burnt cedar is for real men.
Evil Dead/Army of Darkness.
Ash. Clyde. Shopping smart and thinking dumb.
Clyde is the character played by Ted Raimi in the theatrical ("second") ending of Army of Darkness - the bored fellow S-Mart clerk who's heard Ash's stories one too many times. He didn't have a name in the credits, so I gave him one.
Clyde doesn't believe stories too well-versed in fantasy and bullshit. Especially not ones that fall from the lips of some guy who can't even clean up spills left by customers (let alone whatever leaks from his own 12-ounce 7-Eleven Slurpee cup whenever he's sitting register and not paying attention).
He's majoring in Business Math. He's good at what he does - practical, precise. He's going to end up working for his dad one day, and while that may seem like something to laugh about to some, it's still miles ahead of Ash, who has nothing to look forward to in the distant future other than becoming Employee of the Month, and maybe - maybe - Junior Assistant Manager.
Ash doesn't seem to care, though; only shrugs and lets his gaze wander whenever Clyde asks what he wants to do with the rest of his life.
"Well, things are okay the way they are now, right?" He half-smiles, achieving with a simple twist of his mouth a brightening, instant sort of cool without even realizing it; the kind that Clyde used to spend hours practicing in front of the bathroom mirror ever since he started middle school and gave up on around when he turned fifteen. "Yeah. Things are all right, so I see no reason to change 'em. My only job right now is to keep myself surrounded by the living for as long as possible."
He's so weird.
But his dumb stories aren't even the half of it. Clyde can't remember the number of times he strode by Housewares and caught Ash brandishing items as varied and inane as shower rods or motorized steak knives in his bare hand when he thought no one was watching, muttering stuff like, "Be prepared, fuckers! Always be prepared!" under his breath as he battled invisible enemies.
Clyde did consider calling Western Psych more than once.
Ash, though - he really is okay. Not in the mental sense, obviously, but when it comes to other things.
He may not show it through his vocabulary ("groovy"? honestly? does he think he's stuck in some endless exploitation flick and that explains why he's such a freak?), or the way he dresses (that silver glove fucking hurts whenever he pats you on the shoulder, too), but it's little things that most wouldn't pick up on.
More important stuff.
He's stayed past his shift to help Clyde re-stock more than once. And, okay - yeah, that makes him decent. And while Lydia, that dishy redhead in Electronics, has been kind enough in her own way, trading lunch hours and holidays whenever she can, there's something different about Ash.
Sure, he's big on bravado, and his lips could use a serious make-out session with a staple gun sometimes, but there's something so... well, honest about him. Even when he's spouting his usual psycho babble.
Compared to the pseudo-business double-talk Clyde's stuck hearing from his family whenever he goes home for Christmas, it's refreshing.
And he's quite helpful to have around in a crisis, too.
"No problem," he says when Clyde lets out a weak groan and motions with his eyes towards the ski-masked man holding his register at gunpoint. Not even seconds pass before a transformation passes over his co-worker's friendly dark eyes and he's growling, "Come get some."
The police are hauling the unconscious would-be-robber away in less than ten minutes.
"Hey. You all right, there?"
It takes Clyde a moment to realize that Lydia's off tonight and that it's him Ash is directing his concerned gaze at.
"Of course," he replies, unable to keep the haughtiness out of his tone. "Too bad we don't sell chainsaws anymore or you could've really gone to town on that guy."
Ash chuckles, low and deep, not looking the least bit offended.
"Yeah." He wipes at a stray blood spatter on the corner of his chin after Clyde mimes wiping his own, and his eyes narrow, expression thoughtful. "Yeah; guess so, huh?"
Some heady mixture of pomade and aftershave invades Clyde's nostrils when the taller man lays a hand on his shoulder for a moment, and even though it's like being stuck in the middle of an overpowering pine forest, he abruptly realizes he doesn't mind.
After Ash leaves, Clyde rings up a haggard-looking woman and her screaming daughter, and a pair of snickering teenage boys who purchase nothing but a carton of eggs and four packages of toilet paper (hey; don't ask, don't tell), and a practically deaf man who demands to know why they don't sell chewing tobacco, and before long two more distracted hours have passed until closing time has finally arrived.
10:00 p.m. Thank Christ.
He heads over to Health & Beauty before he knows what he's doing, instantly finding the small black tub he's seen Ash purchase so many times before, and he turns it over and over in his hand before making a final decision. Might as well not let that 15% employee discount go to waste.
Burnt Cedar Hair Pomade, reads the package. High definition hold and shine, not to mention a soothing, outdoorsy scent that defines masculinity.
And on the back of the package: Warning. EXTREMELY flammable.
Nah, there's nothing practical about Ash - not at all - but maybe that's exactly why Clyde finds himself studying him so much.
Ash. Clyde. Shopping smart and thinking dumb.
Clyde is the character played by Ted Raimi in the theatrical ("second") ending of Army of Darkness - the bored fellow S-Mart clerk who's heard Ash's stories one too many times. He didn't have a name in the credits, so I gave him one.
Clyde doesn't believe stories too well-versed in fantasy and bullshit. Especially not ones that fall from the lips of some guy who can't even clean up spills left by customers (let alone whatever leaks from his own 12-ounce 7-Eleven Slurpee cup whenever he's sitting register and not paying attention).
He's majoring in Business Math. He's good at what he does - practical, precise. He's going to end up working for his dad one day, and while that may seem like something to laugh about to some, it's still miles ahead of Ash, who has nothing to look forward to in the distant future other than becoming Employee of the Month, and maybe - maybe - Junior Assistant Manager.
Ash doesn't seem to care, though; only shrugs and lets his gaze wander whenever Clyde asks what he wants to do with the rest of his life.
"Well, things are okay the way they are now, right?" He half-smiles, achieving with a simple twist of his mouth a brightening, instant sort of cool without even realizing it; the kind that Clyde used to spend hours practicing in front of the bathroom mirror ever since he started middle school and gave up on around when he turned fifteen. "Yeah. Things are all right, so I see no reason to change 'em. My only job right now is to keep myself surrounded by the living for as long as possible."
He's so weird.
But his dumb stories aren't even the half of it. Clyde can't remember the number of times he strode by Housewares and caught Ash brandishing items as varied and inane as shower rods or motorized steak knives in his bare hand when he thought no one was watching, muttering stuff like, "Be prepared, fuckers! Always be prepared!" under his breath as he battled invisible enemies.
Clyde did consider calling Western Psych more than once.
Ash, though - he really is okay. Not in the mental sense, obviously, but when it comes to other things.
He may not show it through his vocabulary ("groovy"? honestly? does he think he's stuck in some endless exploitation flick and that explains why he's such a freak?), or the way he dresses (that silver glove fucking hurts whenever he pats you on the shoulder, too), but it's little things that most wouldn't pick up on.
More important stuff.
He's stayed past his shift to help Clyde re-stock more than once. And, okay - yeah, that makes him decent. And while Lydia, that dishy redhead in Electronics, has been kind enough in her own way, trading lunch hours and holidays whenever she can, there's something different about Ash.
Sure, he's big on bravado, and his lips could use a serious make-out session with a staple gun sometimes, but there's something so... well, honest about him. Even when he's spouting his usual psycho babble.
Compared to the pseudo-business double-talk Clyde's stuck hearing from his family whenever he goes home for Christmas, it's refreshing.
And he's quite helpful to have around in a crisis, too.
"No problem," he says when Clyde lets out a weak groan and motions with his eyes towards the ski-masked man holding his register at gunpoint. Not even seconds pass before a transformation passes over his co-worker's friendly dark eyes and he's growling, "Come get some."
The police are hauling the unconscious would-be-robber away in less than ten minutes.
"Hey. You all right, there?"
It takes Clyde a moment to realize that Lydia's off tonight and that it's him Ash is directing his concerned gaze at.
"Of course," he replies, unable to keep the haughtiness out of his tone. "Too bad we don't sell chainsaws anymore or you could've really gone to town on that guy."
Ash chuckles, low and deep, not looking the least bit offended.
"Yeah." He wipes at a stray blood spatter on the corner of his chin after Clyde mimes wiping his own, and his eyes narrow, expression thoughtful. "Yeah; guess so, huh?"
Some heady mixture of pomade and aftershave invades Clyde's nostrils when the taller man lays a hand on his shoulder for a moment, and even though it's like being stuck in the middle of an overpowering pine forest, he abruptly realizes he doesn't mind.
After Ash leaves, Clyde rings up a haggard-looking woman and her screaming daughter, and a pair of snickering teenage boys who purchase nothing but a carton of eggs and four packages of toilet paper (hey; don't ask, don't tell), and a practically deaf man who demands to know why they don't sell chewing tobacco, and before long two more distracted hours have passed until closing time has finally arrived.
10:00 p.m. Thank Christ.
He heads over to Health & Beauty before he knows what he's doing, instantly finding the small black tub he's seen Ash purchase so many times before, and he turns it over and over in his hand before making a final decision. Might as well not let that 15% employee discount go to waste.
Burnt Cedar Hair Pomade, reads the package. High definition hold and shine, not to mention a soothing, outdoorsy scent that defines masculinity.
And on the back of the package: Warning. EXTREMELY flammable.
Nah, there's nothing practical about Ash - not at all - but maybe that's exactly why Clyde finds himself studying him so much.