Midnight Walmart (Unfinished)

At the time I started writing this, I really liked the idea of it. I planned on going somewhere with it, and I still do now. I just haven't really had time to sit down and think about where it might go.

The Midnight Wal-Mart

Introduction:
I’ve worked the midnight shift in Wal-Mart for almost a year now. Every night I see different people. I see different personalities and feel different emotions. Of course, half of the time I’m so fucking zoned out that I don’t notice any of these things. But when I really get to thinking about it, all of the occurrences and things that happen within this timeframe, this wretched fucking timeframe to be working in, it’s such a strange thing to witness for the common citizen. It’s as if all of the people who haven’t evolved with the rest of society crawl out of their caves and decide that now is the perfect time to go shopping for that wheelbarrow they’ve always wanted. Maybe it’s to dump the bodies they’ve been hiding in their garage for so long. However, most folks that do happen to come in don’t come alone. They always bring their meth-head wives whose eyes are bloodshot and fingerprints are worn off from cleaning that same spot in their otherwise disgusting kitchen over and over again. Or they bring their delightful children who like to open the most expensive things they can find and then proceed to smash them against the ground or each other depending on the nature of said children. However, this doesn’t bother me for the most part. Why?; because it’s all just regular occurrence here at the midnight shift at Wal-Mart.
June 24, 1996:
I got in late to work today. I’m sure that’s not the best phrase to coin for arriving late to a midnight shift if you catch my drift. It should be more like arriving early, because you’re arriving at the very beginning of the morning. Anyways, we got in our stock of fireworks yesterday which is like a fucking magnet for every redneck within a 50 mile radius. Fortunately for the day working crew, they don’t have to worry about Dick and his family tree that’s shaped like a wreath coming in and trying to panhandle some fireworks off of 8 half asleep Wal-Mart employees. Of course that’s exactly what happened. Some outback grizzly bear decided to bring his whole family in at 1 o’clock in the morning at check out the fireworks display we had up. God knows what the fuck this man was thinking, or better yet what he wasn’t thinking. After staring at the poster we had up of all the firework’s names for a good 20 minutes he decided this would be an opportune moment to spit onto the floor. He didn’t say a word to me. He just adjusted his tobacco, moved his mouth a bit to the left and spat. Right onto the floor. Right there. Onto the floor. That beautiful gleaming white floor that someone had worked hard to clean was now covered in a mix of saliva and tobacco juice. I stared in awe at the floor and then slowly brought my look back up the family of four. A look of slight dismay was on the children as they directed their attention to the now spit drenched tiles on the floor. “Do you four need help, or…” My voice trailed off. The wife adjusted her breasts. Now they were lopsided and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of them. Finally the husband managed to stutter, “We uh. We’d like to buy some of them fireworks here. Do you have any of them Pick-uh-low Puh-yetes?” He butchered the name beyond recognition. There was now a little bit of dribble coming from corner of his mouth. “Sorry sir, what kind of fireworks?” “Puh-hick-uh-low Puh-yetes,” he said it slower this time as if that would somehow change his inability to speak in the human language, “you have any of them?” I was completely lost in a different train of thought now. I was trying to figure out how NASA could manage to get such a big ship into space. “Sir, you can always look at the display case we have below and point to the ones you want.” The man then looked down at studied the case very carefully. What he now had to do was very difficult. He had to put together words he was speaking and also he had to read them sideways, seeing how most of the fireworks were oddly shaped. After a good ten minutes he finally pointed to a Piccolo Pete and said he’d take a box of them. I brought a box up and set it down on the counter. “That’ll be $5.56, sir.” The man retrieved his wallet and stared dumbfoundedly into it. He then dumped what was contained in the wallet onto the counter, which consisted of some change, a few dollar bills, and a half opened condom. He proceeded to count exact change out for me and insisted that it wouldn’t take long at all. It ended up taking about fifteen minutes. I would’ve offered to help the man but I was now busied by the thought of how many ants there were in the entire world. The thought of all of those insects was mind-blowing. And they were so miniscule! I was brought back to reality by the man saying thank-you and walking off towards the exit with his children in close pursuit. However his wife stayed behind and stared at me. Not a blank stare either. It was somewhat of a trance she seemed to be in. I asked her if she needed any help and she blinked and shook her head as if some sort of anesthesia was wearing off. She frowned at me, adjusted her breasts once again and stormed off to the exit, seemingly upset. The rest of the night was pretty relaxed. Not as many customers as usual, which was strange but not a bad thing for most of us. It finally hit me when I had clocked out and gone home that I forgot to clean up the spit on the floor.

June 27, 1996:
By far one of the strangest shifts I’ve experienced working the midnight shift at Wal-Mart. It was about one o’clock in the morning and the store was fucking bleak. There was an old woman standing in a checkout lane waiting for assistance. I swear to god, the old bag had gone down every single god damned aisle in this place looking for a pack of gum. Lo and behold, she found it in the very front of the store, in plain view right next to the checkout lane. Seemingly bewildered by the placement of the gum, and the sheer complexity of it all, the woman then proceeds to look at every single pack of gum on the rack, for 45 minutes. Forty-five fucking minutes. For forty-five fucking minutes, she stood there with her little bony index finger, pointing at the different packs of gum and attempting to comprehend that strange language known as English that was written on the packs. As the old lady was leaving with her sacred pack of gum that she would probably lose on the drive home, a group of six guys walk in clothed in pure red. A few had bandanas around their necks or hanging out of the back of their pants that fell so far below their waistline, I could’ve sworn they had all lost 100 pounds and were coming in to look for new pants. Unfortunately, I was wrong. They spotted me and began to walk-actually; I don’t even think it was a walk. It was more of a stagger-and-try-to-look-cool over to me- anyways, they managed to make their way over to me and half surround me. I’d say it was a circle, but that wouldn’t be accurate. It was more of a triangle/circle hybrid. “Yo, money. Check out this raggedy mothafucka right heuh,’” one of the guys laughed, “he lookin’ like Rosie O’fuckin Donnell!” I looked down at my clothes. I had a pair of jeans on and a white shirt along with the Wal-Mart employee vest I was wearing. “Pardon me sir, but I’m not entirely sure how that makes-,” “Did I say you could talk bitch?” spat the same guy. “No, but I was about to point out that I don’t look anything like Rosie O’Donnell. We have a prescription glasses section if you want to look into it.” I smiled. Apparently the thugs were not amused by my antics, “Aight’ ya’ funny little bitch. Where can I find dem’ paper towel den’?” I was taken aback by the fact that six thugs had just come into Wal-Mart at one in the fucking morning to get paper towels. Paper fucking towels. “They should be on Aisle 7,” I said, “towards the back of the store.” As the group walked off towards the back of the store, one of the other employees happened to walk pass them. One of the members attempted to “punk” the employee out but ended up “punking” into a shelf full of knock off cereal brands. I watched them wander back with a cart full of paper towels and walk up to the lane, still in a group. They kept looking around as if at any given moment, they would be surrounded by police cars for buying some paper towels.
**************
“Stop where you are! Leave the cart! LEAVE THE FUCKING CART!”
“Alright! Alright, don’t shoot!”
“Yeah you boys are lucky this time. Only 8 rolls.”
“Yeah come on cut us some slack man! It’s only 8 ro-,”
“Shut the fuck up before I break your head with the butt of my gun! Woo, chief is gonna’ be pleased. 8 rolls of pappa’. You boys are going in the slammer for a lonnnggg time.”
***************
The group was running out to their car now, paper towels and cart with them. I wandered out to the automatic doors. They threw the cart into the back of a pickup truck and sped off. “Have a nice night!”

June 29, 1996:
It was around twelve-thirty in the morning when I was standing behind the gun counter in the back of the store, helping a man dressed in full camouflage pick out a new “hunting” rifle. “Now what do you think about this Savage Model 70, with the adjustable trigger and detachable magazine clip?” Dumbfounded, I stared at this man trying to comprehend what the fuck he had just asked me, “Uh. I think it’s a nice gun.” The man stopped examining the rifle and stared back at me, “This isn’t just any gun, son. It’s a rifle. A Savage Model 70,” he lifted the rifle and held it, pointed directly at my forehead. He whistled sheepishly, “Woo boy, if you had antlers…” He made a cheesy gun noise and smiled. “Unfortunately, I don’t think the wife would be too happy about me buying another rifle. I mean, I have three as it is, so four would probably be pushing it;” suddenly his face lit up, “Say son! You seem like a bright young feller’! How’d you like to go out deer huntin’ with me sometime? You got this rifle here you can just take it and you and me can have a good time! Like real pals, whaddya say?” I tried to figure out a nice way to say no to a man with a rifle in his hand; it wasn’t just any rifle either. It was the Savage Model 70. I managed to mumble, “I can’t, I’m…I’m busy.”

***************
“You’re what?”
“I’m busy…”
“Are you lying to me boy?” he asked as he pointed the gun to my head, “ARE YOU FUCKIN’ LYIN’ TO ME?!”
“NO NO, I SWEAR, I’M NOT LYING!”
“My handy-dandy lie detector says otherwise!”
I cringed and he pulled the trigger. A happy face erupted from the barrel with arms spread wide open. The irony was unbearable.
***************
The man smiled once again, “Well that’s alright son! Look here, I’ll give you my card,” he opened his wallet and pulled out a card with a deer carcass imprinted upon it, “and you can call me when you’re free.” The words in my mouth were too frightened to leave so I just shook my head and smiled. “Ya’ take care now boy!” he exclaimed as he was walking off towards the exit. I wiped a bead of sweat away from my forehead. I nervously took the gun and put it back on its holder on the wall. The Savage Model 70. What fun.

Lyric 1

Not entirely sure what I was thinking. I did start writing this at 11:19pm and finished somewhere around 11:30ish.

The clock says 11:19

even though it's all so pristine,

I intervene when I need to

I saw the way you move

and the way that you groove

to the top of the chart

you're an item in the ala-cart

up for grabs a single

with you I mix and mingle

my brain waves are changing

I don't realize it's endangering

who is a changling;

a fake or a fraud?

you nod and pretend that everything is ok

but this job it just don't pay

the way

that I wish it would

and I wish that I could

sweep you off your feet

and dance with you in the street

as the lights glow

I look out my window and realize that

it's all just a dream

a fictional seam within my mind

and I can't realize that

you're so far away

and if I could see you today

today would be everyday

but the distance so far and the travel so long

by plane or by car I know I'll be wrong.

Contact

So I was told to create a blog simply for creative purposes.

Ok.

So now here I am; I've made my little banner, and I now have nothing to write about. Nothing new anyways. I have things lying around the room that I may type up and add to this blog. Other then that, you can expect the following from me:

• Lyrics
• Writing
• Some Art
• Some Graphic Design

I look forward to it.