“I wanna look at a phone” slurred the customer. It was around 1:30 am on a Tuesday; balls deep in graveyard shift, and this 6’5″ drunken 45-year-old man wanted to pick out a phone from the locked cabinet. I sighed to myself, it was an unnecessary fuck around and I had plenty of work to do instead of watching this drunken bastard stare at phones for 20 mins. Why couldn’t this asshole just get a coke and sausage roll?
The drunk giant stood before me, swaying from intoxication and glaring down with his glossy, bloodshot eyes, sheathed by his wrinkly, droopy eyelids. His breath and body reeked of booze, like he’d passed out in a kiddy pool filled with rum. David Draiman’s recognisable vocals resonated from a pair of Beats headphones, resting on the man’s neck. They were the expensive, fancy model with LED lights running along each ear piece. I was pretty sure this guy lives in the housing commission block behind the store so if he can afford these headphones I assumed he’s a drug dealer… or he just stole them.
Store policy states that I should herd the drunk outside first, lock the door while I retrieve the phone he’s chosen and scan it safely from behind the protective steel wiring over my counter. This is more fucking around however so I take the risk of being stabbed to serve him faster, after considering he is far too drunk to challenge my reaction time anyway.
“Nice headphones” I complimented. “Yeah man!” He responds while fixing a dopey, intoxicated smile that reminds me of my dad, drowning his problems with alcohol back when I was a kid. “I bought a fucking parrot man! five hundred bucks!” He proclaimed. Definitely a drug dealer. “A parrot!?” I laughed. “Yeah man! This bird is fuckin’ awesome, I shit you not! I can put on a Disturbed or Metallica DVD and this fucking thing head-bangs and sings along!” He boasted proudly. I laugh out loud with the image of this drunk dude and his parrot screeching along to Master of Puppets. I’ve seen videos of parrots doing similar things on Youtube so I actually believe him. “My girlfriend fucking hates it though, the other day, she came storming in and was like “I’m sick of your fucking bird and sick of your fucking shit music!”” He then looked me right in the eyes, as if he were staring at his girlfriend and yelled “BITCH! IF THE BIRD GOES… I GO!!” I completely lost it, I was laughing so hard at the thought of this conversation, I actually had tears in my eyes.
“You wanna know what she fuckin’ said to me man? She said I was worth too much money for her to lose me… That’s what she fucking said!!” He continued while I laughed hysterically. All this bloke wanted, was to jam out to heavy metal with his bird and his girlfriend was busting his balls for it. Then when he gave her an ultimatum she blatantly admitted she needed him purely for his money. “I just root her and she spends all my money.” He explained how he gets $4000 in payments each fortnight for the rest of his life and mentioned some abbreviation I was unfamiliar with. “What is that, like compo?” I asked. “Nah I served in Afghanistan and was shot six times, they blew out me fuckin’ knee and got me a few in my back”, He then began rolling his three-quarter pants up his leg while stumbling around with inebriated balance. He revealed his knee which had a lighter variation of skin texture than the rest of his leg, obviously showing signs of modification. He then took off his haggard shirt and showed me several spots of scar tissue on his back from the bullet wounds. Holy shit, this guy was actually legit… so this is how he paid for the Beats, parrot and new phone. “Was it terrifying when you were shot?” I asked. “Nah it just kind of happens and you accept it” He replied, “Now I just sit at home and get drunk every single day” He grinned with a look of drunken stupor and a sparkle in his tired eyes.
I watched the guy stumble towards home, through the gas pumps under the moth-ridden lights of the canopy. I obviously have no idea what goes on in the guys mind but I couldn’t help but think… What a terrible waste of fucking life. That guy could travel anywhere he wants in the world yet he chooses to drink all day and live in a shitty neighborhood with a shameless, gold digging girlfriend. I reflect on my current situation, slaving wages with a disreputable job in my late 20’s to fund my travel plans… would I get shot for that kind of money? Probably not.
Ominous Cesspool 