Payphone

“Hey, how long you work here?” said the hurried man.

“Why?” I shot back.

“Because I wanna ask you a fucking question, that’s why.”

“Okay.”

“Is there a payphone around here, where’s a payphone?”

What I wanted to say was, piss off, I haven’t seen a payphone since the last time I saw your mom, a decade ago. “I think there’s a payphone on the other side of the store,” I said.

“In the store? Jesus Christ, payphones are outside, they’re not inside the goddamn store.” Then he looked at me like I was the idiot and walked away.

If I could go back in time to that exact moment, I have a feeling it would have gone much differently.

0 0 0

“Hey, how long you work here?” said the flushed, rushed man.

“Why?”

“Because I wanna ask you a fucking question, that’s why.”

“Look, asshole, do I come to your place of work, pull out my dick and piss in your face? No, I don’t.”

“Fuck you. You stack fruit for a living! What’s your name? Where’s customer service?”

“Name’s suck my cock,” I pointed to the outline of my mine through my pants. “Go, complain, they’ll promptly file it under ‘Garbage’.”

“I’m going to find a fucking payphone and call your corporate office. Hopefully, they’ll fire your ass. Hahaha, I have you now you, you little fuckwad, he was probably thinking.

“Okay, wait…no,” I fell to my knees and cried out to the produce, “Noooo!” I screamed to a doomed existence illuminated by blinding LED lights overhead, “Don’t call my corporate lords!”

“What the fuck,” the man asked, squaring off with me, poised like a crazed badger.

“Fool. You really believe anyone of any minuscule importance to the company is going to speak to some asshole asking around for a payphone? Normally, they’d buy you off with a $20 gift card, but you’d need an address for that.”

“You. Fucking…” he huffed. A faint glow enveloped him and his shoes began to simmer and burst which sent blood, steel, and wire deep into the green tinged concrete floor. His torso transformed from sweat and fat into a payphone wearing skin with keypad button eyes and his mouth narrowed into a vertical slot for quarters which squealed out a metallic, “How about I just bury you here, produce guy. Ha ha, hahahaha! Ahh, ha ha ha!”

He swung his arms, now thin cords with enormous phones connected to the ends, into our fruit bins. Galas, Fuji, and Cara Caras collided in a kaleidoscope of grapes and yams flying in all directions. The customers, who’d been mindlessly walking in circles until that very moment, panicked and screamed as they trampled one another for the doors. There was a flash in my peripheral, he caught me off guard in the panic, bringing his right phone down hard. I dodged, but the sharp blast mutilated my left side.

I rolled right, just behind the berry case and stood hard on my feet as the monster raised both phones high. Its intent to kill me was clear. I had just one chance, “Green banana, soft apples’ power, rotting onion’s will entangle—spell of binding number 58.” I looked like a starfish in midair with blue bio-plasma raging from my limbs. Concentrated grocery magic from the secret books of Moses swelled up and burst out of me, snapping my limbs together like a binder clip. A soft hum crept from under the ceiling cameras with a rising beat, and then the crescendo of lightning swirled down the pillars around us. The hellish payphone screamed and collapsed backward as the second floor came down on him, pinning his arms to the ground.

The giant began choking up rubble as I neared it and stood over it and said, “If you would have just asked nicely I would have let you use my phone.” I brought my produce knife above my head and drove it into the keyhole that secured its quarters.

It coughed and gurgled, “God…goddamn you, produce boy. You think you’ve won?” Blood oozed from its mouth and buttons, “This, ‘his is just the start. You beat me, but more are on their way—they, they’re already here…” I twisted my blade and broke the lock, and the demon let out a piercing cry as change and acid charged up from its bowls, melting it into the foundation.

 

 

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