“Those guys are all getting caught,” Nico said.
“I know.” I shook my head. “I should get over to Natalie's, though. She wants to watch a movie after work.”
“Which movie?”
“Probably The Breakfast Club again.”
“Didn’t you guys watch that last week?”
“Two weeks ago. But, yeah, we watch it all the time. It’s her favorite movie. It’s actually pretty great. It’s the eighties. These kids all get Saturday detention for different reasons, and there's, like, a jock and a nerd, a preppy girl, a kind of punk-goth chick, and sort of a troublemaker bully guy. The principle is an asshole and they all bond over fucking with him, but also they all have shitty parents.”
“Is it funny?”
“It gets funnier every time I see it for some reason. It’s nostalgic, though. Almost makes me miss being fucking miserable in school everyday. Here’s what you do, though,” I continued, “There’s a scene where they smoke joints in the library. Don’t smoke before the movie, and then you smoke when they smoke.”
“No shit.” Nico’s eyes opened wide.
“It’s the only way anyone should watch The Breakfast Club. I’m serious. You’ll love it.”
“Dude, you just sold me on it. I’ll have Ryder download that shit tonight.”
“Hell yeah.” I stood up. “Alright, man. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
It was a beautiful dry summer day. As I approached my car, I noticed a styrofoam takeout container lying open on the hood.
What the fuck?
Some asshole had poured red paint into one side of the container and white paint in the other, then flipped it onto the hood. Swirly red, white, and pink splatters ran from the front passenger side of the hood all the way down to the front bumper. I peeled the styrofoam container off to discover the paint had pretty much dried already.
I called Nico, but we had no way of knowing who did it; his security camera didn’t cover that curbside. Mistake. That was Mont Pleasant for you.
It was a 1995 Ford Escort LX, a station wagon. Kind of a maroon — not quite red enough to match the fresh house paint on my hood. It was my first car, and it was in decent shape for what it was. Really good on gas, which was great since prices had just started hiking. It had these nine-inch Jensen speaker boxes in the trunk, an extra ten feet of wire attached to each so I could pull them out and put them on the roof while we skateboarded or chilled.
My car really wasn’t worth getting mad about as long as it still ran. Chris’s mom had dented the passenger door with her giant Ford Expedition. Her bumper lined up with the door handle perfectly, left a half-dollar-sized fold in the handle. After that, the door wouldn’t open from the outside. My dad helped me replace it, but the only other Ford Escort in the junkyard was forest green. So now I had paint all over the front of my already hideous car. I was surprisingly optimistic about it at the time.
Six
“You promise?”
Natalie Blossom had a one-bedroom apartment in Guilderland, a more affluent town than Rotterdam. She was really the only person I knew who had a nice place of their own. I mean, she was twenty-one and had her shit together—way more than me or any of my friends did, anyway.
We'd met as Mega Bread employees. It was my day off, and I was picking up my check. My jaw hit the floor as soon as she walked in for her interview. She was super cute and outgoing, which is good because I never would have had the balls to talk to her. She walked over to tell me she liked my shoes, which were creeper-style sneakers without platforms. They were white with red plaid on top, D-rings to hold the laces, and metal zipper teeth, with a bondage strap around the back. I told her I liked her hair, which was hot pink in a pixie cut. From then on, we were pretty much infatuated with each other.
We only went on a couple dates before we made it an official thing. Not long after that, Natalie finished college and quit Mega Bread to work for the New York State government on “information technology procurement contracts,” whatever the fuck that meant. It paid really well.
Ever since she graduated, she’d been on me to go to college myself. I was completely focused on turning Trouble Bored into a full-time job, though. Not just for me but for Steve, Wolf, and Bungie too. I felt a great responsibility to keep the dream alive for everyone.
I pulled into the parking lot just as Natalie was getting home from work.
“What the fuck is all over your car?” she shouted over to me as I opened my door.
“Fucking paint, I guess. Some asshole dumped it on my hood when I was parked outside of Nico’s.”
I stepped out of my car, hugged her, and gave her a kiss.
“Gray.”
“What? People dump paint on other people’s cars all the time. The world’s an imperfect place.”
Natalie sighed. “It is kind of fun-looking.”
“Yeah. I think I’m gonna keep it,” I responded.
* * *
We headed up the wooden stairs to her second-floor apartment. The cool central air felt so good against the summer heat. Natalie headed into her bedroom while I stuck my face in the fridge, looking for something to drink.
“What’s Nico up to?”
“You know. Same shit, different day. Oh!” I laughed. “Freddy and Ryder broke into the Family Times on State Street and found a fucking helium tank and some other shit they are trying to keep.”
“Oh my god—what?”
“Yeah. They tried to get me to pick them up, and I was like, ‘Maybe see if Chris wants to get arrested. I’m busy today.’”
“Seems like the right choice, Grayson Winters.”
I popped my head out of the fridge. “Wanna share a Diet Coke?”
“Sure!”
I took a can from the fridge, rinsed the top under the faucet, wiped it on a paper towel, then hummed the Diet Coke “Just for the thrill of it…” jingle as I poured the can into two glasses equally. It was a ritual I'd picked up from Steve. We were both obsessive about germs; but I mean, honestly, so many cans of soda are being pissed on by mice all the time. You can’t be careful enough in my opinion.
“Your mom called me today.”
Natalie sounded a lot closer. I turned around to see her standing in her bra and panties, gently using a makeup wipe.
“Can you not talk about my mom while I’m over here pitching a tent?”
“You can put your tent away. I’m here for the soda,” she teased.
“Well, good. ‘Cause I thought you wanted to watch a movie tonight, and this would be a false advertisement.”
I leaned back against the kitchen counter.
“Yeah...So your mom called.”
I rolled my eyes and retreated to the couch.
Natalie continued from the kitchen. “She wants you to pick up the pile of mail that’s sitting at her house.”
“I will do nothing of the sort.”
“Well, consider it. Because I am tired of hearing about it.”
“Trust me, I’m tired of hearing about it too,” I stated.
“So then why not just do what she wants?” Natalie asked.
“Because...then I would be doing what she wants.”
“You do what I want.”
“That’s because you do what I want.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.”
Natalie finished her Diet Coke and headed toward the bathroom.
“How was work?” I shouted as I fumbled around the couch pillows, looking for the television remote.
“Work was work. Kim was a bitch.”
“Kim is always a bitch,” I replied.
“You have a show tomorrow night, right?” Natalie asked.
“Yup. Mario’s again.”
“And you’re helping me with Luna’s baby shower on Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“You promise?”
“...Yes.”
“I have a frozen pizza. You want to preheat the oven and throw it in while I take a shower?”
<
br /> “Hell yes. What movie do you want to watch?” I asked.
“The Breakfast Club, bitch!”
“How did I know?” I laughed.
I woke up to the sound of a dog barking outside of Natalie’s apartment.
“Ughhh, come on.” I groaned as sunlight blasted me in the face through her blinds.
I reached over for Natalie, but she wasn’t in bed. I looked toward her alarm clock.
“Oh, fuck!”
It was already ten-thirty. I’d forgotten to set the alarm on my cell phone, and my shift started at eleven. Mega Bread was twenty minutes away without traffic.
“Fuck!”
I struggled to get up from Natalie’s incredibly soft, pillow top mattress like a turtle stuck on its back.
Why is this bed so fucking comfortable?!
As soon as my feet hit the floor, I threw yesterday’s clothes on. My black Dickies already had my belt, wallet, and car keys in them. I kept an extra polo shirt for work in my car.
I grabbed an energy drink from the fridge on my way out. Natalie had taped a note to it:
“Get your mail!”
I ripped the note off the can and threw it in the trash as I ran for the front door. I didn’t even tie my shoes. I ran down the stairs, hopped in my car, turned my radio on—blasting Bad Religion—and peeled out of the parking lot towards Mega Bread.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, sipping on my drink, I rounded the corner into Mega Bread’s parking lot. As I bombed through the crosswalk toward a parking spot, I was forced to slam on my brakes to avoid hitting a customer who clearly had the right of way. I threw my hands up in a What the fuck? motion anyway. Once he was out of my way, I bolted into the parking spot I was targeting and slammed my station wagon into park.
This was a routine. Once I realized I wasn’t going to be late enough to get fired, the panic would wear off and my boldness would take over. I waltzed around the side of the building to the employees only entrance, where Wolf was waiting for me.
Mega Bread was an artisan hipster coffee-and-sandwich place trying to look cool while reeking of corporate desperation. I worked the register certain days and made food on others. Wolf was an overnight baker. He was usually at my location, but he could get called to any other store on a moment's notice if another baker called out, which happened often.
Wolf and I had different perceptions of Mega Bread. I never thought of it as a permanent job. He was getting paid a lot more as a baker and had pretty much considered it a career at that point even though he was always stressed out about it.
Wolf stood in the doorway, his bleach-blond mohawk slicked back. Tattoos ran from shoulder to wrist on both arms underneath his short-sleeve polo shirt. He threw me a clean apron.
“It’s 11:05, bro,” he pointed out.
“It’s eleven-o-I-don’t-give-a-fuck,” I responded.
Wolf cracked a smile. I usually saw him for a bit every morning as he was finishing up. As we walked through the back of the house, we approached the office. Wolf peeked in for me and saw Tom, our general manager, sitting with his back to us, counting money and watching the security cameras. Wolf waved me on; but as I attempted to sneak past Tom, he sensed me with the eyes in the back of his head.
“Grayson. It's almost ten after. I need you apron-on and up front by eleven,” Tom said.
“Sorry, Tom. Some asshole cut me off on the way here and almost wrecked my whole shit. It was a close one. I'm OK, though.”
Wolf shook his head and laughed under his breath. I didn’t wait for Tom to respond. Instead, I did what Tom wanted and went up front to the registers.
* * *
I stepped onto the floor and surveyed the scene. The dining room was somewhat calm for a Friday morning. Breakfast was over, and lunch started right around eleven thirty. The crew on the food line were screwing around in between orders, juggling bread bowls. The ones that got dropped on the floor were tossed back into the bin with the rest, ready to be served.
Baristas restocked while dining room staff wiped tables. The dishwasher popped out from the back to bus dishes rather than wait on dining room staff. You would be surprised how often people throw silverware out, and Tom never wanted to order more, so there was a constant need to rescue trashed silverware and clean it in time for the lunch rush.
The only customers in line were a mother and daughter who stood a few steps back from the register looking at the menu. The daughter looked to be maybe six years old.
“Good morning,” I said, “Do you have any questions?”
“Oh, we're still looking.”
“Sure. Take your time.”
The mother pondered out loud. “Hmm...I think I want to try the mac and cheese, but I still want a half sandwich.”
“Mommy?” The young girl looked up.
“Not now, honey.”
“Mommy, do you say the Pledge of Allegiance at work every day?”
“No, sweetie.”
“Then why do I have to say it at school every day?”
“Riley!” she snapped in an angry whisper. “Do not have another one of your fucking episodes here!”
Riley started to cry as the mother shushed at her.
“Calm down. What do you want to eat?”
“I miss daddy!” the young girl sobbed.
“Well, your father is in fucking Afganistan fucking around with his fucking friends. What do you want me to tell you?” The mom gritted her teeth.
She looked and noticed Wolf and I witnessing her meltdown.
“Daddy is a hero!” the mom assured the girl.
She grabbed the young girl by her arm and stormed out of Mega Bread. The young girl wailed throughout the dining room until the door shut behind them.
Wolf and I were cracking up.
“Punx,” I said. “I love kids these days.”
“The War on Terror is going to have some of these kids fucked up for life.”
* * *
I grabbed a cheese bagel and threw it through the bagel-slicing machine, which was basically an evil metal slide concealing a Skilsaw. That thing was seriously dangerous. It shot the halves against the wall. I grabbed a warmed sausage patty, a cooked egg, and a slice of American cheese off the food line and threw them on one half of my bagel. Then I hastily smeared two ounces of cream cheese on the other side, making what I assumed was at minimum a 1200-calorie breakfast sandwich. As soon as I took a bite, I could feel our assistant manager, Kent Boggart, breathing down the back of my neck.
Seven
“Stay out of trouble tonight.”
Kent was a rich nerd from Niskayuna who could have gone to any college in the country if he had actually bothered to try. His parents existed solely to bail him out financially from any mistakes he made, and they didn’t care what he aspired to as long as it was any kind of management position. Their porcelain cherub, heir to the Boggart dynasty, could never work in the trenches with the rest of the peasants. Kent phoned in the easiest leadership role he could find—his father was golf buddies with Tom—and became a Mega Bread corporate husk.
“Hey, Winters. When are you going to start paying for your food?” said Kent.
I elbowed Wolf and mumbled through my giant first bite, “When are you gonna start sucking my balls, bro?”
Wolf laughed, then walked away to stock bread on the bakery shelf near the registers.
Boggart was in a mood.
“What’d you say to me, you slacker piece of shit?”
I tried to speak. “I said...ahem!”
I choked a bit and coughed a piece of sausage into a trash can. I threw my index finger up in a give me a second gesture and tried to finish swallowing. I then walked over to the soda machine, poured a splash of root beer into a plastic cup, drank it, threw the cup out, then returned to the registers and cleared my throat.
“I said, ‘Mind your own fucking business, Booger-fart.’”
Boggart kicked his foot into the bottom of the front counter while jer
king his upper body quickly in my direction in some attempt at a television wrestling fake-out maneuver.
I leaned back for a second. “Whoa.”
Then I resumed eating my breakfast.
“Shall I remind you losers how bleak the future is for a couple of punk slack-offs such as yourselves?” Boggart said.
“We know,” I replied
Wolf looked over.
“Damn, Kent, what did I do?” asked Wolf.
“Guilty by association, Jonathan.”
“Damn.”
Boggart stared off into space.
“You know what, Winters? Someday I'll have my own store, and you'll still be here. Just a loser register jockey.”
He glanced back at me for a second.
“That is, until highly efficient Japanese robots replace you.”
“Ouch,” I replied, smirking towards Wolf who smirked back.
Boggart spaced out again.
“And you'll probably come crawling into my store with your head down, begging for an application to fill out. And I’ll laugh, HAHA, because our applications will only be online and you will be too unintelligent to use a computer with a touch-only screen. Then I’ll kiss both my girlfriends on their cheeks and watch you slowly walk away, defeated.”
Wolf and I just stared at him until he snapped out of it.
“Don't let me catch you stealing food in this store again or I’m going straight to Tom about it. Shit-sucker.”
He walked off to bother the rest of the staff.
* * *
I started taking bread inventory for our lunch rush. It was hard to judge how much we actually needed because not only did we need it for sandwiches but any random person could just buy an entire loaf. We were always running out.
I picked one up to examine its shape and bust Wolf’s balls.
“You get high and fuck this bread up again? Last time, you stretched the asiago-demi too thin and I cut right into my fucking hand. Four stitches, bro.”
Trouble Bored Page 4
