Johnny America




It was a slow day, for the most part.

“Do you have Meathole Hook­ers 3?”

I looked up. Some­one was in the store? I blinked and cocked my head off to the side, and looked at him with one eye open wider than the oth­er. I won­dered what he could pos­si­bly want.

“Are you go­ing to check the com­put­er?” he asked.

I replied with­out waiting.

“We don’t have it.” I reached un­der the counter and pulled out a box la­belled ‘Juli Ash­ton’s Pussy’, “can i in­ter­est you in a la­tex vagi­na, sir?”

He smacked the box out of my hand and it went ca­reen­ing across the store and in­to the wall of gay/bi/trans DVDs, al­most knock­ing down the card­board cutout of marc an­tho­ny propped up in the cor­ner, his broad smile wel­com­ing all and judg­ing none.

“That was com­plete­ly un­called for, sir, ” I said.

He stared at me with eyes like coin slots. He be­gan to open his mouth. I cut him off.

“I’m em­ploy­ee of the month!” I shouted.

He stared dag­gers at me as his head turned pur­ple. I stared back. So there we were, in the mid­dle of the af­ter­noon, star­ing at each oth­er, hav­ing some sort of ridicu­lous mex­i­can stand­off. He snapped.

“I’m tak­ing this with me!” he shout­ed as he reached over to his left. He ef­fi­cient­ly re­moved the Em­ploy­ee of the Month wall plaque and stormed out. I ran over to the win­dow over­look­ing the street to see him briskly walk to the cen­ter of the street where he was hit by a bus. I locked the door and ran down stairs. Al­ready, there was a num­ber of peo­ple crowd­ing around the scene. I looked around, and there it was, not more than five feet from the body; the Em­ploy­ee of the Month plaque. I ran over to it and picked it up. I went back up­stairs and hung it back on the wall where it be­longed. I went back be­hind the counter and sat down in the stolen leather chair and turned on the tele­vi­sion set. Mac­Gyver was just beginning.

Filed under Fiction on January 28th, 2006

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