Gary pays a lot of money to rent space in our shitty strip mall for his pizza shop. Because he pays a lot of money to rent space in the strip mall, he takes a very displeasured stance when solicitors come by trying to sell paintings or cheap toys or makeup or whatever out of the back of their minivan.
“They want to sell that shit? I’ve got nothing against them. They can come and rent a space in this strip mall and pay a lot of fucking money to rent a fucking space and they can sell their shit. Until they do that, fuck ‘em.”
So this afternoon I found myself picking up the rest of Zap’s shift, and I was leaning against the front counter doodling on the back of an order sheet as Gary talked to his buddy He-Man. I don’t know exactly what He-Man does except that its something related to landscaping. I think he builds decks and patios. Last year a falling tree and a storm put a (thick) branch right through his leg. He still has the blood-stained branch. (And, uh, he looks like He-Man which is why I call him He-Man).
Gary likes it when his buddies stop in during the afternoon. Since we’re generally slow, he’s got time to talk with them about real-estate, construction, home remodeling, or how some people really change when they go from making $50k a year to making half-a-mill. Talking with his buddies about these subjects are essentially the closest thing to relaxation Gary has at work. It’s best not to disturb him if it can be helped during this time.
So I knew there was going to be trouble when a guy and a girl walked into the shop carrying paintings. They were cheerful and trying to be good salespeople. Of course, since there’s a “No Soliciting” sign on the door — and since I take my lead from Gary — I didn’t feel bad about telling them to get lost. I didn’t phrase it like that, I actually said something like, “No thanks, please leave.”
But of course, they didn’t listen, and kept babbling on about the unique pieces of work they were trying to offload for a mere twenty bucks, and what an incredible bargain these paintings were, and how’d they’d brighten up —
“No thank you, please go.” Gary said, interupting his conversation with He-Man.
The above quote — paraphrased, of course — is essentially a miracle. Gary must’ve been having some good conversation because he’s rarely polite, particularly to a bunch of cheap-assholes who can’t be bothered to pay a lot of money to rent a store in a strip mall.
Did they stop?
Of course not. They continued their pitch and I put down my pen, stopped my doodling, and asked again that they leave. Refusing to take the hint —
– Gary slammed his palm down on the metal surface of the cut table, walked to the counter — pushed me aside — picked up the phone over the register (the phone hidden by the wall) and dialed. “Police?”
Finally, the two duntzes shut up and mouthed “Police?” at each other.
“I’ve got tresspassers in my store who are refusing to leave and causing trouble with my employees.”
I don’t think I’ve seen any two people move quite that quickly, but by the time Gary was finished the sentence they were in the parking lot. Gary put the phone on the counter, walked to the door, and shouted after them that they needed to clear out of the lot — and never come back! — or he’d see to it that charges were pressed. Needless to say, they hightailed it out of the lot. It remains to be seen if they’ll return.
Walking back to He-Man, Gary looked at me and said, “So, apparently it’ll be sunny and fifty tomorrow.”
I picked the phone up from the counter. “… what was that listing again, sir? Sir? The police department?”
Gary. He’s such a joker.