"customer service" - a short short
The man at the desk had a patch over his right eye. It was a sloppy white construction of scotch tape and gauze, and it glared hard at me from behind his thick eye-glasses. He’d asked for a roadmap of Memphis--"first time here"--and I’d pointed towards the rack with two fingers, glancing up from my magazine and feeling my gaze catch on his eye. He’d turned away and limped heavily over to the roadmaps across the aisle, a gigantic man with gigantic flaws. Soon, he was back in front of me, his two huge hands on the counter, opening and closing his wet, pink mouth.
He’d been married four times--just recently divorced--he said, and then he disclosed to me with a sudden, conspiratorial hunch and an ugly smirk that he was "pow’rf’ly" attracted to women in jumpsuits. Each of his wives had gotten one for Christmas. As he straightened back up, he congratulated me on keeping a clean store and then gave me a concise history of his Saturday, spent on hands and knees inside a room at the Holiday Inn, scraping away at the corners of the shower stall with a pocket knife. "Can’t stand dirt," he said.
The man (I never got a name, didn’t want one) was in Memphis looking for his daughter...it’d been years. It was his fault. Everything was his fault. His last wife had left him months ago, and ever since, he’d been experiencing black outs. One afternoon, he’d woken up on the ground beside his car, missing an eye. He muttered, "Just like that," and snapped his fingers at me. I frowned in spite of myself. He was repulsive to look at, and I tried my best to listen to his admittedly fascinating autobiography with an averted gaze. Eventually, he asked me about Bible concordances, one in particular which he’d heard was the best. "I’m a ‘born-again’," he claimed, beaming at me and showing me his gums. "Sorry," I told him without checking, "we don’t have it." I wanted him to stay and talk; this was priceless material. When he finally walked away, I’d whip out my notebook and write down everything: I went over it all in my head while he spoke about his new girlfriend ("She’s dark, y'know, and my folks in Alabama--"). Let’s see, there was the patch--brilliant--the limp, the gums, the jumpsuits--God, what a riot--the knife in the shower...I’ll be damned, I thought, sometimes this job really does pay.
He left after 34 minutes, and I immediately began scribbling. Then I called all my co-workers over to tell them the story. Kris, who was the cashier on duty that night, later told me that the man bought a road map of Little Rock and a Bible concordance. I pursed my lips, but didn’t ask him which one.
Ahahahahaha
Brilliant! I love how you use such concise brushstrokes to convey details and mood. Have I told you lately that I envy your mastery of prose? I do.
Some gems:
"...and then he disclosed to me with a sudden, conspiratorial hunch and an ugly smirk that he was "pow’rf’ly" attracted to women in jumpsuits."
I don't know if it's the "conspiratorial hunch" bit or the amusement of your description of his smirk, but this is hilarious.
"One afternoon, he’d woken up on the ground beside his car, missing an eye. He muttered, "Just like that," and snapped his fingers at me. I frowned in spite of myself. He was repulsive to look at, and I tried my best to listen to his admittedly fascinating autobiography with an averted gaze."
Have you ever seen the movie "Barfly," starring Mickey Rourke and Faye Dunaway? That almost sounds like something that would happen in the movie-- waking up to discover you've no longer got binocular vision. "Just like that," and snapped his fingers at me ... so rich! And I love disparagement of characters-- "He was repulsive to look at..." Hehehehehe
Great stuff, Davy. I'm sure you're the star student in your class. If not, then the other person better be some damn gifted prodigy.
I don't know if it's the "conspiratorial hunch" bit or the amusement of your description of his smirk, but this is hilarious.
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