1982
He looked at himself in the broken mirror of the gas station bathroom. His polyester, stretchable, three-piece suit was a bit wrinkled. He had found a shirt that still had a collar, and his only tie. Brushing his hair to one side, he grabbed the two boxes of film as he exited the bathroom into the heated sunshine. As he crossed the parking lot to where the bus was parked, he looked both ways to see if the bus had attracted any unwanted attention. So far so good. No one was pointing, or even looking in its direction. The bus, a 1952 Dodge, painted with navy surplus gray, applied with a broom. To say it was ugly did not begin to cover its appearance. Eighteen feet long. It looked as high as it was long.
He walked past the old, gray whale, as he affectionately called it. And crossed the street to the supermarket. Upon entering the store he went straight to the ‘customer service’ office window by the safe, and employee’s time clock. A woman about sixty years old took a long inhale from her Pall Mall non-filtered cigarette before looking up at the young man dressed up like the doorman at the Waldorf Astoria.
“Can I help you?”
He realized he was sweating profusely. It began to run down his face, and under his ears onto the collar of his too-thick shirt. He quickly remembered his lines.
“Hi, I need to return these two packs of film? They do not fit in my camera. See, these are for a model: three-sixty, and I need film for model: two-fifteen?”
He had done his homework. Earlier that day he came into the store and checked out all the available films before he stole the two packages he was now returning for refund. They sold for seventeen-ninety-nine each. Which was a lot of money. A forty dollar score for one transaction.
“So, I need to return these and get my money back?”
She looked at the kid in front of her.
“How can wear that suit on such a hot day?”
He had anticipated this.
“I’m actually going to a funeral? That’s why I need the film?”
“Well, let me see if we have the, what was it? Two-ten?”
“Uh, it’s a model: two fifteen Polaroid Instant. I already looked, you don’t have it.”
“Well, we might have it under the counter. Over where you drop off the film.”
Suddenly a small panic set in. He didn’t know they had film in other places. What if they have it? This will all be for nothing.
“Uh…Ok, sounds good.”
She came out of the closet sized box and walked towards the counter on the far side of the store. His first thought upon seeing her full person was that she was enormous. Her ankles where as big around as his upper thigh. He was amazed at how agile, and graceful she was as she made her way to the counter.
“Let’s see, we got…Kodak….Kodack…wait! Here’s some Polaroids. Three-fifty, four-thirty…something called, ‘Countdown M-sixty?’ Nothing in the two-hundreds. Ok, I guess we don’t have it.”
A sigh of relief escaped him. He tried to look disappointed.
“Oh, that’s a bummer.”
She made her way back to the customer service booth. Once inside and seated on her stool, she said,
“Ok, now if you’ll just give me the receipt?”
Now it was time for the performance.
“I’m such an idiot! I threw it away! Oh how stupid of me! Now I suppose I have to lose all this money! And I still have to spend more money to buy the right film? Damn it! I’m sorry to have wasted your time. I’m just a moron. So stupid of me!”
It worked.
“Now, now. Wait a minute. It’s not all doom and gloom. Let’s see. It’s obviously from our store. I can tell by the sticker. Let me go ahead and refund for cash, since we don’t have the right film we can’t do an exchange. Let’s see that’s seventeen, ninety-nine, twice is thirty-five, ninety-eight, with six percent sales tax of two dollars and fifteen cents, giving a grand total of, thirty-eight dollars and fourteen cents.”
She counted out the money for him, and as she gave him the fourteen cents, and he handed her the film, he shrugged off a twinge of guilt. A slight feeling of unease that he was lying to, and taking advantage of someone’s kindness. He was playing this sweet old lady for a fool by selling back the stolen items from her own store. His relief that his con had been successful overruled his brief feeling of regret. He began his usual justification. He was stuck. He was broke. He needed gas. He needed food. But most of all, he needed alcohol.
After thanking the woman, he walked quickly out the door. Looking behind him to see if anyone was following him. When the outside air filled his lungs, he allowed himself a smile. Once he was inside the school bus he went over his maps to plot the shortest course to the next store. On the chair in front of him were at least thirty packages of film. Each one had a piece of tan masking tape with the name of its store written on it. Some were marked, ‘Vons, Polk St. no two-fifteen.’ Others were marked, ‘Albertson’s, Seventh St. No three-fifty-five.’ Or, ‘Thrifty’s, Ocean Ave. No M-sixty.’ He went down his list and marked off his latest store. ‘Only five more left to go for today, and that’ll be almost three-hundred dollars! Not bad for a day’s work.
He tried to start the bus, but as usual, it wouldn’t start. The battery’s not getting enough of a charge. He went into the cabin section of the bus and changed his clothes. Putting on his coveralls, and boots he went outside and grabbed the jumper cables. ‘Gotta get a new generator one of these days.’ He was thinking to himself as an elderly man approached him.
“You need a jump there, young man?”