There's this place off a highway in some broke ass town that you probably never heard of. There you will find a man who is living in the moment. Not because he's a laid back guy, but because he can't seem to progress too far in life without messing it up. He doesn't have many friends, he's not very attractive, but he's not a terrible human being. He's the guy you wave at on the sidewalk, the guy you ask for a jump at the gas station, and the overall friendly face that you never think twice about getting to know. Not many stories tell the tale of that guy because that guy's story is terrible. However, this is my life.
The short and stout man began to yell at me from the manager’s office door, “Yacob you idiot!”
I remember when I first started this job. I used to laugh at my boss Mark’s voice, but now it just aggravates me to no end. You haven’t heard frustration till you’ve been yelled at by a man who can only pronounce four words clearly, and the rest are just garbled mumbles pronounced in miscellaneous syllables. Try talking to someone without moving your tongue, and when you do that try doing it again while gargling water. Then you will discover what it is like to be in my shoes.
“I nee tat movie now!” he continued to yell standing next to the door.
I put my hands in my pocket and stared at the floor, “I looked. It’s not on the shelves. Tell that guy that there’s newer ones anyways.”
“I on’t air, Yacob! Yus find it or you ired!” Spit flew from his lips and landed on my chest like some type of verbal money shot.
I work at a XXX store called, “Adult Megastore.” Owned and operated by a deaf man with an acute knowledge on pornography. I’m sure he’s glad that he ended up deaf instead of blind, but at the same time something tells me he’d still find a way to support his addiction. Anyways, some may think you have to be weird to work at a porn shop, but it’s not nearly as bad you think. For some reason there’s a stereotype that the place is just covered in strange liquids, and if you turned a black light on in there it would look like you died and seen “the light.” It’s actually just like any other movie rental store. We primarily sell the movies themselves, but if you’re down to spend the extra dollars you can get yourself a plastic doll to make love to in the backseat of your Prius.
Just then I had noticed the DVD on the bottom of the rack that my boss demanded, “I found it Mr. Fogerty.” I thrust the DVD in his face to get his attention.
“Ank you.” He took the movie into the manager’s office. There it will sit until its owner shows up at some odd hour of the night, while his wife is oblivious to his whereabouts, then he will purchase his little token of adult entertainment, and that is the common theme that will repeat itself throughout my night at the store.
I sat in my car for a couple more minutes breathing in the fresh dew and the morning breeze. The world was vicious to me outside of my front door, but through that front door wasn’t my saving grace. There wasn’t a pair of arms to hold me through that door, not a pair of lips to kiss, and definitely nobody to completely change my mood into some type of exuberant joy. Instead, there’s something much worse. Something I believe was sent to me straight from hell. Its name is Eric, and it arrived on my doorstep when he was kicked out of his mother’s house for the third time. We never really connected as children, and didn’t connect at all as adults. I grabbed the knob and began to twist it. I took a step out of the peaceful morning sun, and walked into my own personal hell.
As I came through the door the blankets on the couch began to shift and turn around. A mangy face greeted me with a simpleton smile.
“Hey, man. What’s up, bro?” he said with every part of his body wrapped in a blanket cocoon.
“Hey,” I wish it was okay to openly state that you hate someone.
