LatinosUSA

It was Wendy’s birthday and, because AI took my job a few months ago, I was broke. I was an analytical chemist, but when a few employment agencies told me AI analyzed all applicants for such work, I knew I wouldn’t top their lists. I approached some prospective employers directly, but they told me they were laying off, not hiring. Competition for casual jobs increased, despite the pay decreasing.

Truth is, I let myself slide. My appearance is shabby, although to the people I recently hung with, I’m quite stylish. I indulged in gifted drugs, just to be sociable. That’s how I met Wendy. Wendy is her real name, but she liked to be addressed as Red, the periodically refreshed colour of her hair. When the appeal of red faded, she took on a green hue and, knowing she could tire of that colour sooner or later, went back to being Wendy. 

She was one of the generous people, but she recently was a little critical of my unemployed status. Even so, I knew if I didn’t get her a gift, she’d be pissed. When she’s pissed, she withholds certain privileges. Well, privileges in her eyes – everyday activities in mine, like eating or taking a shower. Pleasurable necessities.

I had just over two hundred dollars and reckoned I couldn’t afford to spend more than twenty. I went to a department store to find something on sale within that range. A pair of earrings looked nice but were expensive. Not expensive to you perhaps, but a tad overpriced for my situation. They were pegged on a white plastic board hanging from a display tree. I could easily have picked them up and walked away. But I’m not that sort of person, except I was in a situation that called for that sort of person. A gift for Green Wendy. I fingered the items and considered stealing them until guilt shamed me. I am not a thief, but was being one today my best option? No! I told myself I have not sunk that low, and I walked away. There would be something else.

Except there wasn’t.

I was almost out of the store when I thought about how kind Wendy had been to me. What was it that murderer, Gilmore, said to his firing squad? Just do it! I thought of the cameras watching me as I returned to the jewellery area. They probably alerted missing sales assistants of a possible transaction. An emergency exit that would suit my purpose was just twenty metres from the counter.

There were no salespersons in view, and the three potential shoppers had no interest in me. I saw a couple of cameras and knew there would be many more watching, but I anticipated that. I walked past the counter and, in one deft move, lifted the earrings, put them in my pocket, and headed for the fire door.

I slammed a fire exit open. Somebody howled like they were in pain, and the door swung back at me. I sidestepped the heavy iron door before the exit closed.

A middle-aged woman rubbing her shoulder glared at me. “You should be more aware of the possibility of people being near that door. That hurt.” She paused, and the situation dawned on her. “Why are you exiting through that door?”

We were in a cobblestoned area that contained nothing but industrial waste bins. The store was behind me and a parking lot behind her. What was she doing there? Rummaging? “Sorry,” I said as I turned to speed away.

“Sorry doesn’t do it, ya scruffy bastard,” said a man who looked like he fancied his chances. It was his opportunity to be a hero and get laid. He was about the right age for her. Of course, he could have been her husband.

I headed for the parking lot. Hero lunged and grabbed my right arm. “Come ’ere, ya punk.”

I swung around and stiff-fingered his throat with my left hand. His eyes bulged, his hand flew to his Adam’s apple and, although he was trying to shout, no sound escaped. His rapidly blinking eyes looked like revolving reels in a one-armed bandit. I left him to suffer in silence. 

The woman screamed and was getting attention from a couple returning to their car with bulging bags. I legged it. So much drama for a couple of pieces of piddling jewellery. One could think I’d killed someone.

I peeled the price from the white plastic. 

When I gave the earrings to Wendy, her lips made an inverted u shape. “They’re quite nice,” she said, “but not really my style. Did you keep the receipt? Why don’t I come with you back to the store and I can choose something more appropriate.”

“Not today,” I said. 

She huffed and returned her attention to the celebrity magazine she was reading. I re-pocketed the rejected gift and regretted what I went through to obtain it. I squirmed internally with embarrassment because of the rejection and the shame of what I had done to get the stupid things.

Knowing I was filmed on security cameras, and considering the kerfuffle behind the store, I cut my overly long hair, shaved my beard, and clipped my moustache. Then, not having to pay for Wendy’s refused gift, I allowed myself to go to a barber for a clean-up. I looked different, and surprisingly good. 

Wendy didn’t agree. She asked why I didn’t consult her, and that my new look indicated my intention for a new me. As she was fond of the old me, she saw no reason for us to continue. 

And she was right. I am a new me who had a bad day, not to mention a few bad months. She was correct that my radically changed appearance no longer fit in with her friends. Just as well, considering I didn’t rate them as my friends. There is no receipt, and AI would create an image of me soon enough. I packed my seriously depleted possessions in twenty minutes, and here I am, on the overnight bus to Sydney.