My Morning with a Vape, the Police and a Man with a Coke Nail
FRIDAY, 8:11 A.M.
“Receipt?” The old cashier tears a small receipt off with the fingers holding his ash-heavy Parliament cigarette. I notice his ridged, yellow coke nail.
”No, I’m good. Thanks.”
We nod as I leave the store, north of Victory Blvd. Deep valley.
I open my vape as I get into my car. I start the car, and DROWNING begins to play. I shift gears and turn back into the Van Nuys Blvd. morning commute.
Over the piano and A Boogie Wit da Hoodie, I hear:
*LOUD WHISTLING*
”HEY!!!! HEYYYYY! HEYYYY!!!!”
I look in my rear view mirror.
It’s the gray-haired cashier, his brown polyester outfit, and Sketchers working overtime. He looks strong. He looks like he could be a soldier; only his costume is too sad.
He’s definitely chasing me through traffic moving at forty miles an hour. Cars are honking. Tires are screeching. This is so cinematic and dangerous to-this-song.
I jerk my steering wheel to the left lane shoulder as he hits my car with an open palm. My heart feels like it’s mainlined an eight ball.
”DECLINED!!!!! DECLINED!!! PAY ME!!”
His eyes are bulging. He’s panting and leaning into my car as cars zip past his body.
”WHAT???? I’ll come right back!! I’ll turn around!! Please get off the road!!” I shout.
“Mom?” Bea pulls her airpods out of her ears.
“What is happening?”
”I don’t speak English!” Coke Nail Cashier shouts at me.
”I’ll be back in two minutes!” I plead. “I see you once a week! You know me! I’ll be back!”
“NO ENGLISH! PAY ME!”
*BOOP!! BOOP!*
I look in the rear view; LAPD are flashing lights at me. They are right behind me. My tummy drops further than anatomically possible.