The Customer is Always Right: chapter 3

[East Coast Hustle]

Friday afternoon, 1500 hours.

Graduation Weekend.

the calm before the storm.

me behind the counter, this girl I'm hanging out with leaning over the counter showing me some impressive cleavage, telling me about the cocktail party she wants to take me to tonight.

As I watched the dark clouds race across the horizon, the hippie walked in the door.

The girl is telling me that she wants to go in the cooler with me and smoke this half a joint she's got in her purse.

"Chill for a second, baby...I gotta deal with the custies first."

hippie comes to the counter. he's got a bottle of water, 2 granola bars, and a starbucks frappucino. I start ringing up his purchase.

"that'll be $3.23. you want a little bag for that stuff?"

"no, thanks, I'm all set."

as he starts to pull out his American Express card, the gunmetal sky begins to spit hard pebbles of rain on the canvas awning that hangs over the front of the building.

it is an appropriately ominous sound.

"Oh, geez...I'm sorry, sir, but we have a five dollar minimum for credit card purchases....and we don't take American Express."

he gives me a look like no other hippie ever has.

"well FUCK you then! have fun putting this stuff back on the shelf you fucking faggot!"

THWACK!!!

the sound of a glass bottle with 12 ounces of starbucks mocha frappucino in it connecting with my skull, just above my left eye.

"holy shit! he just hit you! you just fucking HIT him, you fucking psycho! what the fuck is wrong with you?"

she's a cool girl. not afraid to jump into shit when shit needs jumping into.

I pretend to sit there stunned for a second as I reach for the billyclub under the counter. the hippie realizes the enormity of his mistake just as I begin to bring my right arm around, drawing an arc between the club and his jaw.

he's wiry. quick. he leans back and my blow goes whistling harmlessly by.

I lunge across the counter, trying to see clearly through the sticky blood that's trying to glue my left eye shut. he runs, I follow.

he's wiry.

quick.

he gets to his truck and in the cab before I can get to him, but he can't get it started and out of the parking lot before I take out every light on the rear end and smash up every body panel on the passenger side. miraculously, not a single person has witnessed any of this other than the three of us. I go back inside, blood boiling, eye throbbing, head pounding.

she cleans my face up and we have sex in the back room, then smoke a joint.

my head feels better.

for a while.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[agent compassion]

Dude, I hope you proposed to her!

[East Coast Hustle]

can't.

she's already married.

[East Coast Hustle]

bumped for Badger.

[BADGE OF HONOR]

I love random violence!


Also to note:  sleeping great in real bed has affected me to the point where I feel positively benevolent and say I love things! a lot.  It's great to be alive!

[Jenne]

I've not seen much of your writing, ECH.  This was great!

[East Coast Hustle]

[East Coast Hustle]

bump for Nigel and Suu, and to remind myself to write some more for this series.

[E.O.T.]

ALRIGHT THEN

           sex in a cooler

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Nice ECH!

Definitely write more of these.