86'd: A Novel - By Dan Fante Page 0,69
down the Safeway aisles in search of bread and hard salami and mayonnaise for me and something decent for the bulldog to eat.
Then I made a bad decision. I came face to face with a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 in the liquor area. I made a quick, stupid decision and paid for the bottle at the small counter. Then I pulled Tub out of sight behind a stack of boxed Miller Lite Beer, cracked my jug, and slammed its contents. This is therapy I told myself. With this at least I’ll be able to function and shut down the noise.
After getting nearly immediate relief I rolled around to the deli area and procured a Genoa salami, a loaf of French bread, mayonnaise and mustard, and a plastic-wrapped brick of Parmesan cheese.
In the pet department I stocked up on six cans of 100 percent beef for Tub, then I made my way into a checkout line run by a blond, chubby, college-looking kid whose name tag spelled PAMMI.
Holding Tub by his leash next to me, after my purchases arrived in front of PAMMI on the conveyor belt and she’d greeted me with the requisite smile and “Hi, and how are you today?” and I had nodded back toward her, she gave me my total: “That’ll be nineteen-forty-six.”
I dropped a twenty on the counter.
PAMMI was dispensing my change. “Would you like to give a donation to support prostate cancer research today?” she chimed, then flashed me another checker-mandated shit-eating grin.
“Would I what?” I said.
“Would you like to donate to support prostate cancer research?”
“Why do you ask?” I said. “I’m buying groceries here, Pammi. What in Jesus’s name does me buying food have to do with the prostate cancer research business?”
Pammi appeared a bit unsettled. “It’s a donation, sir. It’s for a good cause.”
“I’m not here to donate, Pammi. If I wanted to donate I’d be where they take donations.”
“Oh, okay, I see,” she whispered, looking away.
“Tell me, what makes you think I give a rat’s turd about prostate cancer? And who in hell told you to ask me for money? I mean, along with your instructions to grin and be cordial and that unnecessary nonsense, that how are you today? snot, what imbecilic store policy dictates that you harpoon your clients in the checkout line to solicit contributions?”
“Look, it’s manager’s orders. We all do it. C’mon, mister. It’s no big deal.”
I could feel myself at the edge. But I couldn’t stop. “Where’s this manager?” I snarled. “Let’s get him over here, Pammi. I’d like to meet your manager personally and discuss Safeway’s donation policies.”
Behind me there were three customers. One of them—a guy—tapped me on the shoulder. “Look, my man, give it up, okay?” he hissed. “The kid’s just following orders.”
“I know what the kid’s doing,” I yelled. “How about just backing the fuck off!”
The guy could tell from my expression that I was getting upset. He wisely turned away.
Then Bill arrived. Bill was in his mid-thirties, wearing a tie, with different colored pens in his starched, white manager’s smock pocket, and wire-rimmed glassed. “Yessir,” Bill grinned, “how may we help you today?” Then he leaned down to pet Tub, who reacted with a genuine snarl. Bill wisely pulled his hand away.
“I’m a customer here, Bill,” I said, now not giving a shit and not caring that a crowd was gathering and was watching us. “I buy my groceries here. So help me out here, will ya? Please tell me, what Safeway policy permits your employees to entrap their customers in the checkout line to solicit charitable contributions? What gives you guys the balls to ask me for money when I’m here to buy groceries?”
Bill’s smile faded quickly. “We’re just trying to help out. Could you please keep your voice down?”
“And it doesn’t tweak you in the slightest that you’re embarrassing people—putting them on the spot—forcing them into giving donations?”
“No sir, I guess it doesn’t. Our customers seem to like to donate to a worthy cause. I’ll ask you again: Could you please keep your voice down?”
“How about this idea, Bill? My personal opinion is that prostate cancer is a good thing. In my view prostate cancer is Jesus’s answer to population growth. How would you and your clerks like to join me and solicit contributions to spread my message? Hey, it’s a good cause.”
“Okay, that’s it! I think you’d better pick up your groceries and your dog and move along. If not I’ll call security.”
Clearly Bill had the sympathy of