“Your total is fourteen dollars and twelve cents,” the skinny redheaded teenager behind the register said to the couple.
“Here you go, sonny,” the elderly man said as he handed his bank card to the kid behind the counter.
“Just swipe it right there on the keypad,” he replied. The elderly man ran the card through the reader on the side of the pad and went to replace the card in his wallet. “Sir,” the boy began. “You need to run the side with the magnetic strip through.”
“I did,” the man replied.
“No, it was facing up and out.”
“Here, Harold,” the man’s wife said. “Give it to me.” The woman swiped the card through the reader correctly. Avery shuffled his feet impatiently as he waited in line.
“Now select debit or credit on the screen,” the boy instructed.
“Debit or credit?” the man asked. “It’s a bank card from the credit union. I wanted checks, but they charge too much for them. Twelve dollars a box they want for them. It’s outrageous. Plus, nobody takes a cotton-picking check anymore, and if they do, they want more personal information to write across the top than we had to give to get our first mortgage. Betty, remember that little place in Corsicana?”
“Oh, it had the most beautiful rosebushes out front!” his wife gushed to the cashier.
“Just push debit!” yelled Avery as he leaned around the woman in front of him.
“Hold your horses, boy,” the man said as he turned to look at the disheveled bearded man in the bright tracksuit. “I’m getting to it.” The man pressed the debit button on the keypad. “What’s a PIN?” he inquired of the boy.
“Your Personal Identification Number,” he replied. “Just type it in and press enter.”
“I ain’t got one.”
“Sure you do,” said the boy.
“Nope.”
“Harold,” said his wife. “Try your social security number.”
“I ain’t giving them my social security number, Betty!” Harold scolded her. “Remember the police officer who came to the last AARP meeting and told us about the thieves who take your identity. I ain’t paying for some criminal to buy a condo in Vegas with my information. We’re on a fixed income.”
“Just press credit then,” the boy instructed. “It’ll work that way, too, and you don’t need a PIN.”
“Like hell I will!” Harold rebuked.
“Why not?”
“I ain’t paying no interest on this.”
“Sir, you won’t be charged interest.”
“See, Betty,” Harold said, turning to his wife. “Just like the police officer said. If it sounds too good to be true, it is.”
“Just pay him, you fossilized imbecile!” screamed Avery.
“You bite your tongue, boy! I spent twenty years in the navy and I’ll roll you like a carpet if you don’t watch your mouth,” Harold said, scowling and pointing his finger menacingly at Avery. The woman holding the diapers nervously stepped from between the two men and wandered toward the back of the store as the manager approached from the makeup aisle.
“Sir,” the store manager said as he approached Avery, “I’m going to have to ask that you please keep your voice down.”
“Piss off!”
“Sir, you need to control yourself. I can and will refuse service to anyone who acts belligerently towards employees or customers of this establishment.”
“You’re a very rude man,” Betty said to Avery with disgust in her voice. “My husband is a veteran on a fixed income. You need to show some respect.”
“You need to hurry up and get the hell out of my way!” the caffeine and sugar–deprived Avery exploded again.
“One more word from you,” said the manager, “and you’re out of here. You understand me?” Two more male store employees had made their way to the front of the store and stood behind the manager.
Avery, sensing that he was again outnumbered, considered his options. He could swallow his pride and cooperate, leave the store without his supplies, and face walking another two blocks to the nearest grocery store, or he could make a break for it without paying and use his combat skills to battle his way home. Deciding that since he had neglected to bring his Filipino fighting sticks with him, defending himself from the mob wasn’t a practical solution, he reluctantly gave in.
“Please, kind sir,” Avery said with clear sarcasm in his voice. “Complete your transaction. If I may assist you and your lovely bride in any way, please let me know.” The store employees monitored Avery until the elderly couple had paid for their goods using cash from Betty’s purse and exited the store. Avery paid for his soda and chips and quickly followed. Noticing the couple getting into their car in the parking lot, Avery sneered at Harold as he lumbered past. “Break a hip,” he muttered as he stumbled home as quickly as he could.
Back in his office, Avery guzzled warm Mountain Dew straight from a two-liter bottle as he madly pounded away at his keyboard.
To: Reginald J. Haversack
United States Senator (R-Minnesota)
Dear Senator:
I know who you are. For almost three decades, you may have fooled the constituents of your state and deceived your slow-witted cadre of Washington D.C.’s inner loop. My extensive research into your family’s genealogical tree has led me to the startling discovery that you are indeed directly related to Vladimir Lenin. My investigation has discovered that in 1903, during the gathering of the Congress of the Russian Social Democratic Labor Party in Brussels, your maternal great-grandmother was involved in a scandalous liaison with the father of modern Socialism. The infamous encounter occurred in a men’s bathroom stall after the cocktail social at the end of the conference where your great-grandmother was the unfortunate loser of a Russian drinking game that loosely translates to “Pass the Babushka.” The game is similar in nature to the children’s card game “Slap Jack” except that the base halves of Russian nesting dolls are lined up smallest to largest in front of the participants and filled with vodka. The loser of each round is required to drink the contents of the dolls in one shot, progressing from the smallest doll to the largest. Your great-grandmother apparently mistook the game for “Slap King,” losing eight consecutive rounds in less than thirty minutes. Lenin, the fiend, took advantage of the poor, helpless woman and never called her back, as he had promised. Your illegitimate grandfather was indeed born in Duluth, Minnesota, after your great-grandmother immigrated to the United States, as your Senate biography states. However, your Senate biography does not discuss her taking the last name of Haversack to avoid the embarrassment and shame of her bastard Marxist progeny. Why do I inform you of this now? It’s quite simple, really. After your recent lambasting of the current administration’s policies as “Insidious Closet Socialism” was unanimously lauded by your conservative colleagues and hence has become the latest Republican Party rallying cry, even gracing the cover of the latest edition of Newsweek, I feel certain that the details of your direct genetic link to the greatest of the Socialists would lead to vociferous ridicule and your inevitable impeachment. Senator, I am willing to keep this ignominious fact hidden from the world on one condition. As Vice Chair of the Senate Appropriations Committee and current member of its Education Committee, you have significant influence over funding decisions. Given that no current accredited university in this country offers educational programs in cryptozoology, I ask you to wield your policy-making prowess and require all future state university funding to be contingent on immediate establishment of undergraduate and master’s level curriculum regarding the study of unknown and mystical creatures. The need for qualified cryptozoologists has never been more imperative. Yetis, Loch Monsters, and other cryptids are facing urgent habitat issues stemming from the exponential increase in the burning of fossil fuels. My own research indicates that here in Texas we may soon face a catastrophic infestation of chupacabra as the vampire-like creatures migrate north from their historic feeding grounds into the heart of the southwestern United States, bringing their bloodsucking terror with them. Immediate funding for the establishment of these programs is needed to allow for better understanding of this growing threat to our country. Senator, as you must do your part, we all must do our part. Myself, I’m willing to graciously accept assignment as head of the Cryptozoology Department at the University of Texas at Austin, as soon as the coming semester. Of course, I would expect adequate financial compensation, immediate tenured status, around-the-clock access to the Central Intelligence Agency’s computer network at Langley, Virginia, with “Top Secret” security clearance preapproved, and a monthly car allowance with a reserved faculty parking space near the main door. Additionally, my class load would need to be scheduled for evenings only, as I’m not an early riser. If you do not comply with my demands, I will have no choice but to approach my extensive network of media contacts with the sordid details of how you, Reginald J. Haversack, the spawn of Lenin, have infiltrated the Republican Party.