Caught in the Crotchfire

by Kim Hunt Harris

  He had had me at “free Krunchy Kreems,” but when he said the part about giving away the phones, every head in the place had turned to me.

  “You need to enter that,” Flo had said, pointing at me. “You need a new phone.”

  “Salem,” Tammy the Dog Bather had breathed, moving slowly toward me with hands held out. “You could have a decent phone.” She had said this with the air of someone who’d just heard of a cure for their friend’s life-threatening illness.

  So okay, my phone was not fancy. It didn’t have apps, it didn’t keep a calendar for me or take pictures or suggest alternate routes to work when traffic was backed up. And I didn’t care. I didn’t need a smart phone. My phone made phone calls and told me the correct time, and for the life of me I couldn’t understand why this bothered everyone around me so much more than it bothered me. Every time I pulled it out of my jeans pocket to call someone, a lone tear rolled down Tammy’s cheek before she turned away.

  “I don’t need a smart phone,” I had said. “I’m quite smart enough on my own, thank you very much.” That might be stretching things, but so what?

  “Oh, but you’re going to want this one,” Dakota said. “We call it the “Smart Enuff” phone.” He held up the little fan sign they’d had made to hand out.

  All the bells and whistles you want, it said. None of the hassle you don’t.

  “Smart Enuff phone,” I repeated. I kind of liked that.

  “Right. We did a study. Most cell phone companies pour money into creating these huge networks. That’s how they advertise them, right? Show the maps with the points of their coverage and compare it to the other companies? But most people don’t need that. They spend the majority of their time right here at home, or within a few hundred miles of it. So what’s the point of paying for a huge network? None. No point at all.”

  “It’s sad because it’s true,” I said. “I never get more than two hundred miles from home.”

  “And if you do travel somewhere,” he went on as if I hadn’t just revealed a super sad personal fact, “We have arrangements for all the major carriers. Each contract comes with a set number of days on wider networks, that you can use if and when you need them.”

  “Sounds great,” I said. My resentment at the lack of respect for my minimalist attitude was being slowly edged out by the hope that I could actually have one of those phones. The truth was, a new phone was one of those things I had maturely decided wasn’t needed. I’d worked hard the past few years at getting my life together, and things were on a definite — if somewhat shallow — uptick. I hadn’t had a drink in over a year, which meant I also hadn’t had a DUI, a hangover, been fired for showing up to work drunk, or had to beg my way out of getting the electricity turned off in over a year. One more visit to my probation officer, and one more payment on my fine, and I was free! No more peeing in a cup, and I would finally have some wiggle room in my budget.

  Which meant, of course, that the toddler portion of my brain started screaming for new toys. And a fancy phone was one of the shiny things it kept getting caught on.

  I was determined to get some money in the bank before I bought anything else, though. No new phone, no new car, no new clothes until I had some decent savings. Period. Who needed a smart phone anyway? Did I want to be one of those slack-jawed zombies walking down the street staring at their hand? Did I want to be one of those poor saps who couldn’t live five minutes without checking their Facebook status or their Instagram accounts?

  Yes. Yes, I did. But I was being mature and I was going to Put. Money. In. The. Bank.

  But if I could have a free phone…

  So before I ended my prayer that morning, I said, “If you could see fit to let me win one of those phones, I’d really appreciate it. No pressure. Just…if there isn’t someone more needy than me, of course. I’m just putting it out there that I would not be unhappy if I won. That’s all.”

  As if on cue, my old phone rang. I ran to the bar where I’d left it charging and flipped it open, quite sure I knew who it would be.

  “Hi G-Ma,” I said. “Everything okay at the motel?”

  “They’re here!” G-Ma hissed into the phone. “It’s the Bandits! They’re trying to break down the back door!”

  “Are you sure? Can you see anything?”

  “No, they’re in the back, by the alley. But they’re making all kinds of racket. I don’t care what they say, I’m going to call 9-1-1. Then I’m going to shoot — oh, wait. I think that’s the trash truck.”

  I figured as much. I walked through my trailer to the bathroom so I could get ready for work while G-Ma worked through her fifth near-miss with the High Point Bandits. Multi-tasker extraordinaire, that’s me. I didn’t want to be late for work again because of one of G-Ma’s dramas, but I also couldn’t bring myself to hang up on her just in case it was the Bandits. There had been so many robberies in that part of town; G-Ma’s strip motel was one of the few businesses that hadn’t been hit yet.

  “Yep, it’s the trash truck. Good thing I looked before I shot.”

  “Good thing,” I agreed, putting toothpaste on my brush. “What did you mean, you don’t care what they say? You’re supposed to call 9-1-1 if you think someone is breaking in.”

  “Apparently there’s a limit. Last time the police were out here, they had a bad attitude about helping me out. A tax-paying senior citizen who could have been held at gunpoint.”

  “I don’t think they can actually keep you from calling if you think it’s an actual emergency, though. Can they?”

  “Who knows? All I know is, they suggested I at least wait until I see a black mask before I place the call. Which will be too late, of course. They’d get there in time to clean up the bodies. But whatever.”

  So G-Ma was grounded from 9-1-1. That explained why her calls to me had increased so significantly.

  It might be silly, but I kind of liked knowing that I was G-Ma’s go-to for defense, after the police department, and her own pistol, of course. That one was always at the top of the list. I liked to think that it was a sign of growing respect that she had come to depend on me. More likely, it was that I was the closest family member to her, but still…I had, with the help of my best friend Viv, solved two murders within the past few months. I supposed the person who once changed your diapers had to respect that, even if both times were more accident than anything resembling detective ability.

  “Well, feel free to call me if you think you’re about to be robbed.” I could at least be the middleman who helped keep her calm so she didn’t shoot innocent bystanders.

  At Flo’s Bow Wow Barbers that morning, we took a break around 10:30 and went out to see the festivities. As promised, there were balloon animals, a mariachi band, and university radio station. The DJ took breaks between weird indie songs to extol the virtues of the Smart Enuff phone.

  Viv drove up in her Cadillac and parked in the big middle of everything.

  “You’re not getting a new phone, are you?” I wasn’t sure of Viv’s age or her level of wealth, but I knew they were both significant. I guessed her age at 80-something, and her bank account at more-than-I-would-see-in-my-lifetime. Viv loved having all the latest toys and gadgets, and certainly would never go for a “Smart Enuff” phone. Viv had the newest “Smart Enough to Rule Humanity” phone and a shiny blinged-out case for it, too. She didn’t know how to work it, but still.

  “No, I came for the free Krunchy Kreems. I haven’t had one since last time I drove to Amarillo.”

  “Shhh,” I said. For some Lubbock people, “Amarillo” was a bad word. It was one of those weird neighboring town competitions that made little sense, but people seemed to get caught up in it. Plus, Amarillo had not one but two Krunchy Kreem franchises and Lubbock had not managed to score one. Some kind of weird Cain and Abel thing. I didn’t want her to get anybody started on all the ways Lubbock was superior to Amarillo. Although it really kind of was.

  “I also came to show you this.” She handed me
a postcard.

  I looked at the front, with its full-color, high definition picture of a giant cockroach.

  “Ugh!” I shouted, nearly dropping the thing. “Why?”

  “Look at the back,” Viv said.

  I flipped it over. The card was addressed to Viv at the Belle Court Independent Living Centre, and the space saved for a note to the receiver simply said, “No sign yet. Staying on the move. Saw this and thought of you two hahahaha.”

  “Dale,” I said with a sneer.

  “Shhh!” Viv darted a look around us. “We swore to never speak of it!”

  “I’m not speaking of it! But you’re the one who brought me the postcard.”

  “I wasn’t going to be the only one to enjoy that thing.”

  I handed it back to her.

  She refused to take it. “I’m good, thanks. Almost ruined my appetite for donuts.”

  I dropped the postcard into a nearby trashcan and pointed to the donut line. After the dream I’d had that morning, I’d decided to forgo the little drops of fat sunshine dripping with golden sugar, but the length of the line reinforced my decision.

  “Crud,” Viv said. “I might have to play my doddering old lady bit and stumble to the front of the line.”

  “Don’t do it,” I said. “You really can’t count on people being tolerant of a confused old lady, not when there are Krunchy Kreems involved.”

  “True. Hey, they’re starting the contest, anyway. Did you enter?”

  “Of course.” I stepped around her, eager to hear my name called.

  So eager, in fact, that when they actually did call my name, I jumped two feet in the air.

  I won a phone! I raced up to stand on the sidewalk between Montana and his brother Dakota, ready to rip the thing from their hands.

  I was so ready, in fact, that it took me a while to realize there were more than three names called. Montana had said they were going to give away three phones but there were…I counted…twelve people by the time they finished calling names.

  Dang. I maybe had not won a phone after all.

  “Let’s have a round of applause for our semi-finalists.” Montana lifted his hands high in the air and clapped, receiving a tepid response from the crowd. Jealous, I thought with an inner smirk.

  “Now, we have to do something to whittle this down to three people, because we only have three phones to give away. So we thought, what could we do? Our first thought was, dizzy bat! You guys know dizzy bat, right? You stand the bat up on the ground, put your forehead against it and circle the bat ten times, then try to run a straight line?”

  The crowd cheered. They knew dizzy bat!

  “So we thought we could have the contestants compete in a game of dizzy bat, with the top three taking the prize.”

  The crowd hooted and cheered.

  Montana let them respond, then raised the microphone back to his mouth. “But that didn’t seem quite right. Close, but not quite it, you know what I mean? What could we do?”

  The crowd started shouting out ideas. When I heard “wet t-shirt contest” I decided I didn’t need a phone after all, although I could probably win over the beer belly guy standing beside me.

  “Plus, all this talk about Krunchy Kreems had us unable to get the idea of donuts out of our heads. So we figured, how about we combine the two things and make it fun?”

  “Oh, dear lord in heaven, thank you,” I prayed silently. A Krunchy Kreem donut eating contest! I was about to win a new phone!

  But it wasn’t an eating contest. Even as my mouth watered and I began calculating how many hundreds of loops around Trailertopia I would need to walk to burn off the calories, I realized they were rolling out a cart not of real donuts but of…giant inflatable donuts. Colorful, with painted on icing and sprinkles. Giant, inner tube donuts.

  Dakota passed them out one by one as Montana gave out instructions. We were to put the donut around our middle, then each stand behind a bat. Meanwhile, a group of twelve people were lined up at the other end of the parking lot, baseball bats held with the fat end against the ground. We were to do our ten spins around the bat, then run with the donut around our middle toward the stage about fifty yards away. The first three people to slap Montana’s outstretched hand would win a phone.

  I looked around at my competition. The guy with the beer belly was having trouble getting the tube around his shoulders. Two skinny girls already had their tubes on and had to hold them up. Rude. I decided I would need to accidentally bump into both of them during the race.

  I hoped I could get my fake donut over my boobs. I had no hope of getting it over my hips, so my choices at this point were either to forfeit or cram the boobs through.

  I kind of wanted to punch Dakota and Montana and any other state I could name. If they hadn’t gotten my hopes up by calling my name, I might have declined this challenge, but I’d already started imagining that phone in my hand. Plus, I had prayed for it that very morning. If God had made them call my name and then I bailed when things got embarrassing, He might decide not to even try on my next request. And we both knew there would be a next request.

  I sighed and stuck my arms through the tube. It went over my shoulders okay but, as feared, rested comfortably on my boobs like a bizarre scarf. I shoved with both hands.

  “Want me to help?” Viv asked, coming toward me with hands helpfully positioned to push up on my boobs while I pushed down on the inner tube.

  “No, I’m good, thanks.” I kept shoving until it finally went over. I heard a click and realized Viv had her own phone out and was taking pictures.

  At the look I gave her, she said, “Come on. How am I not going to take a picture of this?” She held the phone out to me and showed me the picture of me, looking none too thrilled, shoving the giant donut down over my chest.

  “Do not post that on Facebook and tag me,” I warned. “I mean it. I will tell the nurse you haven’t been taking your meds,” I said. Viv lived in fear of the power of the Belle Court nursing staff.

  The twelve of us lined up behind our bats.

  “Contestants ready? Counters ready?” Montana called out from the other end. “Your counters are going to count your turns around the bat and make sure you don’t lift your forehead. Once you get to ten, they’ll tell you to go, and then you run to me as fast as you can.”

  I gave him a hateful look, which he completely ignored, and lowered my head to the bat.

  All this humiliation filled me with purpose, though. There was no way I was going through this and not coming out without a phone on the other side.

  “On your mark! Get set! Go!”

  I pressed my forehead into the bat and began a quick-shuffle step in a clockwise direction around my bat. Fortunately, this was not my first attempt at dizzy bat. Of course, all the other times I’d been drunk before I even got to the starting line, but I figured at least this time I had a decent chance of not hurling halfway through.

  “One!” my counter shouted as I made my way around. “Two!”

  I heard the shouts of the other counters and knew I was ahead of some, but just keeping even with others. I decided the best strategy would be to concentrate on keeping my footing and getting through it as balanced as I could.

  “Ten!” my counter finally shouted, and I straightened to head toward the end of the parking lot. I immediately listed to the right and careened into one of the skinny girls. And I hadn’t even meant to!

  “Sorry,” I said, purely for form’s sake. I tried to get back on course but the best I could do was a wide, weaving path to the right. I leaned left, but my feet kept going right and I was about to run into a crowd of ruthlessly laughing spectators.

  “Go!” Viv shouted. “You can do it!” Then she shoved me back into play.

  I lurched back toward the middle of the lot, stumbling over a man who’d fallen and apparently abandoned hope then and there. I knew that, if I could stay upright, the dizziness would eventually pass and I’d be able to regulate more.

&n
bsp; I glanced toward where Montana stood and realized with dismay that there were already three people ahead of me, and if the heavy breathing was any indication, beer belly guy was gaining on me. I tried to move my feet faster but the top half of me was leaning far ahead of the bottom half, and I wasn’t sure how long I could keep up this weight distribution without eventually diving headfirst into asphalt. Was a “Smart Enuff” phone worth a head injury?

  Yes. Yes, it was. I lunged forward.

  One of the three ahead of me took a dive and collapsed into a heap of raucous laughter, rolling around on her donut and hooting.

  I plowed past her. I saw the beer belly from the corner of my eye, and it looked like he was marginally ahead of me but too far to the left of Montana to reach his hand once he got there.

  My feet tangled together and I pitched forward. I scraped my hands hard against the asphalt parking lot. I shoved to right myself again. One skinny girl reached Montana and slapped his hand, jumping into the air with a whoop. She crashed promptly into the cart that had held the giant donuts and fell to the ground when it rolled away.

  Ten yards away. I risked a glance at beer belly. He was looking at me, and I know we were both thinking the same thing.

  There’s the person who would steal my phone.

  Then he reached out and grabbed my donut.

  “Hey!” I screamed. “That’s cheating! He’s cheating!”

  He yanked hard and I stumbled backwards, losing my footing. I pinwheeled my arms and landed on my butt.

  Then came a high-pitched “Aaaiiiyeee!” sound from the crowd. A blue blur flew past me, and Viv slammed into beer belly, knocking him off track. He tripped over a curb stop and pitched forward onto the sidewalk with a “whuf!”

  “Go, Salem, go!” Viv and everyone from Flo’s screamed at me.

  I lunged to right myself, but with the donut around my middle I couldn’t do it. I collapsed back against the pavement.