He doesn't know God spoke through him. He thinks it was Armando, the general manager, telling him what to do. But I know. And me, I don't really know, but I think I know—and that keeps me going.
I have a gun. I carry it with me all day long. The days I don't have to use it, are days I can get home in time, and continue working on my empire before I'm under the ground. Some would rather see me burn, and that's their right, I suppose. My associates urge me to use my gun; they say it's a tool one must utilize in our line of work. Our line of work? They insist I'm the one that should use it, and they don't even own one. Heaven forbid, mine jams; I can't rely on them. All I have is God. When I'm empty handed, and Armando the general manager sees the cookies have no expiration date and tells him, Don't you buy any cookies from that bum again until he puts the labels on them, all he can do is what he's told. He doesn't know he's passing me a message from God.
That afternoon around 1:28PM, I ran out of ammo inside the 7-11. I slowly crept out of the store, and looked around. It was clear, the weather. I bit a cookie as I planned my next move. I'd have to find a Staples, but where? My mind was as clear as what the CRV might be in this specific city. I wouldn't beat traffic anymore, that's for sure. I already had the payout. I walked away leaving the merchant with a naked package. Essentially, I ended up stealing that cookie from them, as well, one they had already purchased. When I realized what I had done, I knew they had every right to call the cops, and I'd have to tell the officers, You're guys aren't the only ones packing.
At the next location, the manager carried a gun. Tony was his name. Here was a man who knew the aisles. He was a man's man. He let me try it on my products, and I went on to the next store; he knew I was for real.
I went through all my stops that way; I let everybody see my face. When I lastly got to Armando's sphere of influence, I met up with Raphael, the clerk. He was bald and I tried to call him Ralph, but he wasn't having any of it. He pulled me aside, beyond the scope of some pansies with their coconut waters. After a few minutes, we both agreed that I would address him as Raphael. Then he said, What do you think you're doing? I'm looking out for you, but I gotta look to my livelihood, first. It was clear to me that there are rules to this game, this life we choose. If the cookies have expiration, no problem, he continued, I buy it from you anytime. I even buy for my daughter, no samples—I pay you cash. I have it. He wasn't fooling around. No one is in this business. I told him how lazy I was. It didn't matter, I knew it was Armando who set forth the stipulations. Ralph was a good man, a good father apparently. Expiration dates are special; they have the power to make clerks and consumers alike feel warm and secure. It doesn't matter what date I choose; I could put my paternal grandmother's birthday on it, but just as long as there's a date and a label. I'm not that kind of man, to put my grandma's birthday as the expiration date of a cookie.
As Ralph refused the pay out, per Armando's decree, I walked out and knew I was going to be in this traffic alone. My faith in God had been worn and tested all day by the other drivers on the road, people who need to get somewhere over everyone else, and buy their lottery and scratchers. I had done a few hit and runs to some of Armando's other stores already, left several of his locations with a ticking time bomb of flavor. Now if I wanted to save my ass and keep him happy, I had to go back, and find some ammo for my gun.
I reached out to God and said a prayer; then I took out my phone and immediately found a Staples location nearby. When I arrived, Bertha Vasquez informed me she didn't know where they was—she, too, was using her phone. Then her manager revealed they were backordered. It was close to four; few cars would let me pass. When they get to their destination and check their scratchers and it says, "Not a Winner," they take it to heart, then check 17 more times, hoping their fate will change. I knew where my fate would take me, to the Smart and Final.
At the Smart and Final, they said, Just what you see there, and I said, Where? They, too, was using their phone. I left defeated, and returned to my car asking God if he was even there? I opened my trunk to shove down another cookie in bewilderment; just then I realized I had two sets of guns. I had earlier absentmindedly stolen Tony's gun.
I returned to Armando's stores like a man on a rampage, with a gun full of ammo. I gave the kids their expiration date, a good, happy date. Then I returned to Tony's, and left his gun and an apology.
God has always been with me; I just hadn't noticed. During the traffic ride home, I prayed for patience and tolerance; I prayed to check my ego from feeling too virtuous.
No comments:
Post a Comment