Last Minute Tricks and Treats

November 1, 2010 at 12:44 pm (Cussed Dumbers)

When Halloween lands on Sunday night, the actual holiday takes a hit. Adults have to get up and work Monday morning, kids have school. Halloween has become a seasonal event, seemingly more popular than Christmas. The adults start a week early, drinking and dressing up. When I returned to work last night, I’d feared I’d missed the fun.

Apparently, everyone missed the fun this year.

“Man, what a lame-ass Halloween.”

Dennis, one of my regular eyes-and-ears guys, was providing the update. He knows of my love for Halloween and Fat Tuesday. (I’ve clued him in on the best nights for skimpy attire and naughty behavior, and he does a good job of keeping an eye on things.) “I expected to see a naughty nurse, or a zombie stripper. Nothing!”

“I was tempted to come downtown last night, but it was raining hard, and I just had a feeling,” I told him. Validation. I missed no fun by taking a lazy day. “On the way in, I saw a seventy-year-old man in a denim mini-skirt. He looked like a transient from the waist up, wearing a bomber jacket and an NFL ballcap. He had a fuckin’ beard! And he was wearing one of them tulip-shaped minis. He’d shaved his legs. Fortunately he was wearing bike shorts underneath. And yes, I saw. He hasn’t learned how to sit like a lady yet…”

When Uncle Cliffy came around to give breaks, I decided to give things a look-see. I hopped a bus up the street to the Porno Queen’s apartment. She’d just returned from Georgia via Chicago. I’d been teasing her about shaving her peach while she was in Georgia, and felt compelled to see if she had. Or if she’d tell me if she did…

The walk back was quiet, very quiet. I passed a punk rocker (not in costume) a cop (not in costume) and a Teabagger. (Costume, I hope. They don’t really dress like a teabag, do they?) Otherwise, the streets were empty. A tumbleweed would have been appropriate.

The nearby bars had a few patrons, Sunday night regulars. I watched Spider Man adjust the sash on Wonder Woman’s outfit. (Wonder Woman looked like Velma from Scooby Doo; too bad she didn’t cross-reference.) Spider Man tried to spook me with a “Boo!” but I just blinked and said, “Nice tights.” I gave Wonder Woman a thumbs-up.

There was no real excitement until end of shift. As Rumpole took over the till, a group of scantily-clad teen girls swarmed the store. They were of the gum-smackin’ hood-rat variety, ages 15-17, and they were dressed like strippers and hos. I took my till to the back, following one as she wiggled along in front of me. She could feel me looking.

“You guys win the contest for best dressed tonight,” I told her as I edged past. I wanted to get the money under lock and key before getting too distracted.

“You hear that?” she yelled to her friends. “He say we fine!” She smiled at me. “You lookin’ good too, honey…”

Now I knew they were up to something…

I plunked my till in the office and stepped back out. Two were nestled up against the door with the chilled wine, one was grilling Rumpole about phone cards while he watched another pair in the Cabernet aisle. The girls at the chilled section must have been signaled, as they stepped away from the door without grabbing anything. I came up behind them when one of the single distractors smiled at me. “Wanna see me shake my ass?” She lifted her leg and gave me a full-on panty shot, using the Faygo bin like a stripper pole. I looked, and looked away. Rumpole had demanded everyone’s ID, and the kids were rebelling.

“We’ll show you ID when we’re ready to check out! We buyin’ shit! You here to sell us shit. We buyin’ shit. Get it, fat man?”

Rumpole was composed. “I think we’re done here. You’re just trying to keep me distracted. Everyone’s ID now, or you have to leave.”

I walked up behind the gals in the Cabernet aisle. “If you just show him your IDs we can all relax.” I smiled at one. She tugged at her bikini bottoms and winked. Good cop/Bad cop has its rewards.

“Fuck this shit, we goin’ to 7-Eleven!” They left everything on the counter and walked out the door. Rumpole’s nemesis stood outside, yelling, “When the baby due, Fat Man? Gray haired old bastard…” She smiled at me. “See you later, honey.”

Boy, will she be disappointed at how assholish I can be when I don’t have an extra set of eyes to keep control…

I crossed paths with them again on the way to the bus. They had a pack of boys following them, and the whole bunch disappeared into one of the parking garages. Past curfew, any problems will be solved the minute a cop sees them. I forged on.

In all, one of the quietest Halloweens in years. The last minute eyefull made up for it. Too bad the naughty-girl quotient couldn’t have spread itself out over the evening, but what the hell. A last-minute coochie overdose is better than no coochie at all…

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