The Idiots At the Bus Stop (title pending)

Er...yep. New piece, thought I'd try something new. (Sorry it sort of cuts off at the end...it was all I felt like typing. )

The smell of grease, cigarette smoke, and the perfume of the girl seemingly duct-taped to my neighbor, Marcus, practically attacked me from the first black Puma-to-floor contact in Big Mama’s Cafè and Coffee. Big Mama’s was warm; pretty much the only place liberated from the haunting numbers read aloud by the sneering TV weatherman in his customary bad suit and horrifying paisely tie. Minus 14, fourteen below, forty-six under freezing, pretty damn cold- it was all the same, and all fairly nauseating after awhile.

The circa-1895 weathered floorboards creaked under my feet as I wove thorugh tables and a group of snotty toddlers, cheeks pink from the cold; obviously a victim of a custom-made obstacle course. When I reached the front, I grinned at the two Cash Register Idiots and slid up on to the countertop.

“Hey, ladies,” I took a moment to cover up with my hand a patch of purple-and-white skin showing through a hole in my jeans.

“Oh, joy,” said Amanda, High School Behind The Counter Dunce #1. “If it isn’t our dear little friend…” she paused, searching for the HELLO, MY NAME IS… sticker I usually wore on the lapel of my jacket. Today I had it on my chest, covering up the little Polo pony logo on my shirt, to be exact. According to Random Sex Fantasy No. 427 she’d have to slowly remove my coat and trace to a spiraling line across my chest to find the sticker, all while making out heavily with me. Unfortunately, she wasn’t going along with the plan.

“Napolèon,” I sighed. “Today, it’s Napolèon.”

She snorted and tucked the frayed end of her apron’s belt into her pocked. “Napoleon Dynamite?”

I waved my hand. “No, Napolèon Bonaparte, silly!”

“Feeling incredibly short and angsty, today, then?” She aked, picking at a cuticle. I paused for a moment, watching High School Behind The Counter Dunce #2 scrub the glass candy display with a sponge full of Windex.

“On the contrary, honey, I’m feeling quite ruthless.” Dunce #2, known to others as Kimberly, tossed the sponge into a bucket filled with murky water and then leaned back against the partition between register and kitchen, an amused smile on her overly glossy lips.

“Ruthless, eh?” Amanda said, sneering a little. I swung my legs back and forth over the edge, trying to look innocent.

“Yep. I intend to conquer your heart-“ I winked a blew a kiss in her direction. “French-style.”

“Oh, God…” Kimberly said, covering her face with her Big Mama’s Employee baseball cap, her shoulders shaking with muffled giggling.

“Kimmy, don’t encourage him!” Amanda turned around and chucked the half-filled leather quarter change bag at #2’s stomach, but missed, amusingly enough. Spinning on her heel back to me, she narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you have twerps your own age to hit on? And weren’t you Napoleon yesterday?”

I rolled my eyes. “First off, you know you’re the only woman for me…second off, yesterday I was Frank.”

“Frank? Why?”

I shook my feet a little bit. “Recital.”

She dragged the bag back to her with the toe of her sneaker, then picked it up and plopped it back on to its shelf under the cash register.

“Oh yeah.” She grinned. “I forgot that you’re the Littlest Ballerina.”

I shrugged. “Only boy in a roomful of girls in leotards. Mama di’n’t raise me no fool.” I winked again, just to make her mad.

“I’m sure a pervert such as yourself would enjoy that.”

I nodded. “Why yes, I do. Very much.”

The door creaked open and in stepped Reverend Willis, the pastor of the Baptist church exactly two buildings to the left of Big Mama’s. “Get me a cheeseburger, fries, Dr. Pepper, and Milky Way, would you, babe?” I said, just to make sure I wasn’t in the Reverend’s way when he wanted to order. I’d stay on the counter for a big longer, but then I’d be ready to just hop off when he was done talking cars to the auto mechanic Ernie, who was sitting in the front booth.

Amanda, without turning around, barked. “You heard the man!”

Kimberly leaned into the window between the counter and kitchen and repeated the order, stopping for a quick kiss with the cook, a blonde guy in a sweaty navy blue t-shirt. Dunce #1 rolled her eyes. “Kimmy, there are children here, you do realize.”

“Woah, my girl has eyes in the back of her head…”

“Shut up, Napoleon.” Amanda said, then pulled a piece of bubble gum out of her pocket and shoved it in her mouth, proceeding to chew it angrily.

“But you said I was your man.”

She shook her head. “I used man in a derogatory manner, so therefore-“

I clicked my tongue in little tsk’s. “Such big words, such little respect!” Then I wagged my finger at her, for effect, of course. “Speaking of which-shall I sing for you again? And…shimmy?”

She hid her face with the back of her hand. “No, no, it’s okay. That one time was unnatural and-“

“Then we’ll take this discussion no further. This relationship is over.” I wanted to be frank, but still to let her down gently, because I feared she’d miss me far too much (haha, I cracked myself up).

Amanda rolled her eyes and shoved me off the counter.

The back of my jacket snagged on a loose board and I was working desperately to unentwine gray tweed from mahogany when the Reverend sauntered up to the register, a little leftover groove from the eleven o’clock service in his step.

“Hello, Reverend, what’re you up to?” asked Amanda. He grinned, showing a little gap between his two top front teeth.

“Oh, just God’s work…”

She looked down at the register and rolled her eyes when he looked away for a moment. “Figured as much. What’ll you have?” Second hour of her shift and sarcasm had already skyrocketed to inhuman levels. Woah.

The Reverend spread his brown-and-pink fingers out over the grimy Formica and said, “Just a double patty Mama burger and a chocolate milkshake with extra whipped cream.” She nodded and yapped at Dunce #2 while he rubbed his hands together. “Mmm, mmm.”

I had finally freed my jacket and was now trying to figure out how much damage was done and whether or not I should sue for Ralph Lauren desecration.

“Amanda?” I asked.

“Yes, snot-nosed twit?” She blinked, obviously not caring that the Reverend was there. It was probably a sin to call someone a twit- I wouldn’t know.

“Oh, I feel so loved.”

“I know you do.”

“But yeah…could I perhaps have the food I ordered from this fine establishment?”

The Reverend cleared his throat. “If I may be blunt, the fry cook’s a little busy.”

Amanda groaned and decided to exercise her amazing telepathic powers. “KIMBERLY! GET A ROOM, WILL YOU?” I lean over, a little guiltily, to try and get a better view. Kimberly wiped French Fry Guy slobber off her mouth and said, “But then I wouldn’t be paid, since I wouldn’t be out here…” Nor laid, I thought.

“Well, yah ain’t gonna get paid if yah ain’t WORKING, sister!”

Kimberly patted to boy’s greasy cheek. “I’m working…”

Poor guy. He was just standing there with the slightly glazed, boner-induced Shut Up And Kiss Me look on his face while everyone was staring at them.

Yeah, I was all for making out at work…except when it denied me food. Then it was bad, especially with Big Mama’s fries on the line.