Between jobs. Sounds better than out-of-work, doesn’t it? Like you’re on vacation or something.
I’d been between jobs for about six months … That’s a lot of ‘between’. Plenty of time for my severance pay to evaporate. That’s how I came to apply for the night shift cashier’s job at the 24-7 Mart. One of the most dangerous jobs in America. You might as well wear a bright yellow T-shirt that says “Rob Me – Kill me if you aren’t happy with what’s in the till.”
Never mind. If I didn’t get some extra cash, I’d starve to death anyway. Better to take a bullet. At least it’s quick.
The owner had just given me a tour of the store and was finishing up with a bit of security advice.
“Now, no need to worry,” he was telling me, “but just in case you do get robbed, see if you can push this silent alarm button right under the counter.”
“Yes, Mr. Kenner. Silent alarm button, right.”
“Now, I ain’t telling you how to handle the situation. It’s probably best to let them have whatever they want.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But, if you can get the fucker to stand between these two marks on the counter …” Kenner pointed to two streaks of red marker ink and reached under the counter with a gleeful grin. “I’ve got a sawed-off set up. Pull the trigger and cut the motherfucker in half.”
The robbery scene in “Taxi Driver” flashed before my eyes. “Um, Mr. Kenner, isn’t possession of a sawed-off shotgun illegal?”
“Right, so what you do is, tell the cops you wrestled it away from the fucker.”
“But won’t they see what really happened on the video monitors?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Kenner said, waving off my concern. “They don’t work. I only have ’em to keep the insurance man happy. Okay, have a great night. By the way, I counted the candy bars.” Then he was gone.
The night went by fairly quickly. Customers came in frequently so I was busy, but not crushed. A couple of kids didn’t like the way I made their sno-cones so they went outside and threw them against the window. I think that’s what they really wanted to do anyway. As long as they didn’t throw them at me.
Around 11 p.m. a couple of club girls came in. Suicide blondes, they prowled the aisles with desperate deliberation. They stopped at a section Kenner had generically referred to as “women’s stuff.”
“Hey,” one of them called to me. “You got any other color pantyhose besides nude and taupe?”
“We got black,” I replied.
“That ain’t black, it’s off-black. You got jet black?”
“What you see is what we got,” I replied.
“Shit.” She tore open a package and began to help her companion hike up her skirt.
“Ah, Miss?” I said. “You can’t try them on here.”
“How the fuck we gonna know how they look if we don’t try them on?”
“Shit,” her friend spat. “I guess these will be okay.”
They approached the counter. The one who did most of the talking snarled and tossed a five-dollar bill at me. I couldn’t help noticing what I first thought was drool glimmering like a wet pearl at the corner of her thin lips. I hoped my eyes didn’t give away my surprise at the realization that it was cum.
“Ronny’s a fucking pig,” her companion pronounced. “I told him he was going to rip them.”
“Yeah, and that jerkoff, Artie. You know he wanted to wipe his dick off in my hair.” As she spoke the pearl of cum clung to her lip like a dollop of Crazy Glue. She noticed me staring as I handed her the change.
“What?” she demanded.
“Huh? Oh nothing. Thank you, come again.”
She sneered, and in that moment I counted all forty miles of bad road her face had traveled. She took her companion by the elbow and stalked away, muttering, “asshole.” When they were gone I snickered to myself, “come again … good one”
For the next half hour there was a steady stream of half-shitfaced kids coming in from parties that had run out of beer. They loaded up on six-packs and tossed lots of exotic IDs at me. The blond, Nordic-looking kid showed me a driver’s license issued in Thailand.
“So, your name’s Raji Katterajorn?” I asked, looking straight into his swollen red eyes.
“Yeah, man, that’s me. How about the beer?”
“How long you been living in Bangkok?”
“Huh? Uhhh, just moved there, man. How ’bout the beer?”
I looked at his companions, who were wasted by various degrees. “You guys drive here?”
“Fuck no, man. The party’s just around the corner.”
“Okay.” I rang up the beer. “By the way, next time you’re by the Bangkok DMV, better get this renewed … It’s expired.”
“Hey, thanks, Man.”
As the beer boys stumbled out a pudgy, pasty-faced guy in his thirties gave me a wink and motioned for me to lean close over the counter. I thought he was going to give me a tip on a horse.
“Hey pal,” he said, “I need safes.”
“Huh?”
“Safes … you know, frenchies … rubbers …”
“Condoms,” I said.
“Yeah, but I want the super-size.” He winked again like we were in on some conspiracy together.
“All the condoms you want are in aisle 5, you can’t miss them.”
“No shit?” he said, genuinely surprised. I wondered what planet this guy had been living on the past 10 years. He made his way to the aisle. A moment later he spread his arms and shouted, “Whoa, man. The mother lode.”
He came back to the counter with three packs of extra large Trojans. I rang them up and he winked again. I was starting to think he had a nervous tic.
After the rubber man left things quieted down a bit. A couple of cops came in, poured themselves two large coffees to go, waved and left without paying.
It was getting around 1 a.m., prime robbery hours. A young guy, dark, closely cropped hair, twenties, Euro-cut leather jacket burst through the door. He was shooting looks over his shoulder. Polite, but obviously nervous, he asked, “I wonder if you’d let me use your back door.”
He was biting his lip, still scanning for whatever was following him. Then I saw the gang of guys stride across the parking lot.
“Yeah,” I said, “But the exit is blocked with inventory.”
“Blocked? Oh, no … isn’t that against the law?”
I watched the posse closing in on the entry. “Hey, Pal, those guys who are following you are gonna be inside in about three seconds … you sure you want to chat about fire codes?”
He nodded and quickly stepped behind me into the back room. Six young thugs in baggy shorts and open shirts plowed through the door. A blond kid who looked like his hair got caught in a buzz saw bellowed, “You see any faggots come in here?”
Though the blond punk did the talking the gang was led by a skinny, skinheaded twerp with pubic-looking facial hair growing through a really bad outbreak of zits.
“Ask him again, Jackie. Maybe he doesn’t hear so good.”
Jackie filled his chest with air and was about to spew, “I said, you see any…”
“Jackie,” I greeted him. “Sweetie, nice to see you again … and you brought your friends too, how nice.”
Jackie’s brain shut down momentarily. I swear I could see the lights dim in his eyes. Soon enough they powered up. “Huh?”
“Oh, Sweetie, don’t break my heart … give a fella a blowjob that puts him right into paradise and then forget his name? … I’m hurt.”
Five jaws fell to five sets of knobby knees. Skinhead shot a vicious look at Jackie, “What the fuck is this guy talking about?”
“Huh?” Jackie seemed to be stuck in ‘HUH’ mode.
“The guy says you gave him a blowjob, what the fuck is that?”
“Dagger,” Jackie coughed. “I don’t know this fucking guy … I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”
Dagger’s eyes burned in my direction. “Hey, you a fag?”
“Well, isn’t that what you came here for … I must say, if you’re all as talented with your tongues as Jackie here I …”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Oh, dear, aren’t we in a snit …”
Dagger was desperately perplexed. His gaze switched back to Jackie, who pleaded, “I swear on my mother, this guy’s full of shit.”
“What the fuck’s a guy say a guy gave him a blowjob for if he ain’t a fag and ya didn’t give him a blowjob?”
“I dunno, Dag, he’s fuckin’ crazy or something …”
Dagger’s eyes widened as some shadow of memory crossed his frontal lobe. “Last night, when we passed out, did you fuckin’ do anything to me … I’ll fuckin’ kill ya if ya did …”
“Motherfuckin’ no way, Dag!” Jackie cried, increasingly desperate to restore his reputation. “Anyways, I can’t be a fag, I fucked your sister last Sunday …”
“You FUCKED my little sister?”
Oh-oh, I thought, Jackie just stepped from the shit into the flaming shit.
“You fuckin’ cocksucker! I’ll make you eat your own balls, I’ll …”
Jackie bolted for the door, with his five former compadres in murderous pursuit. Still, Dagger hesitated by the door long enough to issue a “Later, Man.” I gave him a friendly wave.
I waited about 30 seconds after they were out of sight then called, “Okay, pal, you can come out now.” My guest quit his asylum.
He was still shaky and strained to see if they were indeed out of sight. After a few minutes he asked, “Do you think they’re gone?”
“They high-tailed it up Norwell Street. They’re probably way over the hill by now. You keep on Kelsey Boulevard you’ll be all right.”
He ran his hands over his hair and nodded. “Thanks, I owe you one.”
“It’s all part of the service,” I nodded.
“My name’s Anthony.”
“Good for you, see ya later.”
A slight hint of disappointment came over his face. That was okay, though. I wasn’t interested in picking out curtains with him. He started for the door, stopping a second to smile. I waved, and he was gone.
Things were quiet for the next half hour. Then a customer from earlier in the night came in. It was the pudgy guy who bought the super-sized condoms. A little slip of a girl followed him in just a few steps behind. She looked like she had been crying.
Mr. Super-size desperately scanned the aisles then stood in front of the soda case. He remained there looking like he was trying to figure out a problem in quantum physics. Finally, he shook his head and strode straight up to me.
“Hey man, you got any warm Coke?”
The girl stood off to the side, her arms wrapped tightly around herself and fidgeting her legs like she had to go to the bathroom.
“Warm Coke? We have Coke in the cooler.”
“No, Man, it’s got to be warm, it’s got to foam.”
“Oh, don’t tell me,” I said, wondering if the guy had just crawled out of a time capsule. “You’re not planning to shake it up and let it foam up her snatch?”
“Aw, c’mon man, the rubber came off.”
I couldn’t help it … I laughed my ass off. Even when the girl started to cry, I couldn’t take this seriously. Meanwhile, he was looking increasingly desperate.
“Look,” I said. “I haven’t heard that myth about a Coke douche since high school, and why the hell did you buy the extra large condom?”
“Give me a break, will ya. I was just trying to impress her.”
“Like she wasn’t going to notice? Jesus, did you just fall out of a tree, or what?”
He winced, but asked, “Man, can you help us out? The drug store’s closed.”
The girl began to whine, “I’m gonna get knocked up, I just know I’m gonna get knocked up.”
“Okay,” I said. “We have contraceptive foam.”
“How’s that work?” he asked. His face had broken out into little sweat beads.
I turned to the girl. “Miss, over at the women’s hygiene section … pick yourself a tube, the instructions are inside.”
Instead of moving she began to cry again. He spoke, “See man, we got another problem. The fuckin’ thing is still inside.”
I think I just stared at him. Finally I said, “Well, have her reach inside and dig it out.”
She was really beginning to cry now, “I can’t find it …”
“C’mon man, we’re desperate, can you help us?”
“What the fuck do I look like, a gynecologist?”
He looked at me quizzically, and then he stepped over to his girlfriend. “Honey, he says he’s not a Scientologist.”
Before I had a chance to wonder at his stupidity, she broke for the counter and was pleading into my face, nose-to-nose, “Please, can’t you help? I can’t go to the hospital cause my Mom works there, and the campus health center is closed.”
“C’mon man,” he added.
“Mother of God,” I said, shaking my head. “All right.”
I walked around the counter and stepped over to the door, locking it. I returned to the counter, grabbing a box of contraceptive foam on the way.
“Put her up on the counter,” I ordered as I stepped around to the other side. He helped his girlfriend up as I peered toward the door praying, “Please don’t let anyone try to come in now.”
I had her sit facing me then I had her lean back while her rocket scientist boyfriend supported her. “Okay, bend your knees and spread your legs.”
I snapped on a pair of latex gloves and began probing her cunt. I was in there only a second before I realized probing by touch wasn’t going to work with the glove on. I couldn’t feel latex through latex. Reluctantly, I pulled the glove off, then eyed him, “You should be doing this.”
He looked at me apologetically and held up one hand. “Short, stumpy fingers,” he said, and shrugged.
“Yeah, I guess they’re not the only thing you got that’s short and stumpy.”
His only reply was a sheepish look. This time I went in with naked fingers. I thought I felt it graze my fingertips, but it was just out of reach. In order to get better penetration, I had to position my thumb like a rudder over her clit and push like hell. I was just barely able to get the rim of the condom between my two fingertips and was wiggling for better leverage when Cinderella shrieked, “I’M GONNA COME!”
She started convulsing and my hand felt like it was being ground in a wet, fleshy vice. But her contractions must have moved the condom farther between my fingertips. I scissored them and slowly withdrew the rubber baglet as Cinderella collapsed in orgasmic afterglow.
It was heavy and bulging at one end. I held it up. “Looks like it got it all,” I said, and then tossed it into the trash. I fixed the applicator tube to the nozzle of the contraceptive foam, inserted it in my “patient” and squeezed until the tube was completely flattened. The excess oozed from her pussy and spread out. I was thinking a maraschino cherry would look perfect on top.
Einstein helped Cinderella off the counter, which I wiped with a wet rag. They paid me and left smiling. I wanted to say something about no guarantee, and that I didn’t want them coming back nine months later suing me for malpractice. I let it slide. It was a Kodak moment.
I had just enough time to take a short breather when the cops came back for more coffee. “How’s it going, guys?” I asked.
“Quiet night,” The older of the two cops said. “Had a gay-bashing.”
“No kidding?”
“Yeah, kid got the living shit kicked out of him. Funny thing is, I knew the punk. I wonder when he came out.”
They waved after scooping up some Twinkies and leaving without paying. As they did a pretty girl with blonde-streaked red hair sashayed between them. They looked her up and down appreciatively, and she knew it.
She walked straight up to the counter and smiled, fixing me with two of the biggest brown eyes I could imagine.
“Hi,” she said. “How’s your night been?”
“I don’t know, maybe routine, maybe not, I’m new here.”
“I figured … I come in here most nights after my shift at the hospital. I have to have a chocolate fix. I’m Carly.”
“Hi, Carly. So what’s your pleasure?”
“A Hershey bar, but I don’t have any money, just my check.”
I was just about to tell her it was on the house when she said, “Would it be okay if I swapped the candy for a blow job?”
It took a second to register … just a second. “Umm, yeah, I guess that would be okay.”
She stepped around the counter and worked my pants down to my knees and with a throaty “Hmmm” she took my cock into her mouth. My knees got kind of weak, but I supported myself against the counter.
Just then I was thinking, this isn’t such a bad job.
© 2001 by R.E. Buckley Not to be reproduced without permission of the author.