untitled retail humor (600 words)
Posted: January 25th, 2013, 9:56 pm
This isn't the beginning of the story (around 2500 words), but it's the beginning of the main conversation. The story is a character sketch of a young lady with a retail job, and just how miserable it is to work there. The dialog between Tatiana and the Grunnah is a compilation of real conversations I've had, so my main concern is that whole thing is more of a comedy skit than a real short story--but is that a problem?
It was just as she’d dreaded: pen refills. The best Tatiana could have hoped for was a wise old gentleman that already knew which he needed, depleted refill in hand, but that was never the case. Here, now, she had a monstrously fat man standing obtusely in the center of one of her aisles, staring alternately at this or that pen through tremendous glasses balanced on an unevenly shaped botch of a pencil mustache, scowl-lines creasing his face blubber. Tatiana steeled herself with a sigh and a preliminary roll of her eyes, hoping to get it out of her system now.
“What brings you in today?” Tatiana asked the person after she’d walked over. Gyrating around the elderly creature’s knees, there was an irritating-looking youth in camo with a rat-tail and freckles, but when Tatiana appeared he ran off with a breif cry of ‘I’m’a be in sportin’ goods,’ and then he called the thing a name that might have been ‘Grandma’ or it might have been ‘Grampa’, or it might have been ‘Grendel’; the result was closest to ‘Grunnah.’ “Can I help you with anything?” Tatiana asked. The Grunnah’s eyes bulged breifly under its aviator-frame bifocals and it pursed its lips, evidently having realized that someone was talking to it, if only it could determine who. “Do you need help finding something?” The troll’s roving gaze hit upon her suddenly and it jumped slightly, startled, staring Tatiana square in the eye with an expression of dull intensity. “Hi, my name is Tatiana. Is there something I can help--”
“Do you work here?” the Grunnah demanded. Its voice sounded like a dying dog trying to struggle its way through a fifty year haze of the cheapest cigarettes money could buy.
“Why, yes, I do, sir,” Tatiana said through a smile more forced than usual, straightening her day-glow uranium-green vest with the store logos on the chest and back. “Can I help you?”
“I seem to be having some trouble finding something,” it said, stumping slowly in a circle to face the wall of pens. “Could you give me a little help for a second?”
“Sure, what can I do for you?” Tatiana said loudly with the kind of wide-grinning mock-enthusiasm that she certainly hoped this creature was blind enough to mistake for sincere. It made no answer, squinting one eye, then the other at the oyster-grey shelving. “What--”
“Can you?”
“I sure can, sir,” said Tatiana. “What can I do for you?”
“Well,” he said, pulling a black plastic pen out of the pocket on the front of its shirt, “I need a refill for my pen.”
“No problem, the refills are right here behind you,” Tats said, pointing at the wall. Slowly it wheeled in a circle to face the display like some obsolete engine of progress. “What brand is it?”
“I don’t know,” said the Grunnah, following her finger and snatching one off the rack in its ham-fist and presenting it. “Oh, is this it?”
“Uh--I don’t know, can I have a look at the--”
“This one looks right, don’t it?” It stared at the refill in its hand from a few angles. “Is this it?”
“I--”
“I think it is, you’re right. If it’s not, how long do I have to return it?”
“Well, thirty days, but if I could just have a look at it, I could probably tell if it’s the right one or not,” she said, waving her hand towards the pen like a Jedi. The Grunnah had the pen enclosed in its giant fist, drooped limply by its side.
“A look at what?”
“The pen?”
“The what now?”
It was just as she’d dreaded: pen refills. The best Tatiana could have hoped for was a wise old gentleman that already knew which he needed, depleted refill in hand, but that was never the case. Here, now, she had a monstrously fat man standing obtusely in the center of one of her aisles, staring alternately at this or that pen through tremendous glasses balanced on an unevenly shaped botch of a pencil mustache, scowl-lines creasing his face blubber. Tatiana steeled herself with a sigh and a preliminary roll of her eyes, hoping to get it out of her system now.
“What brings you in today?” Tatiana asked the person after she’d walked over. Gyrating around the elderly creature’s knees, there was an irritating-looking youth in camo with a rat-tail and freckles, but when Tatiana appeared he ran off with a breif cry of ‘I’m’a be in sportin’ goods,’ and then he called the thing a name that might have been ‘Grandma’ or it might have been ‘Grampa’, or it might have been ‘Grendel’; the result was closest to ‘Grunnah.’ “Can I help you with anything?” Tatiana asked. The Grunnah’s eyes bulged breifly under its aviator-frame bifocals and it pursed its lips, evidently having realized that someone was talking to it, if only it could determine who. “Do you need help finding something?” The troll’s roving gaze hit upon her suddenly and it jumped slightly, startled, staring Tatiana square in the eye with an expression of dull intensity. “Hi, my name is Tatiana. Is there something I can help--”
“Do you work here?” the Grunnah demanded. Its voice sounded like a dying dog trying to struggle its way through a fifty year haze of the cheapest cigarettes money could buy.
“Why, yes, I do, sir,” Tatiana said through a smile more forced than usual, straightening her day-glow uranium-green vest with the store logos on the chest and back. “Can I help you?”
“I seem to be having some trouble finding something,” it said, stumping slowly in a circle to face the wall of pens. “Could you give me a little help for a second?”
“Sure, what can I do for you?” Tatiana said loudly with the kind of wide-grinning mock-enthusiasm that she certainly hoped this creature was blind enough to mistake for sincere. It made no answer, squinting one eye, then the other at the oyster-grey shelving. “What--”
“Can you?”
“I sure can, sir,” said Tatiana. “What can I do for you?”
“Well,” he said, pulling a black plastic pen out of the pocket on the front of its shirt, “I need a refill for my pen.”
“No problem, the refills are right here behind you,” Tats said, pointing at the wall. Slowly it wheeled in a circle to face the display like some obsolete engine of progress. “What brand is it?”
“I don’t know,” said the Grunnah, following her finger and snatching one off the rack in its ham-fist and presenting it. “Oh, is this it?”
“Uh--I don’t know, can I have a look at the--”
“This one looks right, don’t it?” It stared at the refill in its hand from a few angles. “Is this it?”
“I--”
“I think it is, you’re right. If it’s not, how long do I have to return it?”
“Well, thirty days, but if I could just have a look at it, I could probably tell if it’s the right one or not,” she said, waving her hand towards the pen like a Jedi. The Grunnah had the pen enclosed in its giant fist, drooped limply by its side.
“A look at what?”
“The pen?”
“The what now?”