two new pages...because I'm just the best

She’s spooning sugar into her coffee when Ashley walks in. Ashley generally announces his presence in a room by whistling ABBA’s “Dancing Queen”, but this morning it’s “Macho Man” by The Village People. That’s my pal, subtle and classy.

 

Lucky for me, I have to go to work soon, so I’m going to miss out on all their post-coital tenderness. I pour another cup of coffee, add the cream while they’re sort of necking, and head for the front door. I can hear her giggling as I step into my shoes and lock the front door on my way out.

 

I wasn’t lying when I told her that I was middle-class, I really am. There are two comic book stores in the tri-city area and I own the one here. I also own the other one, so I do okay. Ashely doesn’t work. He doesn’t mooch off me either. I’m like Chandler to his Joey. Actually, that’s a pretty accurate description, he gets all the ladies, and I hear it that night or the next day.

 

I spend my working days at the shop here in town. I have a guy who runs the other store. I stop in once a month to review the books, check inventory, that type of stuff. I don’t like those days because I have to take two busses to get to the store and there’s something about stepping onto a city bus that makes me think of failure. Maybe it’s the looks on the people’s faces. They do their best to avoid eye contact, by staring out the windows, staring at the floor, or on horrible days when the bus is really crowded, at someone’s crotch.

 

I’ve had to do the crotch stare. It’s unsettling. If I was into wieners it might be okay, but I only like my wieners on the barbecue.

 

This is Saturday. And Saturdays are busy days in the world of a comic-book store employee, owner, or hanger-on. There are comic-book store hangers-on. They’re not exactly groupies, just huge fans of the books. They like talking about the books, they know a lot about the books, and they find comfort in hanging out with their ilk. Our hanger is named Dwayne and I’m running late. But hey, that’s okay, I can’t really get fired.

 

The store has been open for an hour and a half by the time I actually show up and it’s pretty full. I can smell coffee and paper and that musty smell that only comes from a fat guy in a Thundercats t-shirt. I like Saturdays at the store. Guys come in, spend a lot of money, occasionally a girl will come in and no one will know what to do, she’ll leave and everyone will breathe a big sigh of relief and stop holding their guts in.

 

“Jerry, turn off the coffee, it’s starting to burn.” I can’t stand the smell of burnt coffee, it kind of reminds me of the smell of pee. I also can’t stand the taste of burnt coffee which might in fact actually taste like pee. I don’t know, I’ve never tasted pee. I’ve never been that thirsty.

 

Jerry is my only full-time employee, the rest of the team is all part-time. Kids really, which is funny for me to say because I’m not that much older than the oldest one of them.

 

 

 

“Hey Rich, did you hear, there’s all these homeless people missing from downtown man, you know who’s taking them man? The government dude. Totally. They’re experimenting on them. Finding cures for cancers and shit you know? Or they’re making new cancers to kill people with. Either way man, it’s seriously messed up.”

 

That delicious piece of insight comes from Tommy Nofar. Tommy’s a huge conspiracy buff who talks like a burned-out hippie. Which is fucking ridiculous because he’s like, nineteen or something. He also kind of smells like a burned out hippie which makes him one of the better smelling guys here. Anyway, Tommy’s so paranoid he won’t let them scan his purchases at the grocery store or my store because he thinks the government tracks you through the UPC bar. And while he’s probably right about the homeless people who are missing, I know it’s not the government who’s doing it, it’s probably a vampire. A vampire will feed on weak and helpless people, like the homeless. And let me tell you something, vampires are not cool. Vampires are gross. They’re not these gothic, romantic, tortured creatures, eternally young and eternally beautiful. They’re greasy looking with bad, pale skin, ugly teeth and poor personal hygiene. They’re like Gollum. They’ll sneak up on some passed out drunk and feed on them. The most pathetically ravaged homeless person is better looking than a vampire. People always seem to forget that vampires are dead. Dead! They’re not alive. And when you stop being alive you start rotting. And that’s why they need to eat other people. As long as they eat, they stop rotting. Sort of. They still rot, but slower. There’s no such thing as a hundred year old vampire. Ten years tops.  Vampires are the near the middle of the scary monster food chain.

 

I’m not sure what’s at the top but it’ll probably be really scary.  

 

“That’s great Tommy. Um, do you have stock to inventory or coffee pour or another job you would rather be at?”

 

“Yeah sure Rich, sorry man, just thought you’d like to know you know. Freakin’ government man, that’s out of control!”

 

I’m kind of torn. On one hand, I’d like to grab Tommy and give him good shake while informing him that he’s not living in the 60s. But on the other hand, his naivety is good for a laugh. Besides, it would totally blow his mind if I told him that there might be a vampire living downtown.

 

I spend the rest of the day behind the counter, selling limited editions, some graphic novels, action figures. We don’t actually sell hard here. My guys don’t do high pressure sales, my customers know what they want. We just tell them if the book they’re looking for is in. We tell them about the stuff we hear down the grapevine, stuff we’ve usually heard from some other customer.