Convenience Store Scene No. 7

"The Strange Guy" or "Convenience Store Scene No. 7"
By Alex Moore


If there was ever an embodiment of pure evil, this was surely it, Jeffrey Nixon decided, feeling the taunting eyes of the Strange Guy piercing his flesh like a thousand mosquitos.

Jeffrey stood in the corner of the convenience store at the soda fountain, filling his large Styrofoam cup in short, reluctant spurts, all the while trying his hardest to monitor the Strange Guy out of the corner of his eye. Jeffrey knew that the Strange Guy knew Jeffrey was watching him, so Jeffrey tried not to make it too obvious that he was aware he was being stared down.

The Strange Guy stood about six feet and two inches, and weighed in at around 120 pounds. His jeans hung loose and uninfluenced by the Strange Guy’s boney legs. A thin white undershirt leaked out of a tattered and stained Arkansas Razorbacks hooded sweatshirt. The hood was pulled tight over a Dallas Cowboys baseball hat, that, along with a pair of dark aviator glasses, gave the Strange Guy an eerie Unibomberesque style.

A spit-soaked toothpick protruded from two unfortunately uneven rows of yellow teeth, surrounded by a face full of two-week-old stubble. The teeth were garnished by a moustache of inconsistent length, indicating that the Strange Guy frequently bit at it.

The Strange Guy bore a wide grin, and had been slowly nodding up and down from the first moment Jeffrey acknowledged him as Jeffrey first walked into the store. The Strange Guy had been waiting for him, as he did every day for the last week.

Pure evil.

Jeffrey had to try two different plastic lids before he found one that fit his cup. He then peeled a straw and inserted it into the slot on the lid, and winced as it let out a painfully loud squawk.

Making every possible attempt to avoid eye contact with the Strange Guy, yet failing three times, Jeffrey made his way from the soda fountain to a tall wire rack of candy bars and gum. Jeffrey tried to inconspicuously sneak a peak through the wire rack to see if the Strange Guy was still watching him. He was, and he continued his menacingly slow nod. It was as if the Strange Guy could see inside Jeffrey’s head, and was nodding in agreement with whatever he had come across.

Jeffrey’s head moved back and forth across the rows like a lawn sprinkler, and faithfully stole another glance at the Strange Guy. He was still there, and he was still evil, lurching and keeping watch over Jeffrey like a prison warden.

Since their appointments commenced a week ago, Jeffrey had plenty of time to decide what it was about the Strange Guy that was so evil, so cruel: The most apparently and obviously evil individuals in society are in fact the least threatening. Amongst these would be the crazy homeless people who yell curse words at cars that drive by, snotty high school girls, and biker cops. All of these people reek of a distinct, pungent evil. But they are ultimately harmless.

The second tier of evil are the sneaky people, political and religious leaders ranking the highest. What is so evil about these types of people, Jeffrey decided, is how sneaky they are. You never catch on to them until it’s too late and you’ve drank the Kool-Aid. Hitler’s secretary never knew of the Holocaust. The most evil in a society are the ones that come across exactly the opposite. They are the great deceivers.

But even more evil than them was the Strange Guy. At a passing glance, you would categorize him as average Joe, with the Potential Evil Factor (PEF) safely within the confines of the garden-variety first tier evil person. But Jeffrey was on to him. Jeffrey knew, as plain as day, that the Strange Guy was indeed a second tier evil person that was masquerading as a first tier evil person, with the intent that, due to his awkward appearance, he not be taken any more seriously that the proverbial homeless guy car curser.

Did the fact that Jeffrey was able to catch on to the Strange Guy’s scheme automatically demote the Strange Guy from second tier to first tier? Only if the general populous had picked up on the scheme as well.

But the general populous had not, because Jeffrey was the only person who could see him.

Jeffrey’s neck snapped to attention when he heard an unearthly crackling sound, like milk cartons being fed into a trash compactor. The Strange Guy had begun devouring a bag of potato chips, not hesitating to open the package first.

It was as if his jaw had become unhinged, Jeffrey thought, as the Strange Guy’s mouth seemed to open ten to twelve inches. Potato chip crumb infested saliva stretched, quivered, and snapped inside the gaping blender of a mouth that moved open and shut faster than humanly possible. Shards of the shiny bag flittered and glistened inside his mouth.

All week long, Jeffrey knew he was in life-threatening danger, but the thought that he might be eaten alive this afternoon had first occurred fifteen, twenty minutes ago. It was only now that he realized that the Strange Guy had a mouth large enough to start anywhere on Jeffrey’s body that he felt like.

To Jeffrey’s horror and amazement, the Strange Guy moved on to something larger-- a loaf of bread, which he placed in his mouth sideways. He did not bother to chew, but instead worked the loaf down his throat with a series of lightning-quick lunging movements. Jeffrey watched the bread loaf travel down the Strange Guy’s esophagus and into his abdomen.

Jeffrey, pale and petrified, tried to contain himself as best he could as he walked to the front counter, where the convenience store manager was inconvenienced that he now had pull himself away from his dirty magazine. He slipped it back inside its cellophane cover not seeming to care if a few pages got bent in the process, and placed it on the rack behind him.

“Another scratch-it ticket, I assume?” The manager asked after ringing up seventy-nine cents for the soda.

Jeffrey nodded.

“I need to see your ID,” the manager said.

Prick, Jeffrey thought.

As Jeffrey reached into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet, his elbow bumped the Strange Guy, who was now standing immediately behind Jeffrey, waiting in line. Jeffrey, feeling hot, rancid breath on the back of his neck, did not need to turn around to confirm that his oppressor was towering behind him with a perverted, childlike eagerness for what was to come.

Upon surveying Jeffrey’s ID, the manager tore off a scratch-it ticket. Jeffrey took a coin out of the take-a-penny and slowly scratched at the ticket with the same deliberate reluctance that one plays Russian Roulette. He felt nauseous as reason came to a screeching halt just in time to yield to insanity.

After a moment, Jeffrey’s scratching revealed “You win $1,000!!!” Jeffrey breathed a sigh of relief. The manager’s mouth was agape. This was the seventh time this week.

“I don’t know why I’m even surprised anymore,” the manager said.

Jeffrey shook his head sympathetically at the manager, who would never understand.

Behind Jeffrey, a groan. He heard the plodding of footsteps as the Strange Guy turned and walked away.

I guess I live to see another day, Jeffrey thought as he walked out to his car. Jeffrey heard a loud clank as the lid on a manhole fell shut. The Strange Guy had gone back down for the night.