CHAPTER 6: HOUSE PARTY, PART 1
To run a business of your own is one of the prime examples of the American Dream; having an idea for making money, putting it on the market for the public to consume, and seeing your business idea see success and make you enough money to eventually stop working in your old age and retire, this is what American citizens were brought up to believe in and strive to accomplish.
And it was indeed a dream come true in the days of F.D.R. and Lyndon B. Johnson, but not so much in the days of austerity and neoliberalism. Now, with subsidies and tax cuts for the rich made with each passing bill in congress, the country is far from the great society that was promised to its people, making the time more than appropriate for an economic bill of rights.
Alas, that revolution has not yet come for the country, nor shall it as long as corruption and avarice is in the hearts of politicians and not a desire for good or to do good. America is little more than a dog-eat-dog world, and the people are left on their own to try to survive in an oligarchy that their home has become.
Sam Dullard is one of many people stuck in this downward spiral of a system, trying to make ends meet with a simple electronics store. Since his youth, he has displayed an uncanny knowledge of computers and electronic devices, showing savant-like skills as young as 9.
Men of his caliber of electronic expertise belong in the halls of academia for the chance to develop their skills properly, to put their brains to work where they can be used for the greater good of all. In the days of smartphones and the internet, there is always a demand for those who can maintain the devices needed for the daily lives of many across the world.
Karl Marx is known for being an anti-capitalist, famously quoting: 'From each according to their abilities, to each according to their needs'. This statement is one of the core tenants of many leftist ideologies, but the concept is just as applicable in any societal situation as well, especially capitalism.
If one were far more dramatic, one might be tempted to quote a certain capitalist's take on the saying: 'With great power comes great responsibility'.
But like many great minds, economic factors and systemic factors cause many of these people to fall through the cracks of society, landing them in dead-end jobs with no advancement or future, or, worse yet, no awareness or knowledge of the talents that they possess.
Sam Dullard is fortunate enough to have some awareness of his abilities, but nowhere near aware of what he is actually capable of. Forced in more a dire situation of survival in a post-capitalist system, he has no chance to progress his education and learn more about himself or his field, so he is forced to run his simple job of running a retail outlet store for electronics.
It is a far cry from his destiny, but it still is of great contribution to what is left of his society, and his ability can still meet the needs of his community.
And, at the end of the day, he can still call himself a successful owner of a small business, just as the American Dream has promised us all.
Arriving at the small strip mall which hosted his store as another day began to rise, the only remaining store in the strip mall itself, Sam unlocked the door and stepped inside the store. Turning the 'CLOSED' sign over to read its opposite message of 'OPEN', he began the official start to the day, welcoming in any customers who might come for business.
His first duties are to take the tray of cash to the register, filling it up with money and readying it for transactions. It is a fool's errand in that his business is primarily done in the form of credit and debit cards or other electronic payments, but nonetheless considered an important ritual to start the day for any business.
The cash register, itself a computer used for other business purposes, is where he also took to the smaller duty of reading through his company emails. Shipping updates and other similar business news are what fills his inbox, but among his emails is also a letter from the leasers of the strip mall.
Clicking on the letter, he was given the following message:
Hello, Sam Dullard,
We are sending you this message to inform you that the rent for your leased space has increased from 1,200 to 2,000 as of next month. This raised has been made in order to keep up with building expenses. If you have any questions, you can call our office.
After reading the message, Sam lowered his head in a defeated sigh, covering his face with his palm in a fit of suppressed despair. His company is good in comparison to the other businesses in Ocean Shores, but a price hike on rent is never something anyone can comfortably live with.
Necessities like living and work becoming expenses in and of themselves is a detriment enough to society as a whole, but to raise costs on these basics is an addition of insult to injury. If living itself is already a hard enough duty to fulfill on its own, how can one justify the act of raising the price of living?
You might know the answer as Sam Dullard does: Because the people rising it on you are either themselves victims of this same crime, or are the ones inflicting it.
As a customer comes into the store, the first for the day, Sam is given the first chance to make up for this deficit in his budget with a business opportunity. The customer approached casually to the counter, having a seeming polite outlook to himself, a sentiment which Sam returned.
"Hi, sir, welcome to Squid's Electronics, how can I help you?" Sam asked.
"Hey, what's up? I got this problem with my phone. Headphone jack doesn't work so good." The customer said.
The customer handed his phone over to Sam, who took a look inside its headphone jack port.
"What's wrong with it?" Sam asked.
"Only one side works. Tried different pairs of earbuds, they all work with other stuff. I don't know what's going on with it." The customer said.
Upon looking in the phone port, he identified the problem in an instant, his keen eye for anything in the technological serving him well.
"Oh, here's the problem. The connectors on one side got pushed back. Here, I can fix that." Sam said.
Taking a thin screwdriver out of a small toolbox at his counter, Sam began manually readjusting the phone's connectors to the correct position. His work was made with speed and ease, completing the fix as if it were as simple as flicking a switch to the common man.
The ease is so great that he also struck a casual conversation with the customer, keeping his attention on both at the same time.
"You're probably one of the few people I've seen that still uses wired earbuds. Most people I see these days use Windys." Sam said.
"Yeah, I was never a fan of those. Never understood the appeal." The customer said.
"They sell pretty good. I had at least 10 sell the other day."
"Probably because they kept dropping and losing their old ones. That's one thing that I don't like about Windys, they're literally so small that you could drop them and lose them anywhere you go. You remember those earbuds that didn't have any silicone pads, they just hung on your ear?"
"Yeah."
"That's what that shit reminds me of. Those things fell out of my ears all the time. At least if it's on a wire, I can at least know where it went and pull it back. Without that, you're far past fucked. That's a hundred bucks down the toilet. And that's not counting the issue of those things needing their own battery. My phone itself has its own battery too, you know? Who wants to have two different things to charge? That's jacking up your power bill up the ass, too."
"That's a good point."
"And let's not forget the worst offense in my book: The sound quality. Bluetooth always sounds like complete ass. That thing's been out for, what, 20 years or something now, and they can't make that sound half-decent? It sounds compressed and crinkled, like something got lost in translation in the signal or something. They should've just kept the technology for remotes or game consoles, it works perfect there, you'd think somebody could make something new by now. I mean, I'm all for not fixing what's not broken, but at least somebody had to think it could use some improvement. Am I wrong?"
"No, I feel you. There's always room for improvement everywhere."
"Yeah. So, in general, with Windys, I get worse sound quality, another battery to keep full, and I break the bank to have to get one of these things. A pair of regular earbuds? 10 bucks, give or take, no battery problem, way harder to lose, and way better sound quality. Call my old-fashioned, but I like listening to music the way it was before. It's like we're moving too far forward to know we're going in the wrong direction. Anyway, sorry if I was chatting your ear off there, I just couldn't help but share that little opinion."
"Hey, no problems here. I'm just here to help, and I could always use some good conversation. And I get your point. I'm an old-school guy, too. Not liking too much change comes with the territory."
At last, Sam completed the phone's repair job, correctly readjusting the headphone jack port to its proper place. He then handed the phone back to the customer, allowing him a chance to test the repaired jack and confirm that his technical problem was resolved.
"Here, give that a try." Sam said.
Plugging in his earbuds, the customer played a song on his phone, listening carefully to see if both ends of the earbuds functioned. To his delight, both earbuds played his selected song, signalling that his issue was fixed. Unplugging his earbuds and phone, he put them back in his pocket.
"Perfect! You're my savior, man. My own personal Jesus Christ, resurrected after 3 days. Thank you very much." The customer said.
"You're welcome, sir. Just here to help, like I said." Sam said.
"Cool. So, how much I owe you?"
The customer pulled out his wallet and shuffled through his cash, preparing to make his payment.
"So what do I owe you for that?" The customer asked.
"20 dollars." Sam said.
Expecting his payment to be somewhere between 1 or 5, having his hands on said bills, the customer looked back to Sam with an agitated look.
"20 dollars? For that? You just tweaked it for a few seconds." The customer said.
"But I fixed it." Sam said.
"In a few seconds."
"Well, a lot of places would've taken at least an hour or two to fix that, have to take it apart and everything. They all miss how easy it is to get it with a screwdriver like that. They would've charged you the same or more for labor."
"So because you happen to know some magic little trick on doing it faster, you charge the same amount for less labor?"
"Hey, man, I'm just trying to run a business here."
"Yeah, and who runs the business? You. So you think it's okay to charge 20 dollars for a few seconds' worth of work? I'd like to charge for that, too, but I'm not gonna do it without expecting to piss some people off, you get me?"
In order to deal with the irritable customer, Sam pointed at a sign featuring a squid holding various tools, with text that read the following: 'SQUID'S ELECTRONICS' SQUID-AND-SPAN SERVICES: ANY REPAIR IN AN HOUR OR LESS - $20. PHONE OR GAME CONSOLE REPAIR - $50 AN HOUR. COMPUTER REPAIR - $100 AN HOUR.'
"Look, man. 20 dollars is my standard fee for fixing things in an hour, or less. 'A few seconds' is still less than an hour, therefore, the 20 dollar fee still applies. You could've taken it anywhere else for more money, or you could've tried to fix it yourself if you wanted, but you came in here, and you asked me to fix it for you. The cost for a repair under an hour is $20. That's the price." Sam asserted.
The customer grew even further agitated with what he saw as an unreasonable price, to which he decided to take his anger out on Sam.
"You're a fat fuckin' piece of shit. You think you're so fuckin' smart, don't you? What, because you work with all these computers and phones and shit, you think you're better than everybody, you and all your fuckin' cash you're swimming in?" The customer said.
Digging into his wallet, he took out a 20 dollar bill, then crumpled it and threw it at Sam.
"Here. Here's your fuckin' 20 dollars, you pale-ass piece of shit. You might wanna savor that wealth while it lasts, because, if this is how you nickel and dime your customers, you ain't gonna last here much longer. Not like anything else has." The customer said.
"Well, if that's how you treat people who actually gave you some help, I'd recommend you find another store to shop at, because I don't appreciate being talked to like that." Sam said.
"Fine by me, buddy. From now on, I'll go to the Better Buy next town over. Have a nice day."
Turning to the front door of the store, the customer left in a haste, angrily making off to his car and driving somewhere other than here. It is never a good incidence to have to encounter or interact with an unruly customer, and it is always pleasant to see them go and vow never to return...
...but Sam Dullard, with such hard economic times on him, does not even find this one simple pleasure to be enjoyable, for he cannot stomach any longer the thought of losing one more customer, even for the most understandable reasons. Sinking his head into his arms as he laid them on his desk. The despair of his troubles are back to make him feel the sense of defeat, making him retreat into himself to find comfort.
All he can find is some memory of the past, driving him to look to a picture of himself and his friends when they were children, remembering the days when he, Otto, Twister, and Reggie would spend their time on the beach or at the skate park, where there were no troubles to be found.
And he wishes for those days back with a sigh.
"Man. Otto, Twister, if there's one thing I envy about you guys, it's that you don't let anything get you down. I don't know what it is you got, but I wish I had it." Sam lamented.
The subjects which are on his mind are the next ones we focus on next in the play of events in Ocean Shores, where the two best friends start to awaken after a night of B-movies, marijuana, and drinking, the liquids in question in the latter case either highly caffinated or alcoholic in nature.
Not even bothering to go to bed, the two are more than content to sleep on the floor of their couch, with Twister laying atop Otto and cuddling with him like a lover. The former is the first to awaken to full consciousness, coming to awareness of the intimate action he is taking with Otto.
Anyone with an eye on the situation would come to the conclusion that the two share a homosexual relationship, something that has already been speculated about the two by many others. Twister himself is well aware of the context, but it does not stop him from laying back down, stealing away any tender moment that he can with someone that he calls his best friend.
But harboring unresolved feelings of his own identity, he cannot help but think that perhaps, if his situation were different, their relationship could be called something else.
After a quick scan of the surroundings, instinctively making sure that no one was around to watch or judge him, Twister began squeezing himself against Otto in a tighter cuddle, nuzzling his head against his neck. Closer to his skin and his hair, he took a breath in of Otto's scent, savoring his pheromones and bodily smell with a smile.
"Mmm... Otto, man, you smell so good..." Twister whispered.
The small whisper is enough to snap Otto out of his slumber completely, opening his eyes with a tired grunt.
"Huh...? What...?" Otto mumbled.
"SHIT!" Twister whispered.
Immediately pulling himself off of Otto, Twister laid back on the couch in a different position, strategically moving far from Otto and feigning sleep, hoping that what he did left no memory on his best friend. As Otto raised from his resting place on the couch, looking around to realize where he was and how he got there. Twister's gambit seemed to pay off as well, as he made no immediate notice or speech to him.
Otto did, however, turn to find the falsely-sleeping Twister on the couch, and began to shake him to wake him up from his nonexistent slumber.
"Hey, Twister, wake up." Otto said.
Keeping up with his act of sleep, Twister feigned a moan as he opened his eyes again, acting as though he woke up on this morning for the first time.
"Hmm...? Oh, uh, hey, Otto. Morning." Twister said.
"Dude, I gotta tell you about this awesome dream I had. I was getting laid by this super-hot chick, we were in all kinds of positions, I came, like, 3 or 4 times, it was fuckin' great, and it was great fuckin'!" Otto said.
"Oh. Uh, great, man. Really great."
"Yeah. Funny enough, I swear there were some moments where there was actually something touching my dick last night and jerking me off, almost like my dream came to life."
Gaining concern that perhaps he was the culprit behind Otto's nocturnal emissions, Twister silently hid his fear and he quietly dismissed his friend's 'dream'.
"Uh... Yeah. Sounds like fun, man. Wish I had that. But, uh... Isn't Clio gonna be mad at you for that?" Twister asked.
"So what? It was just a dream, it's not like I was banging her best friend behind her back." Otto said.
"But you were still thinking about someone else while you came, right?"
"Yeah?"
"So isn't that still cheating?"
"Twister, you ever watch porn? You ever cum while watching a chick get fucked?"
"Yeah. Oh, to a chick? Absolutely, yeah. I totally have."
"So, if you're jerking off to porn of someone else and cumming to it, is that considered cheating?"
"Uh... maybe?"
"What if the other person's watching porn and doing the same thing, too?"
"But you don't know if Clio watches porn."
"Dude, there's two types of people: People who watch porn, and dirty fuckin' liars. Everybody watches porn. So if she's doing the exact same thing while fully conscious and aware of what she's doing, and that's not cheating, then how is me having a dream, something that I can't control, where I fuck a girl that does not exist, has never exist, and will never exist, cheating?"
Such a progression of logic and thought is, though vulgar and crass beyond definition, is one that can be followed easily enough by people of the most average intelligence. Twister, however, was not a person of that caliber, and the entirety of the point was lost upon him long before its completion.
"Uh... Maybe?" Twister guessed.
Otto let out an annoyed sigh at Twister's failure to understand, to which his disdain was interrupted by the house's phone, ringing just after his moment of disappointment and the conversation ended. Having larger matters to tend to besides the debate with Twister, Otto stepped away to pick up the phone, leaving his friend to sigh in relief as all potential guilt was over.
"Oh, thank god, that was so close." Twister whispered.
Picking up the phone and putting it to his ear, Otto inquired the identity of the caller on the other side.
"Hello?" Otto asked.
"Hey, Otto, what's up?" The caller asked.
Recognizing the voice as belonging to Eddie Valentine, Otto happily responded to his friend's question, saying...
"Oh, hey, Eddie, what's up?" Otto asked.
"Not much, not much." Eddie said.
"Cool. So, what's up? We still on for the party tonight?"
"Yeah, we are, but I wanted to ask you a favor on that."
"Sure, what is it?"
"Well, you see, I wanted to order a keg for the party, but it looks like the keg people shut down their company two days ago and didn't put a notice up for it or anything, so I got a bit of a hiccup in the plans. I need to get some booze."
"So? Why not just order some beer somewhere else?"
"There's, like, no more liquor stores left in the town, dude. The last grocery store doesn't even have anything. I was wondering if I could get you and Twister to pick me up some beer and bring it to the party. I'd do it myself, but I'm busy with moving. I'll compensate you guys for the trouble."
The call for adventure is always unexpected, but it requires a swift and certain answer from those it calls, and Otto is slowed only by a brief pause before answering.
"Oh, oh, sure, yeah, yeah. We can do that. No problem." Otto said.
"Oh, thank you guys so much. You guys are some lifesavers. Listen, don't hesitate to buy the best stuff you can find, I'll pay you back for it. See you then, okay? I got some other stuff to do moving-wise." Eddie said.
"No problem, Eddie, we got you covered. See you at the party."
Hanging up the phone, Otto immediately ran to the computer to set up the means to his newfound quest.
"Otto, what was that all about?" Twister asked.
"Eddie's got some booze troubles, and it's on us to get him some more. We gotta make a drive to the liquor store." Otto said.
"But we don't have a car."
"I know. I'm calling an Urban. They should be here in, like, less than two minutes. Must be a local needing work."
There is an important piece of information that is needed on Otto's part which would change their ability to fulfill the needs of Eddie and his party. Remembering it as soon as the news of their new journey was declared by Otto, Twister opened his mouth with the intent to speak it.
"Uh, hey, Otto, about that, I forgot to tell you-" Twister began to say.
"Later, Twist, duty calls, and so does booze. Get dressed and come on." Otto said.
Unable to give Otto the important information, Twister begrudgingly went along with his friend anyway, putting on shoes in preparation of their journey.
[Soundtrack Cue: Black Flag - Thirsty and Miserable]
In minutes, they are in a stranger's car, part of a freelance taxi service made on call by online called an Urban. Lacking the resources or care to have a vehicle of their own, they are forced to make do with whatever other services are available to them, and the Urban driver has made himself a suitable option.
With Ocean Shore's economy so downtrodden and many businesses leaving, this has forced many residents to seek elsewhere, or opt for online ordering, for services and goods when they are no longer made readily available in their city. The issue has been made all the more apparent with many grocery stores leaving, effectively making the city a food desert...
...but the only concern to Otto is that this means there exists nowhere else for them to buy liquor, a situation they must rectify by going to another town. Now, they are a ways away from Ocean Shores, where they are currently en route to a liquor store, where they might obtain beverages of their choice for Eddie Valentine's going-away party.
The driver is competent enough, for the job, but his company is far from what one might call ideal, and sliding more into awkwardness more often than not.
"So, hey, you guys are heading to a liquor store, huh? You guys planning to party?" The Urban driver wheezed.
Off-put by the driver's nasally voice and intrusive personality, Otto and Twister paused in brief discomfort before answering his question.
"Uh... Yeah. We got a big party to get to, and we need some booze." Otto said.
"Well, what's the matter? If you're going to someone else's party, shouldn't there be some booze already?" The driver asked.
"He couldn't get a keg. He asked us to get some for him."
"Really? Funny. I thought you said your friend was rich. Must be kinda cheap if he's making you buy the beer for him, huh?"
"No, he's, uh, paying us back for it."
"Oh, that's cool. Almost like you guys are working for him, right?"
"Uh... heh-heh. Yeah, sure."
Quietly dismissing the driver, the topic is soon brought up again to Otto by Twister, who once again tried to share the information from before with him.
"Hey, Otto? Listen, about this whole thing, you know, about buying some beer for Eddie." Twister said.
"Yeah?" Otto asked.
"Well, I forgot to tell you something kind of important before we left. I mean, I really didn't expect us to get in this situation, and I would've brought this up to you later, but this whole thing kinda made me realize that we're probably in a bigger problem than I thought, like, I don't know how we're supposed to-"
"Damn it, Twister, will you spit it out already?"
"Uh... Okay, look, there's no easy way to say this, but we're-"
[Soundtrack Cue End]
"Here, you guys. The liquor store." The driver said.
Interrupted once again by events outside of his control, Twister's information was cut short as Otto stepped out of the car, forcing him to follow.
"Thanks, man. Keep it running, we'll be right back." Otto said.
Following Otto out of the car, Twister meagerly walked behind him, covering up an embarrassing shame from the information he still held.
"Okay, Twister. Remember: Buy the most expensive-looking beer they got. Eddie's gonna pay us back for whatever, and he said he wants the good shit." Otto said.
"Uh, yeah, Otto, we're sorta outta money." Twister said.
Hearing the damning news made far too late after coming so far in their trip, Otto stopped in his tracks with a horrified face, turning to present it to Twister.
"What?" Otto asked.
"We, uh, don't have any money. At all." Twister said.
Otto remained in a paused state for a brief moment, before finally responding in the calmest manner of tone that he could take...
"WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THIS EARLIER?!" Otto screamed.
...in light of the current situation, that is.
"Well, I tried to tell you before we left, but you said we had to go, and I didn't get the chance." Twister said.
"You should've tried harder than that, dumbass! And why didn't you tell me during the car trip?!" Otto shouted.
"I tried to tell you then, too, but then we showed up, and it was too late."
"Goddammit, Twister! We drove all this way for nothing!"
"Well, look, don't get pissed at me, I'm not the one who spent the last of it!"
"I didn't spend any of it!"
"Yeah, you did! We had to buy more weed yesterday!"
"And who's fault is that?!"
"Yours! You dropped our last joint in the pool while you were fucking my cousin Clio!"
Realizing the unfortunate situation that he was now in, Otto began running over a new plan in his head, thinking of how to obtain the beer in spite of their monetary troubles.
"Okay, okay, just give me a minute to think it over." Otto said.
Looking to the front of the liquor store, he observed the outside of the building, as well as the inside through the windows, seeing the route from the door to the register, and in between the small number of aisles. His new plan as formulated relied on a strategy that was less than legal in nature...
...and, judging from a sign on the building that read 'WE DON'T HAVE SECURITY CAMERAS - WE SHOOT SHOPLIFTERS DEAD', and 'ATTENTION, ILLEGALS: THIS IS AMERICA. WE HAVE THE SECOND AMENDMENT, AND WE PRACTICE IT ON CRIMINALS', he had no moral objections to making it.
"Don't worry, Twist. I got a plan." Otto said.
Minutes of planning later, the two entered the store, walking past the aisles and making their approach straight for the counter. Otto held the utmost confidence in his own plans, just as his own bravado attitude towards anything warranted, but Twister did not share his confidence, displaying his nervousness with uncertain eyes.
"Otto, are you sure this is gonna work?" Twister whispered.
"Of course I am." Otto whispered.
"But are you sure he's gonna buy this? I mean, I know I'm Mexican, but do you think he'll believe you are?"
"Sure he will. This is a Republican town. The people are complete cousin-fucking idiots. Anyone who's not white, they assume is Mexican. Besides, most people don't know what color I am, anyway."
Otto and Twister arrived to the counter to be greeted by a burly old man with a red cap, looking back on his two customers with a hidden disdain.
"Can I help you boys?" The cashier asked.
"Hola, habla ingleses?" Otto asked.
"Sorry, son, I don't speak none of that Mexican nonsense. You might not have noticed, but this is America, and we speak English here. Either of you boys speak English?"
"Buenas dias, me encanta enchiladas. Que te vaya bien." Twister said.
"Hey, pal, I said I don't-"
Otto interjected to Twister's deliberately nonsensical Spanish with some of his own, responding in an angry voice.
"Madre de dios ninos aqua piso gato casa!" Otto shouted.
"Bien hecho! Puede ayudarme?!" Twister shouted.
"Mucho gusto de nada como esta usted!"
"Estoy perdido! No me interesa! Donde esta el bano?!"
"Uh, fellas, hey, you mind coming down a minute and have a real conversation? I got a business to run here." The cashier said.
Left confused and unable to understand the blatant nonsense, not knowing the anger is merely theater, the cashier's uncomfortable move to speak up in attempt to gain control over the situation once again was completely ignored by the two, as ordained by their plan.
"El grande taco chimichanga los pollo hermanos!" Otto shouted.
"Que te gusta hacer? Feliz cumpleanos!" Twister shouted.
"Perro choce mujer embarazada muy tortilla Antonio Banderas!"
"Donde puedo encontrar un burro y mapache?"
Continuing on their nonsensical mock argument of Twister's benign Spanish phrases versus Otto's random selection of Spanish words, the two continued to make the cashier feel all the more uncomfortable by their attitude towards each other, feeding into his bigoted view of Hispanic men and perceived illegal immigrants.
Silently excusing himself from the fight, the cashier stepped away to the back of the store, seeking to resolve his problem by other means. As soon as the cashier moved out of sight, Otto and Twister ended their mock fight, immediately running to some shopping carts, selecting one running to the beer.
The two then began grabbing as much beer as they could from the shelves, carelessly throwing it into the cart with haste in exchange for care.
As Otto and Twister began pilfering the store, its bigoted owner made a phone call with the authorities, having called them to remove the two from his establishment.
"Hello, I.C.E.? Yeah, I got a couple of illegals you might wanna round up here. They've been causing a big ruckus and they're disrupting all of the business in my store. Keep them here? Yeah, I can do that. Alright, great, who doesn't love a cash reward? Perfect. Yep, I'll keep 'em here, they ain't gonna go nowhere. Thank you." The cashier said.
Keeping himself on the phone with the extraneous law enforcement agency, the cashier stepped out to speak to Otto and Twister again, hoping to distract them and keep them in the store long enough for them to be taken away and deported out of the country. Walking back to the register with a smile on his face, the cashier said...
"Alright, boys, not to worry. I think I know how to solve your little-" The cashier began to say.
Alas, after entering the main area of the store again, he found not only the two long gone, but also a large selection of name-brand beers missing from the refrigerator and many bottles on the floor. The immediate conclusion is the most obvious one even a man like him can make.
And it makes him filled with rage.
"SON OF A BITCH!" The cashier yelled.
[Soundtrack Cue: Dead Kennedys - Too Drunk To Fuck]
Quick to unload their loot into the trunk of the Urban driver's car, Otto and Twister moved with the same speed of fright that made them pilfer it in the first place. Throwing bottle and box alike in the back without any concern for how much they stole or how much they could get away with, they have no other concerns other than getting away as fast as they can.
"C'mon, Twist, hurry, that's almost all of it!" Otto panicked.
"I'm loading as fast as I can, dude! Why'd you have to take so much?!" Twister panicked.
"It's a big-ass party! We need as much beer as we can get!"
"MOTHERFUCKIN' ILLEGALS!" A voice shouted.
Immediately recognizing the voice as belonging to the cashier inside, Otto and Twister found him rushing back out of the store, carrying a shotgun in his hands as the signs to the building promised. A pudgy man with little speed in his walk, his arrival is slow enough to give the two thieves some time to keep working...
...but the shotgun in his hands overrides even that concern.
"Shit! Fuck the bottles, Twister, get the boxes, get the big boxes of bottles!" Otto shouted.
"I'm trying! This shit's heavy! Couldn't we have stolen lighter stuff!" Twister panicked.
"Shut the fuck up and pack it, dude!"
Packing the last of the boxes, Otto and Twister shut the trunk to the car, scooping out the last of the bottles in their hands to carry with them. Running to the car's doors, they opened the doors, dropping many of their bottles as they did so, and jumped inside the car without a second thought.
"GO, GO, GO, GO, GO! DRIVE THE CAR! DRIVE THE FUCKING CAR!" Otto shouted.
"Hey, guys, what's the rush?" The driver asked.
His question was answered by a shotgun blast made clear in the air, as well as the shattering of glass of his back window. All hearts inside the car jump with the sudden thought of fear that they would all soon be dead, soon to make whatever maker they may or may not have believed in, and terror and panic settle into the enclosed environment.
All parties began screaming incoherently, none able to form a full sentence other than the terrorized utterances of 'FUCK!' and 'SHIT!', having their fight-or-flight instincts take over their brains. There is nowhere for the group to fly in this enclosed space, nor is there any reasonable means of which they can fight an enraged redneck with a shotgun...
...but the driver has enough intelligence to floor the gas pedal and drive away, taking the one form of flight still available.
At the order of its driver's foot, the car began rushing out of the liquor store's parking lot, running off in the distance from the homicidal store owner. Attempting to take his pound of flesh from the fleeing targets, the store owner aimed his shotgun at the car and fired again, this time only managing to hit a taillight, but none of its passengers.
Too stupid to make note of the car's license plate or remember the faces of the thieves, the store owner could make no more attempt to take his revenge against the thieves. Instead, his only response is to raise his shotgun in the air and shout incoherent sounds of rage, like a mentally challenged Tusken Raider.
[Soundtrack Cue End]
As Otto and Twister managed to leave the shotgun-wielding maniac behind, the two and their driver still felt the rush of adrenaline from their daring stunt, all taking deep, heavy breaths as they tried to overcome the dangerous situation that the friends had put themselves into.
But the realization of safety soon comes after, and the group all realized that the threat was long gone, and they were no longer within its firing range. The thrill of a getaway is now upon them at last, followed by the relief of a sudden and close brush with death itself; a thrill the two are more than familiar with as skaters, but not in this manner.
Nonetheless, the feeling is celebrated by all with a rising of laughter, with all starting with small chuckles in light of the event. The small chuckles then elevated into full-fledged, hearty guffaws, giving the escapees a well-earned sense of freedom and joy in their victory.
In between laughs, they soon find the courage to speak again, and laugh even further at their victory.
"Oh, shit! Oh, shi-hi-hit! I thought I was gonna fuckin' die there!" Otto cheered.
"Me, too, man! I thought he was gonna blow me away for sure!" Twister shouted.
"You guys thought you had it rough? He got my car! He shot out my window!" The driver laughed.
"Yeah! You- You know what the funniest part it? I didn't think he was actually gonna just shoot us! You ever seen that scene in Pulp Fiction where Bruce Willis and the black guy get kidnapped and raped? I thought that was us, man!" Otto laughed.
"No, no, no. That shit was Texas Chainsaw Massacre. He was gonna fuckin' eat us or something, the weirdos in the middle of nowhere always do!" Twister cheered.
"You guys clearly haven't seen Deliverance. That's the most accurate film about the backwoods country types there is. You two were that far away from 'squealing like a pig'!" The driver cheered.
The group all laughed again in success, allowing themselves to cheer away their stress and find relief once again in the safety of the car. With danger behind them and only a fun night at a party ahead of them, Otto and Twister leaned back in their seats in relief, silently riding out the drive back in peace.
However, the driver, once again, had his urge to ask more questions to the best friends.
"So, what happened in there exactly that led up to that?" The driver asked.
"Well, basically, we needed to get rid of the guy so we could grab the beer and run. We made the guy think we were illegal immigrants and shit so he'd go away from the register. After that, we filled up a cart and just loaded up the car with everything we could grab." Otto said.
"So, you basically stole from this guy?"
"Yeah, but don't feel bad. The dude was calling I.C.E. on us and wanted us deported. We're both natural born citizens, racist fucker couldn't tell."
"Yeah, I've had my fair share of asshole bigots, too. But why steal from him? I know some other liquor stores where the owners aren't assholes."
Otto attempted to hold his tongue to prevent an answer from being given to the driver that would cause them problems, but Twister answered it without said forethought.
"We ran out of money and didn't have any cash to buy the beer. That's how Otto came up with the plan to steal it so we could have the beer for free." Twister said.
The comment brought discomfort to Otto in fear of what the news would mean to the driver, and the driver himself took no longer a jovial tone with the two in response.
"So... you guys don't have any money? Nothing to pay for the ride? Or my broken window and god knows what else?" The driver asked.
Forced to answer the uncomfortable question, Otto slowly gave the honest response to the driver, having no lies to give himself a way out from this situation.
"Uh... No." Otto bemoaned.
"But we could pay you in beer, if you like!" Twister interjected.
Minutes later, the two were ejected from the car altogether, with all of their looted beer left behind with them. Having nothing to pay the driver nor for the damage on his car, Otto and Twister were left alone on the side of the road with no means back home, no way to carry their beer other than with their own bare hands, and not even a smartphone to order another Urban.
The danger may have been long behind them, but another trouble laid ahead of them, with a long ways to get back to Ocean Shores.
"Maybe we should've offered him cigarettes instead." Twister said.