The Truly Real and Non-Fiction Adventures of Joe Davenport #1
So yesterday I was working at the Games For Less on Thomasville, and it was slow as hell. I usually end up playing errand boy when things are slow, so Brian sent me to the bank to get change for the store. I dutifully drove over to Suntrust and traded five twenties and a five for a hundred ones and five dollars worth of pennies. I guess ten rolls of pennies weren't enough to earn me a bag to carry them, so I depended on my natural dexterity to keep this cheap little pyramid balanced in my arms. Unfortuantely my natural dexterity is roughly on par with pudding, so as soon as I was halfway across the parking lot I dropped all but three of my little copper logs.The chaos was impressive, like a used car commercial where some guy in aviator glasses shoots a rocket at a Corvette and it explodes with savings. You know the one.
People were walking through the mess with none-of-my-business looks painted on their faces. This would have been a perfect time to live out that nightmare of being naked in public, since people are already trying so hard not to look at you that it probably wouldn't be too embarrassing. I didn't expect much help from the financial elite of Tallahassee, so I did what any aspiring young ninja would do: I stuffed the wad of dollars into my pocket, took off my shoes and socks, and started filling my socks with pennies. Some fortunate dude finally seemed to take pity on me and squatted down to help me gather the scattered change. He looked like a Nascar enthusiast, all shaved head and terrible wrap-around sunglasses, but I didn't complain since those with more discerning fashion had all neglected me.
Aside from opening pleasantries (hey man let me help oh thanks no problem) we gathered change in silence. I dropped the last handful of pennies into my sock and slipped my sneakers back on. The dude stood up and handed me the sock he'd been filling. I thanked him again for his help and took the sock, increasing my net worth by about two dollars and twenty-three cents. I offered a handshake, the courteous and manly thing to do, but he pulled me in for a hug. Well, that was a bit unexpected, but I guess people should be more open about loving each other. He still had a grip on my hand, with his other arm around my back, when he told me to give him the stack of dollars I'd put in my pocket.
"Just give it to me now and we'll both be on our way," he said quietly, and he flexed his arm around my neck a little bit for emphasis (or eroticism, I guess I don't know the guy that well).
"Alright, alright, it's cool, just let me get it out of my pocket," I said, but what I was thinking was, "Aw shit hell no dammit what the fuck." I fished the wad of bills out of my pocket, awkward with his armhair tickling the back of my neck (is this what prison is like?), and handed them over. He made sure I saw his switchblade, blade closed, hiding in the palm of his hand before he pocketed the cash. That bastard.
"Okay son, pleasure doing business with you," he said, his face so close to mine that I could see the contempt through his stupid sunglasses. "Don't go stupid and try chasing me, I'd hate to get my knife dirty on you."
He laughed in my face before releasing the sweaty, homoerotic grip he had on my neck and walking away. What the hell was I supposed do in a situation like this? They say just to let it go, don't be a hero, but goddammit I wasn't going to let some guy with Buckle Up For Dale tattooed on his dick take my money in broad daylight. I looked around for inspiration, and I saw the two socks full of pennies lying on the ground. My new friend was walking away, completely unconcerned about the skinny geek he'd just robbed.
"Hey wait! I've got a question for you!" He turned around in time to see a sock full of pennies flying through the air, mere inches from slamming into his face. He fell backwards, clutching his nose, blood crawling out from between his fingers.
"Motherfucker!" he yelled, struggling to his feet and wiping the blood from his face. He came charging towards me switchblade first, but I sidestepped and brought the second sock-flail down at the base of his neck. He fell to his knees and I swung again, this time catching him right behind the ear. The sock exploded (with savings) on impact, and my bald friend collapsed like a pile of Soviet Russias. I reached into his pocket and recovered the wad of dollar bills.
"You forgot your receipt," I said, and draped the busted sock over his face. "Bitch."
Thinking practically, I helped myself to a ten dollar bill from his wallet so I could get ten new rolls of pennies and a pair of socks. Oh, and I took his switchblade. What an asshole.