For A Dollar I Will…

September 6, 2011 at 12:12 pm (Cussed Dumbers)

There are few holidays when you live in the convenience store world.

Oh sure, the calendar says there are holidays. Wreaths go up, Jack o’lanterns sit on porches, but we stay open. Someone has to mind the store, as the saying goes. After dark, that someone is me.

Business was good this Labor Day weekend, better than the average weekend. I dealt with the usual plethora of idiots dressed in dirt, dog hair and dreadlocks, along with the mentally unhinged who have no services to help them. Patience was thin, but the out-of-towners helped make it better.

As I waited for Rumpole to come from the toilet, a pack, no, a herd of cowboys from Texas roamed in. The Head Cowboy In Charge (HCIC) asked, “Where your Crown at?” He pronounced it Cray-owin.

“What crown?”

“Crown Royal whiskey, partner!”

Can I get a yeehaw?

“We’re not allowed to sell hard liquor. Beer and wine only.” This wasn’t someone I could distract by sending him across the street where the Four Loko live…

“Well then, I guess Budweiser will have to do. You *do* have Budweiser?”

“Yes, sir. Over there where it says Budweiser.”

The group of five walked to the cooler and began unloading it. “Got any more in the back?”

“We don’t have a back. How much do you need?” They were fully loaded in more ways than one.

“Let’s see what we got here,” said HCIC. Two twelve-packs Budweiser, two twelve-packs Bud LIght, all the tallboy six-packs of both brands. I hit sub-total. Yes!

But wait, there’s more.

“We need some Copenhagen Long Cut, a pack of Marlbor-r-ro Lights, and something called a grape swisher? What…the…fuck is a grape swisher? Do we have to go to a funny bar to get one a those?” HCIC must not get to the big city much.

“Gotcha covered right here.”

I added those items, plus a handful of Reese’s PB Cups and “enough Advi-yull to kill the massive goddamn hangover I’m a gonna have in the morning.”

I hit subtotal: $124 and change. They pooled their cash while I wrangled all their beer and snacks into big grocery bags. HCIC gave me a wad of big bills. I handed HCIC the silver part of his change, which he threw out the door onto the sidewalk. “Feed the bums! Keep the rest for yourself, podnah!”

They migrated off to the land of drunken hotel rooms, while I quickly counted what they’d given me.

$145. A twenty-dollar tip! Well shit the bed and fuck me runnin’, someone appreciates the Labor Day workin’ man! I stashed it in case they returned for an accounting. I was tempted to go pick up the quarters out of the entryway, but three crackheads were already scouring the sidewalks.

Rumpole was grumbly when he found out he’d missed out on the money-tossing, so I left without fanfare. The bus ride was contentious. An incredibly intoxicated street person sat right behind me. He spent the ride making odd noises, flicking his hands near my head. I chose 39th Avenue stop to get up and “throw away my gum.” I chose a seat further away, across from a pretty young woman.

She was cute, in a Lindsay Lohan kinda way. She had a tattoo of a Celtic cross on her upper arm, and muscular thighs. I sneaked as many glances in her direction as I could without being creepy. She rode to the end of the line, and as we got up I noticed a dollar bill lying on the bus floor.

“Keeping the city green!” I announced, showing her the dollar. I think she thought I was looking for a peekaboo up her skirt. Once I saw the dollar on the floor, my lechery subsided. “Is it yours?’ I asked her.

“No. But thank you for asking.” She had the voice of a seventeen-year-old cigarette smoker.

“A dollar isn’t much, unless it’s your last dollar,” I told her.


She rode her bicycle into the night. Hence the nice legs. Her short dress had hiked up, giving me a view of her white panties and the four corners of her fine bottom as she pedaled toward my house.

Not a chance in the world she’d be stopping there.

So I refocused my dream toward the dollar in my pocket. I am going to stop at the Quickie-Mart by my house and buy a Keno ticket. I can dream of being a hundredaire while I ride into the sunset, hoping for more encounters with generous drunken cowboys.

Although, I am sure dreams of freckle-faced redheads with muscular thighs won’t be far from my thoughts…

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