Punk Rock Mini-Mart

By SoDak

            After drying the coffee pots and replacing the filters in the machine, Bryce brews another batch of coffee. Three hours into his shift, he starts to clean the counters, knowing that in an hour the post-bar patrons will be stopping by for last minute snacks, condoms, and gas. He hears the door open as his friends come in to pass an hour with him.

“Hey Bryce, we’re here to watch you work. It’s amazing that you get paid to shoot the shit with us. Too bad we don’t draw a paycheck for hanging out with you, given that you just sit here talking, the same as us.”

            “Your salary is all the free candy that you eat and the soda that you drink. Heck, I’m almost like your cook.”

            “You don’t make the candy and soda.”

            “I change the hoses on the machines and replace the tanks on the fountain. As far as the candy, I just unpack the shit and set it out. And don’t forget the hotdogs that I skewer each night. When you think about it, most family dinners aren’t much different than this. The hot dogs are taken out of a package, placed in water, and then eaten. Macaroni is taken out of a box and boiled. The Mini-Mart is your restaurant. We even have an assortment of condiments.”

            “Ok, ok. We get your point. We know you have a shitty job and we take advantage of your position to get free food.”

            “Heck, eat all you want, I hate this fuckin’ job, cleaning up the toilet after fuckers who can’t piss in the pot and selling cigarettes and beer to hundreds of people each night. It sucks ass working here.”

            The four of them laugh. Ari, a dirty-blond, dreadlocked, skateboarder, moves to the refrigerator and grabs a Coke.

            Bryce wipes ketchup off the counter by the condiments. “I can’t believe you drink that shit all the time.”

            Ari shrugs, “When it is free I have a weakness.”

            Ivy tears open a bag of sunflower seeds, adding, “He thinks that free pop doesn’t contribute to the profits of Coke, but he fails to see that the store already purchased the product. Coke makes their money even if it is free to him. In fact, it forces Mini-Mart to buy more soda from Coke.”

            Jake walks towards one of the two booths by the windows. But before reaching the booth, Bryce catches Jake’s eye and points, using his chin, in the direction of the register. Understanding this gesture, Jake walks behind the counter, flips through the dozen cassette tapes on the shelf and selects The Crucifucks. He inserts the tape, pushes play, and turns up the volume before proceeding to the booth.

            From the speakers, everyone hears a couple strikes on a drum, followed by pounding bass notes. A distinctive whine shrieks, “You make things miserable every day. You make me sick with the things you say. You stand for the anthem at the old ball game. And your pledge of allegiance is so fuckin lame.” For a moment all four of the friends are mouthing the words, as they move about the store. Jake sits down, pulls out a copy of Moby Dick and starts reading. He is the quietest of the four, and always seems preoccupied as he is constantly wrapped up in a book or writing notes to himself. He is only twenty-one, but he seems much older. His long hair makes him look a little shabby, but it is always pulled back into a ponytail. Pausing as headlights shine into the store, Jake looks out the window. “Dave is here. Same time as usual. Just like us.”

            Ari laughs. Bryce turns, looking out the window, and states, “He will sit in his car another fifteen minutes before coming in. I think he listens to Art Bell. He is always talking about conspiracy theories or some weird shit, such as UFOs. He is a little paranoid.”

            Walking away from the magazine rack, Ivy saunters to the garbage can by Bryce. She bends over, spitting the empty shells into the trash. She watches Fred sit outside in the squad car. She always saves her words, making sure that her thoughts are clearly formed and direct. While Jake seems adrift in his own world, she is very observant, constantly watching the happenings around her. She is the primary reason the three punks come to the Mini-Mart on most nights. Her best friend is Bryce. Jake and Ari are good friends, but Bryce and her have been close friends for ten years. They often stay up all night talking about music, art, and politics. After Bryce went through a break up with a girlfriend, Ivy and him became confidants. She would rather be out walking through the city streets talking with Bryce, but he has to work the night shift three to four times a week.

            “Hey Bryce,” Ari asks, “Can I have a hot dog?”

            Jake grimaces. Ivy shakes her head in disgust. Seeing the reactions, Ari insists, “He mentioned hot dogs and macaroni and cheese. He made me hungry. Chips won’t fill me up.”

            Bryce simply nods.

            “Cool. Is the horseradish fresh?”

            “Just filled the tray, if that’s what you mean by fresh.”

            Ari reaches into a bag of buns on the counter. Each night, he is the primary one, who eats at the Mini-Mart. Bryce doesn’t mind Ari’s appetite. Ari rarely finds work, despite that he is always applying for jobs. His dreadlocks hang down to his shoulders. Businesses owners assume that he isn’t trustworthy, smart, or dependable simply because of his knotty hair. In reality, he was the opposite of these things. He generally likes to work. He pours himself into it. He attends the university, where he is majoring in mathematics. He is quite bright, but he is very hyper, tending to talk too much. “I hate that fuckin’ cop. I bet he is sitting in the car beating off, as Art Bell spews out his meaningless bullshit. ‘The government and Satan are using your tax dollars to build a super station in Utah that causes spontaneous abortions in White women.’ The fucker probably receives right-wing shit from every hate group in the country.”

            Bryce asks, “Is he really that bad?”

            “He’s a fuckin’ cop isn’t he.”

            “Yeah. I’m just not sure he’s quite as crazy as the other cops who stop in here. He’s at least nice from time to time. The other cops basically strut in with their chests pushed out, thinking they kings or something. Anyway, Jake worked with this copy at NAPA. Isn’t that so?”

            “Yep.”

            Bryce continues, “Jake said he was a pretty nice guy, back then.”

            Putting down the book, Jake comments, “He was obsessed with conspiracy theories. He was kind of a nut. And he was very religious. It was insane sometimes. He would put Bible verses on the bulletin board, and I would always put quotes by Mark Twain, from Letters From the Earth, above the bible quotes. It used to piss him off, but I don’t think that he ever really got them. Oh well, he was a decent fella. He tried. But since he became a cop, he seems different. Now, I only see him down here. I suppose that is a good thing. It’s not like I want to see a cop everywhere I go.”

            Ivy walks over to the table. She slides in next to Jake, while keeping her eyes on Dave sitting in his car. “The last couple months, I’ve seen him a few times harassing folks in North Rapid. In fact, one night, I was riding my bike to a show out at Lakota Homes, when I saw him hit a man with his nightstick. There didn’t seem to be a reason for the action. Dave just kept yelling, ‘You dirty savage, go back to the rez.’”

            Ari spits out his bite of the hot dog, “See I told you that he was a fuckin’ piece of shit pig.”

            Bryce questions, “Did he really say that racist shit?”

            “Yeah. I wouldn’t make it up. I was shocked. Some of the younger punks have told me that he’s always harassing their brothers, calling them all sorts of racist names. But the worst part is that Dave and another cop who he spends time with on the night shift have been threatening women sexually. Dave pats them down, keeping his hand firmly between their legs, before letting them go.”

            Shocked, Bryce asks Jake, “Was he like this when he worked at NAPA?”

            “I don’t think so. But it was a different environment, one where older men and women slaved away the better part of their days, selling shitty auto parts. He started his training to be a cop just before I quit and he was getting rather cocky, but nothing like what Ivy just described. It doesn’t surprise me that he has become a power hungry abusive man. Much of that develops in the socialization process of becoming a cop. Dave still tries to be chummy with me, given our past work experience, but I’m not comfortable with him.”

            Between bites, Ari simply states, “I told you so…I told you so.”

            “Yeah, you’re right.” Bryce shakes his head. “I still have a few things to finish up around the store. Then I can sit down with y’all.” Bryce picks up a towel, wipes the counter, before throwing it over his shoulder. He rounds the corner, picks up one of the coffee pots, and goes into the backroom of the store.

            Jake returns to Moby Dick, as Ivy gets up, to grab a magazine from the counter. She returns, settling into the seat across from Jake. She stretches out her legs, placing them on the chair alongside Jake. Ari finishes the hot dog, wipes his fingers on a napkin, and then decides to eat another one. The cassette plays on, shouting out anthems from years ago, “I’ve been told so many times, To love it or leave it, It’s the same old line, But nothing is half as sick as this, Patriotic, idiotic, fuckin piss.”

            A thud from the car door sounds, and shortly thereafter Dave walks in through the Mini-Mart doors. Ivy looks at Ari, and he simply smiles back at her. The doors open and Dave’s eyes meet Ari’s. “What’s up pork chop?”

            “You and your smart mouth. Someday it’s going to get you into trouble.” He looks towards the counter, “Where’s Bryce?”

            “Hopefully poisoning the doughnuts.” Sometimes, Ari makes himself laugh. Even Ivy snickers at this one.

            Jake defusing the situation states, “He’s taking care of some of the chores in the backroom. He should be back in a couple of minutes.”

            Dave, pleased to see Jake, walks to the table asking, “Why do you hang around these losers?” Jake realizes that he isn’t going to get any reading done at this point, so he sets his aside. He tries to shorten conversations like this by not talking, but Dave never seems to mind the silence. The water can be heard running in the back of the store. Ari finishes his second hot dog and quickly runs by Dave to slide into the booth, so he can sit by Ivy.

            Relenting, Jake asks, “So are you off tomorrow night?”

            “No, I’m just starting my week. Damn night shift messes up my sleeping schedule. Almost makes me miss my days at NAPA.” Expecting a response from Jake, Dave hesitates, but then continues on, “Looks like I’ll be training a new guy tomorrow night.”

            None of them respond, so Dave turns to look around the store, but nothing seems to grab his interest. He finally notices the music, just as the song ends. Knowing the record from beginning to end, Ari jumps up, runs behind the counter to turn up the volume. The drums start to build momentum, as the bass and guitar come in, just before the voice. Ivy and Ari join the chant, as smiles fill their faces, “Don’t need a fucking cop to tell me what to do.”

            “Come on, can’t you turn that crap off and act civilized?”

            Like a tidal wave hitting the shore, Ari and Ivy launch into the chorus, “So let’s kill the fuckin pigs, if they get in our way. It’ll set a good example, for the children today. It’ll keep kids out of trouble, Shooting pigs after school. Wasting cops will be the hero’s golden rule.”

            “Come on. If you weren’t Jake’s friends I’d take you into the station. Come on, Jake shut that noise off.”

            “Hey, I really like this record, especially side A. They’re just messing with you, trying to get your goat. I didn’t think that you’d be so easy to upset.”

            Pounding on the table to the beat, Ivy yells out one more time, “So let’s kill the fuckin pigs, if they get in our way. It’ll set a good example, for the children today. It’ll keep kids out of trouble, Shooting pigs after school. Wasting cops will be the hero’s golden rule.”

            Clenching his fists, Dave walks towards the nacho counter. “You kids don’t have any respect for anything anymore.”

            Ari stops the cassette, thumbs through the stack of tapes, selects Johnny Cash, and looks at Dave, “Hey porky, eat a hot dog. I just bought two. They’re good, especially with the horseradish.” The first chords of “Ring of Fire” take to the air.

            “You probably stole the hot dogs, knowing your kind. No offense Jake,” glancing at Jake before continuing, “About time you put on some good music. I could’ve sworn all you listened to was loud, rude, and profane music.”

            Pouring cheese on the oily yellow corn chips, Dave’s mouth starts to water. He notices Ari open the refrigerator door and pick out a Coke. Ari pulls a dollar from his pocket and sets it on the counter, knowing that Bryce will give it back to him once Dave is gone. 

            “Why are you buying Coke?”

            “What?”

            “I said why are you buying Coke? I thought you were suppose to be a political rebel or something.” Jake and Ivy start laughing as Dave interrogates Ari. “Coke supported Apartheid.”

            “How do you know this stuff copper?”

            “Jake told me about it when we worked at NAPA. So I’m asking you, why are you purchasing a coke product, when you know that you’re contributing to their profits through your consumption?” Realizing he’d just bested this little dreadlock punk, Dave states, “Isn’t that so Jake?”

            Snorting, Jake concurs, “He has you there Ari.”

            “Ah, shit, this one Coke won’t hurt.”

            “What about the one tomorrow and the one the next day. Seems like they have a committed costumer with you.” Ari quickly walks away from Dave, who finishes drowning his chips in cheese.

“Anyway,” Jake adds, “Coke also used to allow death squads to go into their factory in Columbia to kill labor organizers. The company manager invited the workers, telling them it was a meeting to discuss signing a contract. Then bang, the death squad fuckers shot the workers.”

Dave walks back to the window to look out at the dark street illuminated by the streetlights. A car speeds by the store. “I could’ve nailed that bastard with a hefty ticket.” He turns to talk to Jake and notices a scar on Jake’s cheek. “Say, how did you get that scar?”

            Blushing, Jake tries to avoid the subject, “Just being dumb. It’s not very interesting.”

            Hearing the question and response, Ari comes back down the aisle, smiling. “Go ahead and tell him how you got the scar. It’s quite funny.”

            Jake shakes his head, but Ivy encourages him, “Tell the story. It’s classic.”

            “Nah.”

            Ari asks, “Can I tell it?” Jake shrugs his shoulders. He thumbs through the pages of the book in his hands, wishing that he could join the ship’s crew, setting sail on the ocean, in search of whales, anything, nothing, just so long as he could avoid this situation.

            “So Jake and Ivy went to see the Cowboy Junkies play at an outdoor festival in Colorado this summer. They spread a blanket out on the ground and set up their chairs. Soon three young women came and placed a blanket next to theirs. The show started, but the women kept talking, instead of listening to the music. Then a couple of guys sat down next to the women. The five of them started flirting with each other. Jake started to get upset, because it was too distracting. He may seem calm, but a fire burns within him, once something upsets him. Ivy could tell that he was getting upset, so she tried to switch spots with him. But Jake insisted on sitting in the same spot and just fumed as he focused solely on the noise next to him. He came up with a plan to break up the little party.” Jake is quite red at this point. Bryce emerges from the back of the store and places the coffee pot under the machine. Dave is engrossed in the story and doesn’t notice Bryce. 

            “I love this story. Damn, I’m glad that I didn’t miss much.” Bryce nods to Dave, as Ari continues.

            “Jake turned towards the guy doing most of the flirting and said, ‘Now I recognize you. You are that porn actor who fucks dogs. Your name in the films is King Biscuit. I knew that I recognized you. You are really sick in those films.’” Everyone is laughing, and Ari has a hard time continuing, “Jake figured that a story like this would repulse the women, and then all the talking would stop, so he could enjoy the show. What he didn’t calculate was that the guy would rear back and punch him in the face. Hence, the scar born from one hell of a hard hit that caused his face to split open and him to bleed like a stuck pig…. No offense pork chop.”

            Between the laughing, Dave asks, “You didn’t expect to get hit for saying such a thing?”

            “No, I really didn’t think about it. I just thought it would be quite funny and embarrassing for the guy. It did end the flirting, but I missed the rest of the show, because I had to get stitches.”

            Shaking his head, Dave looks at Bryce, asking, “How is Bryce tonight?”

            “Quite relieved, Sir.”

            “Why is that?”

            “Ah, I just finished my duties.”

            “Is there any decaf coffee?”

            “Freshly brewed.”

            Another car speeds down Jackson Boulevard. “Damn, I should just set up a speed trap in the parking lot. I probably could’ve given out five tickets already.” He looks around the parking lot, noticing a white car on the other side of the lot. “Who drives that car?”

            Knowing what is coming, Ari says, “Whoever is behind the wheel.”

            “It’s probably you, you smart ass punk.”

            “Again with the compliments.”

            “I’m serious. You drive like a bat out of hell. I’ve tried to catch you a couple of times, but you took a side street and I lost you. There’re a number of cops on the day shift that want to nail you. They say you speed by them going about 75 in a 30-mile per hour zone. But you dart back and forth in traffic, giving them the slip. I’ll get you one of these days.”

            “Hey I’m just trying to be a responsible person by getting to school on time.”

            “You should leave earlier.”

            “And here you are standing around in a Mini-Mart, talking with a bunch of punks, instead of driving around in your squad car or beating up people on the streets.”

            Dave’s face turns red. Ari makes him so mad each night. They share some civil moments, but some topic always comes up and they argue. Although he purposively antagonizes Dave, Ari is really quite indifferent to the result of his comments. He tends to be assertive in his conversations, but quickly wonders onto other topics. He doesn’t try to lock horns for long periods of time. He simply likes to jump in and out of conversations when the chance comes. Ari moves towards the refrigerator, looks at the Coke bottles, but then decides to get some apple juice.

            Dave decides he better use the restroom before he heads out. Askingly, Dave catches Bryce’s eye. Knowing Dave’s nightly routine, Bryce states, “It’s all clean. Just scrubbed it down an hour ago.” Dave walks quickly past Ari at the refrigerator. He opens the men’s bathroom door and the click of the lock can be heard. Bryce reaches over the counter to turn down the volume on the stereo. Dave no longer hears the music, as he unbuttons his pants. Bryce holds a finger up to his lips, silencing the others. Dave sits on the toilet, hesitating, before relaxing his bowels. He wishes that the music were still playing in the store. His stomach growls and his bowls feel the urge to let go. Dave tries to suppress the explosion, knowing that the kids can hear any loud noises in the bathroom, but the gas has built up from sitting in the car, driving around town. A fart erupts from his fleshy butt cheeks. The toilet bowl helps amplify this explosion. Immediately, several more burst sound, as Dave feels relief of defecating. His pleasure is cut short, as he hears four kids laughing beyond the door. Sure enough, each of the punks is doubled over. Ari can be heard commenting, “Damn that was a huge fart.”

            “Damn, right. That’s the funniest shit I’ve heard.”

            Jake has his head on the table, as tears come to his eyes, “I’m sure glad that I don’t have to smell that one.”

            Spitting out her sunflower seeds, Ivy proclaims, “Farts are a great equalizer, placing all people on the same level for a brief moment in time. Think about it, if those with power, or even those who think they have power,” she points a finger toward the bathroom, “fart in the presence of the common people, for the moment, everyone suddenly becomes equals, as social norms are thrown by the way side due to a simple bodily function.” The four of them continue to laugh. Dave hears their laughter as he cleans himself. Shamefully, he emerges from the bathroom. Avoiding eye contact, he walks to the counter where the coffee pot sits.

Bryce sits down next to Jake, while Dave picks up the coffee pot, fills a cup, and adds some sugar. Bryce leans over, whispering to Jake, “I pissed in the coffee.” Jake suppresses his laugh, shaking his head. Ivy notices the exchange, raises her eyebrows, indicating that she wants in on the secret. Bryce shakes his head, mouthing, “I’ll tell you later.” Bryce gets up, knowing that Dave will be leaving shortly.

            Dave stirs the coffee, dissolving the sugar, as Ari asks, “How can you drink that decaf stuff?”

            “My doctor told me that I had to stop drinking caffeine, so now I am stuck with this stuff. I just need something to drink while I am driving around all night. I’ll probably stop by in a few hours for another cup. Hey Bryce, will you have some waiting for me?”

            “You’re the only one that drinks the decaf.”

            “Well, that’s good. Guarantees that there’ll be some for me every time I come in.” Dave lifts the cup up, blows on the steaming liquid, and takes a sip. “Mum, I still love the taste of coffee.” He turns to leave the store, takes another drink, and proclaims, “Great coffee tonight.  Make it that same way tomorrow night.”

            Smiling, Bryce replies, “You can count on it Sir.”