So, I work evenings, so my lunch break is really a dinner break, not that this is particularly relevant other than to understand why at 6:15 CST I’ve just gotten back from lunch. How was it you ask? Not bad- a pastrami panini and fruit cup with- and this is the secret- a few sunflower seeds on both, washed down with some raspberry tea. But you’re getting me off topic.
So, I went into Books-a-Million next door (“We’re the Buchenwald of Booksellers”) to pick up a copy of Psychology Today, which is oddly foreshadowing. I’m standing in the magazine aisle at the back of the store when what to my chubby white ears doth appear but a Garth Brooks clone who’s calling me queer. Well, sort of…
I hear what sounds like a redneck- though not a drunk one- having a heated argument on his cell phone, but I decide to ignore it since he’s not using expletives and I’m a live and let live type of person and I don’t like being stabbed. But what the dude is saying on the cell phone is a bit interesting (and to say I’m eavesdropping is kind of like saying you’re eavesdropping at a free concert):
Well this cleared things up for me a bit and so I decided not to say that there aren’t really any serpents indigenous to Alabama that could even eat a person let alone drag them back to their ‘serpent hole’, but it’s okay because
1- it’s HELLLLLLLLLL he’s talking about, not a literal serpent whole
2- always the chance she’s repented by now anyway which would render the whole matter moot
3- it’s really quite alright because when he turns the corner he’s not talking on a cell phone anyway
4- or to anyone else in particular
Well, he really and truly does look like Garth Brooks- especially the denim everything and the huge white cowboy hat. And unlike most people prophesying loudly in public places, to quote Ringo Starr “he’s very clean, isn’t he?” One might say immaculate almost- doesn’t look like he’s spent any time on the street, his boots and identification belt buckle are polished, and save for the fact he’s screaming random Bible verses in a “Foghorn Leghorn’s off his Lithium” voice he wouldn’t attract much attention unless you, as was I, were raised by a mother who always taught you that to wear hats inside is the height of gauche (but tastes vary so I decide to let that pass just this once).
I bury my nose in a magazine (couldn’t tell you what it was other than I think it had Beyonce in it) and he, now about 6 feet from me, yells out
and by the end of the statement he’s rounded
As he passes I stage-whisper to the guy near me (black guy, looks kind of like that black actor guy who was in the movie about that black family) “Actually I had the panini not the harlot… do I still get dessert?” He laughs and says “Naw man, I think it’s no substitutions on Tuesday… gotta have the harlot if you want the pie…”
To which the Prophet Garthariah replies
to which my new friend replies “I bet he has too… heard somebody laughing… don’t mean they were there but I bet he heard 'em…”
And he’s now about faced and returned among us once again (even though technically I think three have to gather in his name for him to appear [but he might be Chris Gaines today so who knows]).
New (but fleeting) friend: “Perdition must be at the Starbucks cause I think that’s where I’m headin’ now. Take good care of our prophet friend here…”
[exeunt New Friend and most of the other customers]
Well strangely, none of the employees seem to hear a rabidly mad Chris Gaines guy yelling apocalyptical warnings and incitements, or leastwise don’t seem to think that it’s anything to check on (and after all those remaindered WISHBONE’S ADVENTURES books aren’t going to file themselves in the dollar bin). I decide it’s a good time to make way towards Perdition myself but unfortunately I’m now the last member of his audience and he doesn’t want to lose me.
[Otto from FISH CALLED WANDA]What was that middle option?[/Otto] Not that it matters- I shoplifted a couple of things when I was a kid but I think really the last one’s the kicker for me. (Actually these days I’m more in the Sodomite Reserves, but I think it’s kind of like one of those “I havent’ been to sea in years but they still call me Admiral” thingies, and the fact that’s a reference from Evita sort of clinches it.)
There’s medication available for that you know…
I make a polite “Please excuse me” and make my way towards the checkout register and the glass doors to perdition, and he seems to calm down. I hear him say
but then he’s silent.
On the way to the front I pass by a couple of employees, the two of them about my age if you add them together and subtract about four years, and they’re talking about the situation, and I swear on my holiest pair of boxer briefs the younger one (whose three forehead pimples look astonishingly like Orion’s belt- a true but brief descriptive diversion) says
“He’s been yellin’ like that, but I don’t thank he’s talkin’ to anybody. I heard him say something about Lucy Loveless…”
“Hi, I’m Lucy” I say by way of introduction. The elder, the one who may be at least scouting junior colleges by now and thus the manager on duty it would seem, says “Yeah… hey…” with a clear "no idea what else to say look on his face.
To challenge the awkward silence and give some avuncular advice I say “I would consider calling 911…” to which the younger guy says
“I don’t know if they’d come” and then confidentially “I think the guy’s mentally deranged”.
Artist Rendering of my Expression. (Regrettably I can’t find the one where his face revolves.)
What I thought: “No shit?!”
What I said: “No shit?! Yeah, I’m inclined to agree, but I think he might be a danger. He’s certainly a danger to your business…”
Both of the manger managers keep their regular expression with a "deranged Garth Brooks prophesying and making threats in the magazine section, Wishbone Adventure books filed, Love in the Time of Cholera with the movie poster cover’s in the ‘Buy 2 Get 1 Free’ counter… yeah, everything seems right.
“Yeah…” I say. “The Montgomery Police Department definitely will send somebody for a mental patient. Trust me. I used to work as a liaison twixe police and mental hospitals…” (true). And they look at me as if I’ve said “Yeah… you know, if Romanus IV Diogenes had picked any other moment of his reign and any other place but Manzikert at that moment I bet he would have kicked some Muslim ass, but stumbling onto that Armenia or burst Seljuk army like that, boy might as well have just said ‘Hey Alpie, I’m turning myself in, what y’all having for dinner?’.” The only response is from Pimple the Elder who allows that
“I’m not the actual manager, she’s not here today… I’ve got the employee handbook and all but I’m really not sure how to handle this…”
“Check in the index under Garth Brooks… and maybe Chris Gaines” I suggest, and leave to the front.
So up front is the wizened crone of the employees on duty, a college age girl who looks like she might actually have dim memories of the Titanic craze from her childhood, and I say “You might want to call 9-11… trust me, that guy’s harmless now but that can change in a heartbeat. I worked with the mentally ill for years, they’re quite mercurial… I’ve seen guys a lot tougher than him who put the cuffs on themselves and go peacefully and I’ve seen little bitty grandma looking women do thousands of dollars in damage and there’s no way of telling which is which… you might need help.”
“Well, he seems to be in a good mood right now…” she says.
“Do yourself a favor and him a favor, call 911… Dude needs help.”
Her: “It’s not my call to make I’m afraid. I’m not the manager. Dave’s the manager on duty and he’s not the real manager either…”
"Okey-doke… " and I give her my magazine, she looks at me as strangely as for some reason half the clerks in town do when I buy one item and say (though I’m not particularly green) “I don’t need a bag, thanks…”, and I key in my debit card code. Am almost finished when I hear just behind me
Thought: should I turn my head and scoff or just look straight ahe
And though I shouldn’t have, for I’m no rookie when it comes to M.I.s, I turned to look at him. I didn’t turn into a pillar of salt (well, a little flakiness around the cuticles, but I think that’s coincidence), but as I turn he says
and his right hand shoots into his front pocket.
TBC
