I get up to the register, and the man's ringing everything up. And I'm watching the screen to make sure everything's the price I thought so I don't overspend.
"So I'm watching, and he gets to my bag of avocados, enters them in. And..." His teeth press gently into his lower lip. "He puts in that there're two of them. It surprised me, but I didn't say anything. After all, what's sixty-three cents?"
His frown's almost imperceptible, and his shoulders jut up in a shrug. "I guess that's what kind of person I am."