The Mock Dock

Once again, I found myself incredibly uncomfortable at a local gas station/ convenience store last night. 

As I trudged home from my hard day of street-corner proselitizing, I found myself counting the change in my cap, hoping that I could tally enough to swing in to my favorite convenience store (once again, I shan’t offer the name, but the total…18) for an ice cool refreshing beverage.  As I entered the store, this is what I saw and heard…

Arlen, the loyal clerk who day after day has sold me my soda and my energy pill, was being evaluated by his boss, Thad. 

Now, allow me to paint a dichotomous picture of these two.  Thad and Arlen, as different as they are were friends, went to school together, played soccer together and even used to take time to hang out at the park and scope out the college girls that burned herb by the merry-go-round.  But after high school, Thad decided to begin a career path within the aforementioned organization.  As he became Assistant Night Manager (ANM), he quickly hired Arlen.  

Well, that brings us to the travesty of last night.  As Thad championed Arlen extoling his expertise he has shown in properly stowing Wing-Dings and Wonky bars on the shelves, keeping the expiration dates on the Lunchables from expiring in the fridge, cleaning the public microwaves after countless frozen burritos are heated and consumed, and effectively creating an environment that makes customers want to shop in a store that still has one gray hot dog tirelessly rotating on the spindles from the River Styx, said one simple statement that made my awesomely developed calf muscles flex, tighten like the iron girders high above the urban jungles.

“You need to re-brand yourself, Arlen.”  Thad said.  “You need to make the SM and his bosses see your value, think of you as a leader in this store, rather than the plain old trash that we, I mean they, think you are now.”

In that instance, my heart dropped.  I could feel the ire inside of Arlen rise to levels unknown and his heart turn over like the great Poseidon.  At that moment, Arlen threw off his orange schmock, breaking the neatly-engraved nametag and headed for the door.  All I could hear was a truly hurt Arlen muttering, “sell-out,” “backstabber,” and “fool.”

As I stood with my 44-ounce Mountain Dew, Red Pop, Cherry Coke, Sprite mix, I knew there would be no awkward dance…Arlen was going to run in to me.  As we collided, my drink poured back over my formal street-preaching shirt and brought a shiver to my soul, not to mention some incredibly sugary, erect nipples to my chest.

I could feel Arlen’s pain, as his friend just debased him, asking him to become something he is not and never will be.  My great mind ran through all of the comfortable rebellion that I could offer.

I uttered, “I was looking forward to a fountain drink.”

And with those words, I knew that Arlen would go on to greatness and Thad would go on to mopping up my “Suicide Slammer.”  I refilled and left. 

All in all…a good day.

Absurdly yours,

Holmes