Art Doc
SWCA Member, Absent Comrade
I worked nights and weekends in a small store while going to college in the mid 1970s. The store was not in the best neighborhood. The graveyard shift got interesting at times.
One night a lowered Caddy pulled in. It was painted pearl white, wide white wall tires, white interior. This guy got out who was almost a parody of every movie pimp you've ever seen. He was dressed in white from his wide brimmed hat to his high heeled "Beatle Boots." Even the feather sweeping from the back of his hat was white. He however was black, all 5' 2" and 110 pounds of him. He strutted into the store with a pair of incredibly trashy looking women in tow. One white and one black. I thought I was in a Saturday Night Live Skit.
The trio approach the counter with a bottle of wine. A bottle of cheap wine. Like $1.49 and even back then that didn't buy much in a bottle of wine. He paid with two, one dollar coins, which he flung across the counter at me. The coins skidded off the counter onto the floor. I bent over and picked them up. I placed them on the counter and pushed them towards him saying "How about you try handing me the money instead of throwing it at me?"
That got him going. He started dancing in place, glaring at me as he tossed his head and hitched up his white slacks. "Don't be messin' wit me," he barked. "I gots friends in this town!" The wide, bell bottom pants legs swayed with his prancing movement. It was almost hypnotic.
"Really? How many friends do you have?"
"Lots of friends...I gots lots of friends," he assured me.
"That must be nice," I replied calmly. "I only have two friends...Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson. Perhaps you'd like to meet them?"
I have no idea where that line came from. I said it without thinking. True improvisational dialogue. Maybe I heard it long ago in a movie. I don't know. But the fact was that I did have a 4" M28 in a holster under my store clerk smock.
The man froze at my S&W reference, and with his girls pulling him by the arms and urging him in the strongest possible terms to leave, he scooped up his $2 and they all retreated to the Caddy and drove off. I never saw him or his women again. Never saw any of his friends, either. At least as far as I know I never saw any of them as nobody ever admitted to being his friend.
I've thought about writing a book about my experiences working in convenience stores. How about "Confessions of a Night Clerk" for a title?
One night a lowered Caddy pulled in. It was painted pearl white, wide white wall tires, white interior. This guy got out who was almost a parody of every movie pimp you've ever seen. He was dressed in white from his wide brimmed hat to his high heeled "Beatle Boots." Even the feather sweeping from the back of his hat was white. He however was black, all 5' 2" and 110 pounds of him. He strutted into the store with a pair of incredibly trashy looking women in tow. One white and one black. I thought I was in a Saturday Night Live Skit.
The trio approach the counter with a bottle of wine. A bottle of cheap wine. Like $1.49 and even back then that didn't buy much in a bottle of wine. He paid with two, one dollar coins, which he flung across the counter at me. The coins skidded off the counter onto the floor. I bent over and picked them up. I placed them on the counter and pushed them towards him saying "How about you try handing me the money instead of throwing it at me?"
That got him going. He started dancing in place, glaring at me as he tossed his head and hitched up his white slacks. "Don't be messin' wit me," he barked. "I gots friends in this town!" The wide, bell bottom pants legs swayed with his prancing movement. It was almost hypnotic.
"Really? How many friends do you have?"
"Lots of friends...I gots lots of friends," he assured me.
"That must be nice," I replied calmly. "I only have two friends...Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson. Perhaps you'd like to meet them?"
I have no idea where that line came from. I said it without thinking. True improvisational dialogue. Maybe I heard it long ago in a movie. I don't know. But the fact was that I did have a 4" M28 in a holster under my store clerk smock.
The man froze at my S&W reference, and with his girls pulling him by the arms and urging him in the strongest possible terms to leave, he scooped up his $2 and they all retreated to the Caddy and drove off. I never saw him or his women again. Never saw any of his friends, either. At least as far as I know I never saw any of them as nobody ever admitted to being his friend.
I've thought about writing a book about my experiences working in convenience stores. How about "Confessions of a Night Clerk" for a title?
