Читать книгу Seeing Off the Johns - Rene S Perez II - Страница 14

Chon was helping a customer, a man in a black Mercedes that had overheated, when Henry walked in.

“Well, sir, we have a water hose at the side of the building that you can use to cool your car down before you put the coolant in,” Chon said, giving Henry a nod. Henry gave him a nod back and walked to the soda fountain in the back of the store.

“But you’re not supposed to take off the radiator cap when the car is hot,” the tall man in khaki shorts and polo T-shirt said. Chon could tell the guy was a Mexican national from his accent and his clothes.

“Well, not really, but you’ve been parked for a while. We can be careful when we open it.” Chon tried to speak slowly, breathing out through his nose—the way the training video Art had all of his employees watch instructed in dealing with elderly and mentally challenged customers and armed robbers. “Listen, sir, I’m just trying to get you out of here as soon as possible. You keep saying you’re in a hurry.”

“Fine, fine,” the man said. “So we cool it with the water and fill it with coolant, but won’t some water stay in the radiator?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s fine. It’ll just dilute the coolant a little bit, but it’s totally fine,” Chon said, looking back at Henry who was calling the guy a jerk off with his hand.

“No. The manual says to only put 50/50 coolant in the radiator, no water,” the man said, putting his car’s manual on the counter and giving a chortle as if to tell this kid that there are complexities of German engineering that he would never comprehend.

Chon let the sarcasm roll off his back. He had become near immune to assholes of all nationalities.

“Alright then, you’ll want four gallons of coolant. They’re across from the Pepsi cooler in the back,” he said.

The man made his way to the automotive section. As he walked up the last aisle, Henry walked down the first—smiling and shaking his head the whole way. He leaned against the ice cream cooler and crossed his arms. Chon showed Henry the palm of his hand and gave him a nod. Just wait.

“$13.99?” the man yelled from the back of the store.

Chon smiled at Henry, who tried to hold back a laugh.

“You people charge $13.99 for a gallon of coolant?” The man came back to the counter with two gallon jugs of the stuff.

“Yes sir, it comes out to $15 a pop after taxes,” Chon said, giving the man his back to Windex and squeegee the window behind the register.

“That’s bullshit,” the man said.

Chon turned around and scanned the jugs. “Well, sir, I don’t set the prices here. I just ring stuff up and make change. But, I mean, you’re kind of in the middle of a desert. There are towns and houses and stuff, but you see the sand and the cacti? That means you’re in a desert.”

“So you’re going to be a smartass now?” the man said.

“No, I guess I’m just making excuses for my boss. Anyway, it’ll just be the two of these?” Chon asked.

“Yes, that’ll be it.”

“So you’re going to risk putting the water in? Because the first gallon and a half of coolant will evaporate and be sucked into the car, you’ll need at least four gallons of coolant to top your car off.” Chon pointed at the man’s car in front of the store. He was feeling big—in control, like he was winning some respect from the man or at least evening a score between them that wasn’t being kept—until he looked at the car. The wheels, dirty from not having been washed in a while, were of a quality that Chon had never seen in a town where driving in luxury was a brand new truck with a Flowmaster exhaust system or a Lincoln or Caddy that one of the town’s retirees spent all of their squirreled-away money on and only drove to the post office and back. The curves of the car, its tinted windows and ultra bright headlights, fit the iconic hood ornament perfectly. Chon had seen it on TV or in magazines so many times that he hadn’t thought seeing the real thing would come as such a shock. But it did. He wanted to walk outside and touch it—to feel what it was made of and complete the sensory experience.

“Well, whatever,” the man said. “How much is it?” He looked at the number on the register, pulled out his wallet, and let a hundred fall down to the counter in front of Chon. Chon gave the man his change. The man walked out of the store to his car. He popped the hood and sat reading his car’s manual in its dome light glow.

“What an asshole,” Henry said.

Chon stood looking out at the man sitting in his car. He threw a towel at Henry.

“Go help him,” he said.

“Me? I don’t work here. Let him figure it out,” Henry said, turning around to see what the guy would do.

“Man, I told him to open his radiator and flush it with water. He’s probably going to burn himself. You know he doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Chon said.

“Well, why don’t you go help him then,” Henry asked. He looked back at his friend and seemed to get something.

“Fine,” Henry said, and walked out of the store.

Chon watched Henry go and talk to the man, who had tried to open the hood just as Henry walked over to get the nozzled water hose from the side of the store. Henry found the latch the man hadn’t been able to. Using the towel to protect his hand and forearm from the steam that would issue forth, Henry opened the radiator and proceeded to spray water into it to cool it down.

“The dumb asshole’s radiator cap wasn’t screwed on right. He must have smarted off, private school-style, at the last guy who changed his fluids,” Henry said, drying his hands with a paper towel. “You could have helped him, you know.”

Chon had mopped the store up in the time it took Henry to help the man. “Yeah, I know. But I had him. I made him look like the asshole he was. How am I going to turn around and help him outside when I just won inside?”

“Won what?” Henry asked. “The guy was trying to buy some coolant to fill his car. Sure, he was an asshole. Sure, you made him look like more of an asshole. But what did you win when he didn’t even know he was playing your little game? You got him, but he didn’t even know he was gotten. You think he’s even going to remember you tomorrow, or even me?”

Chon shook his head and scanned an 18-pack of beer. “Give me some money,” he said.

Henry handed him a twenty. “My tip for helping the businessman from Tamaulipas,” he said.

Chon paid the money into the register and put the change and the beer on the counter.

“I know we’re not being taped,” Henry said, looking up at a shot of himself from behind on the TV monitor above the counter, “but it still feels weird seeing myself on this monitor.”

“That’s the point,” Chon said, waiting for his register totals to print out. “That’s why they don’t even bother recording anything. Watching yourself do something wrong is enough to make you think twice about doing it.”

Chon put the printout in an envelope and slid it under the office door. “You know so much about this store,” he said, standing in the doorway, Henry waiting for him to lock up the shop, “that if we ever break up, I’ll have to kill you.”

“Shit,” Henry said, “I’m only with you for your car.”

They got in the Dodge-nasty and rode silently, with the windows down, a dry breeze rolling into the car. It was a nice enough night, by Greenton’s hot standard. It had reached 103° earlier that day. Another night wasted drinking beer and watrching TV with Henry didn’t seem too bad a prospect, because what else was there to do?

When they arrived at Henry’s house, Chon noticed a Suburban parked where he would otherwise have parked his car if he were coming to pick up Henry. He raised an eyebrow at Henry.

“They’ve been hanging out and drinking and talking about Mejia and my cousin like they had already been married or something,” Henry said, looking at his uncle’s Suburban. “He’ll be there all night and pass out on the couch. My dad’s trying to be cool, but he has to work in the morning—alone, because my uncle won’t show up. My dad’s getting annoyed with this, it’s almost every night. Fuck it. Let’s just ride around.”