Jerry A. Kuznik – 10/15/92

I had a job in a convenience store. It was a nothing job, really, and I only intended to keep it long enough until I could find something better. I used to sell electronics until the store I worked at closed and the owners left town. I considered myself a ‘high tech’ guy, having by now incorporated acronyms and computerese into my vocabulary. I took some computer classes at the local community college, which gave me the right. I bought the books and read the manuals. I hung around in the lab when I wasn’t at work. I was on my way to bigger things.

As I was saying, I didn’t intend to keep this job very long, and I reminded myself of this every time I strapped on that stupid apron and walked behind the counter. After about four months, though, something strange was happening. I was getting pretty good at what I was doing, and before I knew it, I no longer minded showing up for work. I even got used to the cameras above the counter. It wasn’t like I was hiding anything. I stopped looking in the classifieds each day and began asking for more responsibilities.

I was also becoming quite friendly with Celia, the assistant manager. Celia, it turned out, was quite a looker. A little heavy set and a bit moody at times, but her smile was easy, and her brown eyes shone with a flirtatious glow. My body would do strange things when she turned them on me. Anyway, she knew my situation and respected where I was coming from. We felt as though we could say anything to each other and that it wouldn’t get any further than that. She was also glad to have someone on nights that worked out for a change. The guy that I replaced lasted about two months before hurting his back. The guy before him left after the place got held up.  I was fortunate in that regard. I had a cooler door busted out for not selling beer after two, but that was pretty much the extent of it. I resolved that by putting a sign on the door at one-forty-five and telling everyone that if they hurried, they could still make it to PJ’s liquor down the street. Most people thanked me. Others flipped me off, but who cares? I was following store policy while saving my ass in the process. Celia liked the fact that she could trust me. As I said, she knew my situation, and unlike so many yahoos that came to work here, I didn’t have designs on her job. She wasn’t the ambitious sort, either, having been an assistant for nearly six years.

I was working one Sunday morning as the early morning coffee crowd started trickling in. I really enjoyed Sunday mornings. They were like a reward for Saturday night’s craziness. As the day became brighter, more cars appeared on the street outside the window. Now and then, a set of headlights burst through the window, and a car would stop outside the door. It was a different crowd that showed up on Sundays. Tomorrow I’d have to contend with throngs of coffee-swilling construction workers filling their thermos bottles, grabbing a doughnut, and shouting: “Marlboro reds” over the counter while tossing a twenty-dollar bill in my direction. Every so often, I’d need to go to the safe and get change, which made them even more impatient, but Sunday morning was different. I could do this every day, I thought. I pushed a cigarette between my lips, lit it, and took in a long drag, then set it in the ashtray next to my cash register. I watched as the smoke drifted through the space above the counter.

It was about ten minutes past seven, and Celia wasn’t here yet. I gave the counter one final going over with a wet rag, then drummed on the flat surfaces around my register when the bell rang above the door.

“Morning, Celia,” I said.

“Morning, Jimmy,” she replied as she moved past me, tying her apron strings.

She stopped behind the counter, removed a brush from her purse, and began stroking her damp brown hair.

“So how’d it go last night?” She said as she fluffed her hair around her shoulders, each brown lock beginning to shine.

“Fine, “I tell her, “nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Good,” she says as she pulls a cigarette from her purse and takes a long drag, leaving a bright pink stain on the filter.

“Well, actually,” I said, trying to continue the conversation. “I sold my first pack of L&Ms.”

I turned towards Celia as her bright pink lips curved into a smile. She craned her neck and let out a plume of smoke in the direction of the door. I watched it dissolve in the blades of the fan.

“You’re going to have company tonight”. Celia tells me as I started counting out the register.

“Company?” I asked, turning to meet her eyes.

“Ned is going to be working with you tonight. He’ll be working nights on the days that you’re off. Lance gave his two weeks yesterday, and Ned is taking his place.”

“Ned.” I thought for a second, “The new guy, right? Kind of looks like Elmer Fudd?”

“That would be Ned.” She nodded, trying to suppress a smile. “I want you to show him the ropes so he’ll do everything as well as you.”

“You can count on me,” I tell her, my voice resonating with convenience store patriotism.

“I knew I could.” She said as she brought her hand up to my shoulder and gave it a little squeeze.

She was standing so close that I could smell her hair. I handed her the tape from my register as she reached into her purse for another smoke.

“Make sure you remind him to use the cigarette key tonight, OK? Yesterday, Jimmy on swing forgot, and I had to go through his entire tape. “

“Jimmy P?” I inquired.

“Jimmy pea-brain!” She twisted her lips in a mocking smile as we both started to laugh. It was funny now, but I could tell she was really pissed at the time. Celia wasn’t the type who easily let go of things.

“See you tomorrow,” I told her as I took off my apron and walked to the other side of the counter.

“Good luck tonight, “she said, turning to wait on a customer.

The bell rang as I pushed open the door. The street lights had gone out, and the autumn sun cast long shadows on the parking lot. I looked back towards the counter, then drove off.

I was running a little late when I came back that evening. The clock on the wall read 11:05 as I hurried through the door. Ned stood behind the counter talking to the other Jimmy. He looked at his watch and then at me.

“Yeah, I know,” I said in a defensive tone. “Sorry, Jimmy, I continued, ignoring Ned almost entirely.

“That’s all right, man.” He replied as he pulled the drawer from his register and began counting the money, “happens to all of us.”

After a few minutes of silence, Ned spoke up. “So are Sunday nights very busy?”

“Not really,” I replied. “Hey, later, Jimmy.”

“Good luck, man.” He waved to me as he walked out the door.

I turned back towards Ned.

“Sunday nights are actually quite dead. Everyone’s at home with their family. Everyone except for us.”

He looked at me for a second, then asked in an eager tone. “So what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you make sure we have enough beer in the cooler? I’ll stay here and wait on customers.”

“All right then, I’ll go fill the cooler.” He said. “I’ll make sure the dairy is stocked while I’m at it.”

“Yeah, great idea,” I tell him.

What a goofball. I bet he doesn’t even turn off the fan the whole time he’s in there, might take a few minutes off the shelf life of the cottage cheese.

It was a slow night. Slow even by Sunday’s standards. I did a hundred and twenty-three in the first hour, and there hadn’t been a customer in ten minutes. I poured myself a cup of coffee and lit a smoke. I leaned up against the sink in the back of the counter, sipping my coffee and blowing rings over the beef jerky. I looked over at the clock and began to think about what I would say to Debbie when she came in tonight. Debbie worked nights as a waitress, and each day after she got off, she’d stop by for a pack of Benson & Hedges Lights and a liter of pale red Chablis in a dark green bottle. She’d be dressed in her waitress uniform: a short black skirt and a snug white blouse that framed her body with a certain grace. I let myself believe that she had a thing for me. After all, she told me where she worked and where she lived. I even knew the name of her daughter and ex-husband for Pete’s sake. I was beginning to carry on the conversation in my head when suddenly, the cooler door burst open.

“All done, chief, “Ned shouted over at me. His face was red as a baboon’s butt.

I forgot all about him in there.

“Thanks, Ned, “I said curtly. “You were sure in there a long time; it must be really stocked.”

“You know it. I crammed every shelf! You wouldn’t believe how empty it was. It’s like the stock boys never even heard of putting dairy away.” He began shaking his head and walking over to the counter.

“Hey, Ned, do you know where we keep the cigarette cartons?”

“They’re in the storage room. The shelf above the cups. Why?”

“Well, here’s a list of what we need. You wanna go back and get them for me?”

“Can I work the register?” His voice almost pleading.

I thought for a second. Debbie would be here soon, and I didn’t want her to see this doofus and think I quit or something.

“All right, but later. You can work the register while I sweep the parking lot. I don’t think I need to explain that to you. You can do it then.” I promised.

It was almost one thirty and no sign of Debbie. Every now and then, a few stragglers would come in. One guy ordered a plate of cheese nachos. I had to stop and make the damn things for him while some other guy was waiting impatiently behind him, a twelve-pack in each hand. I should have called Ned and had him make this guy’s stupid nachos.

“Here you go. “ I said, handing him the plate.

“Could you put some chili on that?” the guy said.

The man standing behind him let out a sigh and looked up at the ceiling. I’d like to put more than chili on his chips, I thought as I gave three quick pumps of the dispenser. Darn cameras.

I waited on a few more customers as Ned set the cigarette cartons down on the floor beside me.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I was working during the day with Steve, and this Mexican guy came in and asked him for a pack of Marlboros?”

Ned shook his head.

“Well, Steve’s working at the second register, and this Mexican guy walks up and goes, “un Marlboro, un Marlboro.” Steve just looks at him, shrugs, and says: ‘I haven’t seen your burro.’ This poor guy. He goes to Steve:  ‘No, mi amigo; un Marlboro!’  Steve tells him: ‘Look, man, I haven’t seen your burro, all right?’ He walks out the door, talking to himself in Spanish, throwing his hands in the air. Poor guy.”

“Did you correct him?”

“Man, I was too busy laughing.”

Ned looked at me and said nothing. Serves me right for talking to this geek in the first place. We’ll see how ‘gung ho’ he is a few months from now.

It was about fifteen minutes before two, and I went over to the door with my sign, careful not to let Ned get a look. His ‘by the book’ butt will just have to learn the hard way like I did. I locked the cooler doors and started thinking about Debbie. It was strange that she hadn’t come in. I went back over to the register and lit a cigarette.

“So how long have you been smoking?” Ned asked as he continued stocking shelves.

“About five years, I guess. Why?”

“Well, I don’t smoke myself, but I know everyone’s brand that works here. Celia told me that she knows which brand all of her customers smoke. She’ll even carry a brand if one customer buys a single pack in their lifetime.”

“We certainly have a lot of different brands,” I say, starting to become interested in the conversation.

“Last night, I sold my first pack of L&Ms. There’s even this guy that comes in every so often and buys two packs of Chesterfields; nothing else, mind you, just this ignorant brand that less than one percent of the planet’s smoking population has ever heard of.”

“I don’t get it.” He says. A cigarette’s a cigarette, right? I mean, how much different can they be?”

I crushed mine out into the ashtray and began to break down the empty cartons around him on the floor.

“There’s lots of reasons people smoke different brands,” I say, glancing at Ned. “Hans on swing smokes Larks because of the Falcon and the Snowman. I smoke Lucky’s because my dad used to.”

“So it isn’t about the taste or anything?”

“Nah, they all taste more or less like shit. Besides, it fucks up your breathing. I smoke because it relaxes me.”

I glance over at the clock.

“Looks like it’s far enough past two that we don’t have to worry about any drunks stumbling through the door trying to buy beer and threatening our lives. I’m going to sweep out the parking lot. You can work the register.”

I went to the stock room to get the broom and dust pan, lit a smoke, and walked outside. The autumn air was cool and bracing. The breeze tugged at the ends of my apron. There really wasn’t much to sweep. A candy wrapper here and there, a beer bottle or two, a few corn chips – damn guy with his nachos – but nothing major. Sunday nights were, after all, usually quite dead. I stared at the back of the building, stopping to watch the half-moon climb above the produce market next door and turn the black asphalt silver. Now and then, a small cluster of cars gathered at the corner as the streetlight changed to red. A few turned into the parking lot. I took my time and let Ned deal with the customers. I thought about Debbie for a while, then about Celia. I decided that if I had to ask one of them out, it would probably be Debbie. That was the safer choice. I finished my sweeping, then leaned back against the side of the building and had another cigarette. Smoke dissolved in the black autumn sky. Stars twinkled like icy nails above me.

Ned stood behind the register and began to drag a damp cloth over the counter as I walked through the door. I went back to the storage room to get a mop and bucket when Ned interrupted.

“I’ll do that for you, chief.”

“If you insist,” I answered. “And please, it’s Jimmy. I’m not your boss.”

“You’d make a good one, though I bet.”

“I’m not so sure. I think that you’re better suited for it than I am.”

“Thanks.” He said, grinning broadly.

He went over to the sink and began filling the bucket with water.

I was setting out the condiments and wiping down the coffee machines when the bell rang, and the door opened slowly. A bent and bearded figure began moving towards the counter. As he grew closer, I could see these gnarled yellow hands extending from his hunched-over frame. Strands of matted white hair framed decaying rows of rotted-out teeth. He steadied himself against the counter, shaking as he spoke.

“Pack of Pell Mell red.”

“You mean Pall Mall?” I ask, slightly confused.

“Yeah, in the red package.” He stuttered and cleared his throat. “You know I used to smoke Mar-beels for the longest time, but I can’t smoke those damn cowboy killers no more.” He coughed loudly and began to laugh.

“I know what you mean, “I said, stooping behind the counter, looking for his cigarettes. “I used to take two sugars in my coffee, now I’m down to one.”

There was no sign of his brand anywhere, and I didn’t want to stand here talking to this old guy when he coughed up one of his lungs onto the counter.

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t seem to find them.”

“Well, the pretty young lady who works during the day has no problem finding them for me.”

“We must be out right now”. I tell him as his expression saddens. “I’m sure we’ll have them in later this week.”

My voice trailed off suddenly as Ned emerged from somewhere behind me with a pack of the old man’s smokes.

“Where did you find them? I’ve been looking. Never mind. Thanks!”

The old man paid for his cigarettes with two crumpled bills. I set his change and a book of matches on the counter before him, careful not to touch his gnarled, yellow fingers. He took the money and moved slowly towards the door.

“Say hi to Celia for me.” He added. His voice cracked as he went.

He walked out of the store and got into a small brown sedan. After a few tries, he started the engine and drove off.

“Where did you find those cigarettes?” I asked Ned.

“In the back room. There were five packs of them on the shelf above the bottles.”

“What a coincidence you found them there.”

“Coincidence?” Ned looked at me with a raised eyebrow, then handed me a copy of the cigarette inventory.

“Hey, it says that brand was discontinued.”

“The same reason we ran out of Benson Hedges Lights earlier, I guess.” Ned shook his head.

I looked at the paper again and thought for a second. Debbie! Shit! No wonder.

Ned mopped the floor, and I got the coffee going as the calm of Sunday night turned into the Monday morning rush. While I was waiting on customers, I kept thinking about this old man, his rotten teeth, gnarled yellow fingers, and the cigarette inventory. Things will get straightened out. It’s probably a mistake.

It was about quarter past seven when Celia finally came in. I gave her a nod and a quick hello, then continued waiting on customers while Ned made fresh pots of coffee. We waited until the crowd thinned out, then started counting the money and talking shop.

“So how did it go last night, Jimmy?” Celia asked as she moved close beside me.

“Fine,” I said.

“And Ned?”

“He did great. He’s going to work out alright.”

“I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” She smiled at me with her big brown eyes, then turned to wait on a customer.

“One twenty-five, thank you, “she says.

I let Ned run the tapes and do the paperwork as I talked to Celia.

“You know the strangest thing happened.”

“I thought you said everything went fine?” Celia asked, a bit confused.

“Well, yeah, it did. Last night was really smooth. You can trust me on that.”

“Of course, I trust you,” Celia said, moving her hand back and forth on my shoulder in reassuring strokes.

“What I meant was, “I looked down at the counter and cleared the lump in my throat. “There was this old man who came in around four and asked for some cigarettes that we didn’t have. He was a real old man with rotted-out teeth and these gross, yellow fingers. It gave me the creeps.”

“Then what happened?” Celia asked, withdrawing her hand from my shoulder.

“Well, this guy was really old.” I nodded over to Ned, my voice rising with assurance. “Somewhere between seventy-five and death, and he asked for these stupid Pall Mall cigarettes that I looked for everywhere while he was busy hacking up phlegm.”

“Bet he was drunk as well.” Ned broke in.

“Probably was,” I began laughing uncontrollably. Stinking drunk. Three sheets to the wind!”

Ned and I stood there laughing. This poor old guy. His cigarettes. This job. Everything hit me at once, but Celia’s face stood motionless as if paralyzed. She brought her teeth down hard on her lower lip.

“I was about ready to give up, “I continued in a quieter tone. “Then Ned found a pack of this old guy’s smokes.”

“Where did you find them?” Celia looked straight at Ned, her brown eyes leaden and cold.

“In the back room, “Ned stopped laughing as his voice broke into a stutter. “On the shelf above the bottles.”

“That shelf is for dated merchandise.” She responded firmly, bringing the palms of her hands down on the counter.

“How do you like that? “ I shrugged, trying to ease the tension. “This old guy comes in with one foot in the grave and another on a banana peel, and what do we do? We sell the poor old bastard stale Pall Malls!”

 “You are never to remove anything from that shelf again. Celia glared over at Ned and then at me. “You tell them politely that we are all out and that’s the end of it. You guys hear me all right?”

“Right,” I nodded. “Right as rain.”

Things were never the same between Celia and me. I tried to humor the situation for a while by putting “toxic waste” stickers on the hot dog bins, but eventually I just gave up. Ned worked another month, then found something better. Soon after that, they hired some guy named Jeff to work nights, and I ended up on swing. I lasted about two months after that. I haven’t been back to the store ever since.

I did find a good job at a computer company and finally gave up smoking. I can’t remember to the day, but I was walking to my car after working late one night. It had to be in April because there was this song on the radio they used to play around then. The damp air settled on the pavement, and the parking lot smelled like spring. I remember, though, that I was still freezing, the cold, damp chill spreading through my body as I stood there shivering. I took one last long pull and let it fall to the ground, flaming ashes scattering at my feet. I emptied my lungs into the sky as the stars turned into sand.