While we were in high school, during the summer months, a bunch of us bought some beer and went to a friend’s grandparents’ house to drink ’em. This was during the middle of the afternoon. The grandparents were out of town, so we thoughtfully turned their house into party central for a day. Rocky was there, and he got shitfaced and took off on his five-speed bike. Everybody else followed suit, in the shitfaced department, and one of my other friends upchucked in my living room floor a couple of hours later. He was thoroughly smashed, so somebody got the idea of driving him around town in the back of a pickup truck to try to sober him up. Ha! These were the kinds of sound decisions that were being made that day.
So, a bunch of us were in the back of this pickup, all of us drunk to some degree. I believe the driver was sober. He hadn’t been at the grandparents’ house, anyway. We drove all around Dunbar, trying to un-drunk some people before they had to go home and interact with their parents, etc. And as we approached Dunbar Elementary, we saw Rocky attempting to ride his bike down the street, but something was askew. When we got nearer we could see that he was all beat up. I mean… it was horrific. His face was a bloody mess and his clothes were a wreck. The chain was off his bike and he was trying to ride it anyway… He seemed to be out of it and was all messed up. It was a genuinely disturbing sight.
We got him home, but we didn’t know what had happened. He couldn’t even talk, not really. His mother took him to the emergency room, and he was admitted. He was there for days. We didn’t know if he’d had a bicycle wreck, or if somebody beat his ass, or what. Everybody thought we knew more than we did, and the cops were involved. We also had a bizarre meeting with Rocky’s mother who had us write down what we knew on pieces of paper and then dramatically burned them in an aluminum pie pan. It was wild! But we didn’t know anything. Nobody believed us, but it was true.
Anyway, the whole thing was upsetting and weird and went on for days. On the second or third day, a bunch of us decided to go see Rocky in the hospital. And somebody suggested we take him a gift of some kind. But what do you buy a guy like Rocky? A copy of Penthouse, of course! So, we went to a convenience store and it was decided that Steve would be the one to go in and buy the magazine. Needless to say, he was steamrolled into it. And if you knew Steve you’d know how uncomfortable this was for him. This was DEFINITELY outside his comfort zone.
There was a guy working in there known as Bimbo. He was older than us, probably 24 at the time. He was well-known around town and was a combination of nice and intimidating if you know what I mean. He never caused us any kind of problem, but it always felt like the potential was there. So, when Steve saw who was behind the counter he attempted to extract himself from the situation. I told him I’d go with him, but he had to do the talking. He reluctantly agreed. Oh, this was going to be great! All the porn was behind the counter, so he’d have to ask Bimbo for the Penthouse.
Steve was sweating high-caliber bullets as we walked up to the counter. Neither of us could look Bimbo in the eye, and he finally said, “So, what do you assholes want?” And Steve said, “Uh… could I get a copy of Playboy?” He attempted to soften it, by going with Playboy instead of Penthouse. But that was still acceptable. No problem. Bimbo didn’t react for half a second, and it felt like a long, long time. Then he said, real loud, “What are you going to do, Wilkerson? Go home and jack off?” I mean, he bellowed it, and it felt like every head in the store turned our way. The look on Steve’s face was one of the most hilarious things I’ve ever seen.
When we got outside — with the magazine — I was buckled over in laughter for a solid minute. It was just so goddamn perfect. Steve wasn’t as amused but was also laughing a little. I think it was the first time any of us had so much as smiled in several days.
We never really found out what happened to Rocky. He still says he doesn’t remember but believes he was talking shit to some guys behind the elementary school, on the basketball courts. And they beat him up. Be he claims to not know for sure. He was an absolute mess, and my parents (and other parents) still believe we all knew more than we did. If you asked my Mom about it, right now, she’d say we covered something up. Also, Rocky didn’t even appreciate the Playboy very much. He demanded to know where he was supposed to hide it in a hospital room with his mother and sister and various nurses coming and going. Wow. After all that effort…
I don’t know if I’ve ever told that entire story before. I probably have, but can’t recall it.
Anyway, if you have any good convenience store tales to tell, please do so. Use the comments. Please share anything remarkable or crazy.
Another fast one before I call it a day here… I walked into a C-store in Greensboro, NC a million years ago and the girl behind the counter said, “Hey, are you a Jew?” What? I was instantly confused. But she was clearly talking to me, and I asked her what she was getting at. She said, “You just look like a Jew. You know, black curly hair and a big nose?” WTF?? She didn’t appear to know how offensive this line of questioning was, she just seemed to be real, real dumb. I told her I wasn’t a Jew, but would that be a problem if I was? And she shrugged, and said, “No, I was just wondering.” What in the everlasting hell?? And when I got home I stood in front of the mirror for five minutes looking at my nose. She’d given me yet another thing to feel self-conscious about. A big nose? That idea had never even occurred to me. I still think about it from time to time. Sheesh.
Have a great day, my friends!
I’ll be back on Thursday.
Now playing in the bunker
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I once saw a homeless guy start spitting on everything in sight in a store.
The guy who worked there used to point and shoot a blank gun at people (you could not get away with that now).
Maybe she had never been with a Jew and it was on her sexual bucket list. If you had answered yes you could have gotten lucky.
My name is Bucky Goldstein.
Sebastian Valmont says
Living in a dense urban area with a large homeless population, I’ve seen quite a few disturbing events. One time a homeless guy WENT OFF on me when I walked into a 7/11, and the clerk sighed and said “I hate this time of year, they always come when the weather gets nice” and he called the cops. The guy eventually left the front of the store, escaping detention.
One time in Seattle, my wife had to use the restroom and the clerk reluctantly allowed her. She told me there were used needles on the ground, spurts of blood on the walls and no toilet seat. She squatted over the toilet, did her business and left; the clerk eyeballing her on the way out. Now we know to plan our restroom stops AWAY from urban cores.
Man, I hope I haven’t told this story here before……One morning, many years ago, on the way to work with a raging hangover, I stopped at a local convenience store to get a vat of coffee. While I’m filling my cup one of the ladies working there seemed like she was calling over to me. However, I was really not in the mood to converse at the time so I decided I would just ignore her and maybe she’d go away. Then she started screaming at me and approaching. I looked down and apparently the coffee maker was still filling when I removed the pot and by now the whole counter was flooded with coffee. I casually put the pot back under the machine and took my coffee to the register and checked out like nothing happened…while the less-than-enthused lady mopped up my mess. Not one of my finest moments…but looking back, definitely one of the funniest.
I have told this one before. Waiting in line a south of the border fellow tried to hold up the cashier. I told the cashier to not give him anything, as i recognized his finger pointed was all he had under his jacket. I pushed him into a display, and he jumped up, still pointing his finger…outside his jacket. It was on video, and the owner bought my gas for a month. Hector ran out the door after he was exposed.
I was on my way to a friend’s BBQ and stopped off to get a couple of 12ers. I was standing in line and the 400 lbs black woman behind the counter shouts out “Hey, you stealin! Hey! HEY!!!! I look up in time to see a Mexican and a skinny crack whore white girl casually walking out of the store white their arms loaded with Twinkies, Flamin hot Cheetos, Jungle Juice and whatever else they could carry. The lady behind the counter just shrugged and went on business as usual. When I left the store to get in my car, the Mexican and the Whore were sitting in a ratty old Suburban parked next to me right out front eating the snacks the had just recently procured.
I was in a rather affluent town in Northern Michigan hanging out with a couple of college buddies.
These guys were townies, redneck farm boys who liked to raise a little hell but were really a good bunch.
We were outside a 7-11 and one of the guys (A) we were hanging out with was picking on a guy (B) who is shirtless and apparently wasn’t liked much.
They were up in each other’s face and A starts daring B to “do it”.
Suddenly, B pulls a big assed Bowie knife out from behind his back. A takes off running and B goes after him.
Next thing I know the police are there and they tackle B onto the cement. I swear they must have ground off his nipples the way he slid along the sidewalk.
He was not happy to be taken in to custody. The police hog tied him wrists to ankles and toss him head first into the back of a squad car.
It was quite a show.
Strange. The first time I read this, yesterday, I heard “the police hogtied him…” The second time, just now, it was “the police hog (noun meaning pig) tied him…”
I know that story. It was Chuck “i am now running hell” W., and his Edens toadies who accosted Rocky.
What the hell are Rap Snacks? As seen in the convenience store photo.
A Different Jeff says
Q: “What the hell are Rap Snacks?”
A: “Thin slices of potato that have been deep fried (Wikipedia)” then stuffed in a sack made of “deeper insight into the power of the artist (History of Rap Snacks).”
The Qweezy Mark says