Wacky Washington #6

I was having an ordinary day, at first.

Work was completely boring, as usual. I know, how banal a comment is that? However, I’m entitled. It’s just a part-time gig to help pay for school. My future career goal isn’t to stay in McDonald’s forever. Who would want that?

Customers were in a hurry, as usual, and ordered the same bullshit to eat, as usual. I leaned on the counter, my chin on my hand.

“Can I take your order, please?” I repeated like a good capitalist drone. I was entirely sick of it. I almost leapt to volunteer to restock the shelves when my manager asked.

Being in the back by myself was a relief. No whiny kids, or lazy parents, or fat people asking for another free refill. Sure, I had to haul boxes and stack them on shelves until my arms hurt, but that was better than putting up with all that crap.

I had to take a leak, so I headed to the bathroom. There was a yellow Skittle lying on the floor by the toilet. At least, it looked like a Skittle. I had this compunction to pick it up.

I know that probably sounds gross to you. But I’ve been reared since birth to not waste food. My friends all know that if they can’t finish a meal at a restaurant, they can give it to me. I seem to have a hollow leg, and burn food fast. My girlfriend always comments on how much body heat I give off, so I have this theory that I burn my calories that way. Nothing else explains why I weigh only one-seventy, yet eat more than my two-hundred-fifty pound brother.

So I’m all OCD, staring at this Skittle on the floor, thinking I should eat it. Off the bathroom floor. I grossed myself out. And, because it was by the toilet, I didn’t even want to pick it up. What if someone hit it with pee splashback? Gross!

(I’ve also got this thing about keeping things clean. I have to wipe off counters, fix crooked pictures, and I vacuum like three times a day.)

I went back to restocking shelves, and the Skittle kept running through my thoughts. How on earth would someone lose one of those in the bathroom? Why couldn’t they have the common courtesy to clean it up? Why the hell did I still want to eat it?

I grabbed dinner before the end of my shift, enjoying a Quarter Pounder with Cheese, and a Coke. Then I had to pee again. That stupid Skittle was still there, and it was like three hours since I’d been in there last. I don’t even like yellow Skittles. I prefer red ones, or orange.

But I ate it.

Look, don’t judge me. I can’t help the way my twisted mind works. It goes in circles sometimes, stuck on random shit like Skittles on the floor, fingerprints on walls, or if my sideburns are even or not. It’s messed up. The only way to stop thinking about the Skittle was to eat it.

Turns out, it wasn’t a Skittle at all.

It tasted funny in my mouth, kind of acrid and pasty. I smacked my tongue around in my mouth a couple times and spit in the sink.

“Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea,” I said. I stared in the mirror, and I swear to God, I saw my eyelids dilate and then shrink back up, only not at the same time. One eye would widen to almost black, while the other tightened to a pinprick, and then they alternated in a weird rhythm. I shook my head and left the bathroom.

Luckily, my shift was over, so I headed home. I was going to grab a quick shower and change my clothes before heading over to my girlfriend’s place. Her cousins from Germany were visiting, and they were having a big family reunion barbecue. I couldn’t get out of work, but I could at least put in an appearance.

I brushed my teeth furiously once I got home, trying to remove the memory of that weird flavour. I drank a bottle of water and then jumped in the shower. I scrubbed furiously, running my tongue under the water, spitting and smacking my lips. I didn’t want to think about whatever that non-Skittle had been.

I got dressed and drove over to Molly’s house. You could hear the noisy party in the backyard. Her relatives were all pretty much social people, and loved to drink and eat and just have a good time. I’ve always enjoyed their family get-togethers. I could smell hot dogs and hamburgers and chicken.

I went into the backyard, waving at some uncles and cousins I recognized. I found Molly up on the deck by the pool.

“Oh, good, you’re here!” She kissed me and pulled me by the hand. “I was just talking about you. I want you to meet my cousin Petra, I haven’t seen her since I was twelve but we’ve been pen pals my whole life.”

Molly dragged me over towards the patio furniture. A tall blonde girl stood up. She looked like a model, tall and thin and blonde. She smiled.

“Petra, this is my boyfriend Steve, the guy I’ve been writing to you about,” Molly told her, still holding my hand.

“You write about me?” I said.

“I love you,” I heard, but Molly’s mouth didn’t move. She just smiled at me and said, “Of course, silly! Why wouldn’t I?”

I blinked and stared at her. “Pardon? What was that?”

“Of course I write letters about you.”

“No, before that. What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.” Molly stared back at me. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry, long day at work. I’m being rude,” I turned to her cousin and shook hands, letting go of Molly’s to do so. “Nice to meet you, Petra.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” Petra smiled back. Her voice was accented, but she spoke English very well. As our hands touch, I thought I heard “Gudentag.”

“Is that German for hello?” I asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Gudentag. That’s ‘hello,’ right?”

“Yes. Well, more accurately, ‘good day.’ And it is almost night-time now.”

“Petra speaks five languages,” Molly chimed in.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. I hope to be an interpreter some day.”

“Like at the U.N.” Molly added. “Petra’s very interested in politics. She’s a Communist.”

“Really? I didn’t think there were any of those, anymore.”

“I’m not exactly a Communist. I studied socialism at school, and I’m interested in some leftist movements, but more as an academic.” She smiled.

“Brains and beauty, she got the good genes in the family,” Molly giggled. “I was telling Petra that, after the party, we’d take her out to some night clubs, see some of our friends. That cool?”

“Sounds great.” I shrugged.

We took a cab downtown. Somehow I ended up with the middle seat, between both girls. It was a hot summer evening, and I was wearing shorts. Both Molly and Petra had short skirts. Occasionally one or the other would accidentally brush her leg against mine. And I kept hearing things.

“It’s so beautiful here.”

“Steve’s acting funny.”

“I wonder what kind of music they’ll play?”

“Should be a fun night…”

But no one was talking. I wondered if I was going crazy.

The cabbie let us off on the corner we wanted, and we walked down the street to Molly’s favourite club, The Wax. People were already lining up outside. We got in line. Molly and Petra both linked arms with me, as if I was their escort or something.

“I would love to live in this country. My friends back home would be shocked, but I’d much rather take that modeling contract and be famous, than go back to school.”

“What modeling contract?” I asked Petra.

“Pardon?” She said, surprised. “Who told you about that?”

At that moment, Molly let go of my arm and started waving at someone.

“Hey, Cheryl! Hello!”

I looked down the sidewalk and saw our friend Cheryl. She waved absently at us, holding up a finger. She got out a cell phone and started talking on it, continuing to walk by.

“Crap, I needed to ask her about something,” Molly pouted. “She hasn’t returned any of my calls this week.”

“I’ll go get her,” I said. I hurried off down the sidewalk and grabbed Cheryl by the elbow.

“I sooooo don’t want to talk to them, I hope they just leave me alone…” I heard her say. But by then Cheryl was looking at me in surprise, and her mouth wasn’t moving.

“Steve?”

“Never mind,” I said. We were only a few feet from Molly, who had jogged to catch up. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialed Cheryl’s number. Her phone started to ring in her hand.

“Bitch!” Molly said. “Ignore me, will you?”

“What the hell was that Skittle?” I said.