How To Disappear Completely Read online

  That was my endless routine for 6 hours a day, 6 days a week. It could have been worse, but not by much. Most of the time I just got into a zone and didn’t see, feel, or have any real interaction outside of my own mind. It was like when you’re driving and 50 miles down the road you suddenly can’t remember driving that distance because you were in a trance conjured by the endless stream of white lines ticking like the seconds on a clock rolled out flat.

  My goal was to get better at repeating this trance-like state. I wanted to see if I could learn to control it. That’d be a pretty good skill and I could use it daily. The whole day before it would have been a godsend. Especially after all of that proposal mess, I wanted the ability to help me not think of the harsh rejection. So for the rest of the day I decided to practice. I would zone out and make lattés. I became less and less like an employee and more like a robot. No extras, just work. I was super efficient and everything was going well until one lady ordered her usual “Extra hot, double half-caf, non-fat, no-whip Mocha with soy milk.”

  She stomped through the doors wearing her power suit that was about to bust at the seams from a bunch of powerless and angry cloth. Her sunglasses never came off as she got in line in a huff because she had to wait. She spoke quickly and loudly into her Bluetooth headset talking to someone who probably cared as little about what she was saying as everyone in the store. I noticed a few other customers roll their eyes at the ridiculousness of her and how typical and contrived her performance was.

  Melinda, who works the registers, and I normally worked the same shifts. She was what she was and not much more. I couldn’t have cared less about her and rarely spoke to her about anything. On that day, though, she forgot to write soy on the cup and the lady was furious. The fat bitch took a sip of her drink, reeled back, and spit it out, landing a spray of coffee bullets all over me as if I were a paper target in a shooting range. “This is NOT soy milk!” she screamed and proceeded to dry heave a la Jim Carrey in Dumb & Dumber except here it was not at all funny, just sad.

  She threw her drink down onto the ground, spilling her Extra hot, double half-caf, non-fat, no-whip Mocha with skim milk all over the floor as well as a few customers who were just minding their own business. I had never seen such a scene. She stood there screaming like an under-qualified military officer who just got promoted because her daddy was an elite officer. She was struggling for command of her soldiers, but everyone knew she didn’t deserve any sort of respect and they all just wanted her to shut up.

  My boss came out to try and console her, but she wasn’t having any of it. Other customers were upset because they were either covered in her coffee or because they now had to wait as all the employees were scrambling to help and clean up.

  I looked over at Melinda, dripping in a mix of slobber, espresso and sugar, and then looked down at my shirt. Looking back up to Melinda, she gave me a face that said ‘What?’ Eventually our boss had to give the lady a bunch of free drink coupons to get her to shut up and leave. It’s amazing what you can get in life if you’re evil and cause enough trouble. People will just reward your indecencies to try and keep the peace. All the regular people just going along should be rewarded for being regular. All the bitches like her should be clubbed over the head and tossed to the gutter. If it weren’t for that whole “justice and law system” thing, then I may very well have gone Fight Club on her.

  Marcus, the owner, walked over to us shaking his head. “Alright you two, will someone tell me what the hell that was all about?”

  “The cup didn’t say soy.” I said politely.

  “What? It sure did. He just didn’t read it right.” Melinda retorted.

  Marcus looked at the two of us and went to go find the cup that had caused the whole mess. He picked it up, wiped it off and came back over. By now, all the coffee had erased or smeared most of what Melinda wrote. There was really no telling what was there originally.

  “Look. I understand that she’s just exceptionally nuts and completely out of her tree, but we can’t have people do that in our store, so we have to make sure their orders are right. OK? Please don’t let this happen again. Either of you.”

  Melinda and I agreed to be more aware and Marcus retreated to the office in the back. I grabbed a napkin to try and dry some of the gunk off of me, but it would have taken more napkins than the store had to get me clean. So I decided to be disgusting the rest of the day and proudly display my wounds from that battle.

  I debated whether or not to drift off into a trance again but after you’ve been through something like that, it makes you care even less. I was contemplating revenge on Melinda when I heard a “Whoa, what happened to you?” I looked up and saw the last person in the world that I wanted to see. Allison. I would have rather had the Extra hot, double half-caf, non-fat, no-whip Mocha with soy milk lady come back and spit in my face again than to see her.

  “Look, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Alrighty, well I didn’t see you at lunch today so I thought I’d see if you were here.”

  “Well here I am.”

  “You want to come over after work?”

  “After a day like this I don’t really think I’ll be in a great mood.” Not to mention a night like last night.

  “Oh. Ok. Well if you change your mind, I’ll be there just hanging out, ok?”

  “Yeah, ok.” There’s no way in hell that’s going to happen.

  She looked almost as defeated as Marcus did a few minutes ago and I couldn’t help but smile a little bit inside for my small win. It’s amazing that after shooting you in the heart, girls will often want to smile and cuddle afterwards. What they don’t realize is that most of the time we just want to get them back. We want revenge. Not serious revenge, just little victories here and there. She retreated and rounded the corner outside the store then faded away.

  It wasn’t until two showers later that I felt like I got myself clean from the fat bitch spittle. I still shudder thinking about it. The next day, she came back. That Extra hot, double half-caf, non-fat, no-whip Mocha with soy milk lady and her stupid face. I saw her walk in and was tempted to make whatever it was wrong on purpose just to see what would happen. I looked over and Melinda’s face hardened as soon as she saw the woman.

  Of course she used one of her many free drink coupons and walked briskly to wait for her cup, standing in front of everyone who was already waiting patiently. “Let’s go, I’m in a hurry,” she said, just begging me to forego my generally high sense of morality. “Come on!” she yelled again. “And could you maybe try and make it right this time?”

  “Coming right up.” I said cheerfully. After giving the other satisfied customers their drinks I finally started making hers. My mind was racing trying to think of what I could do and suddenly it hit me. The adrenaline took me by the hand and helped me as I took her Extra hot, double half-caf, non-fat, no-whip Mocha with soy milk, put the lid on loosely and ‘tripped’ as I took a small step over to give it to her. The cup flew out of my hands and my God was it beautiful. I wish the Planet Earth video crew were there to film it at 100 frames per second so that we could watch it again at super slow motion in all of it’s glory.

  The lid that was loosely placed on the cup came off first as the first bits of coffee flew out. The cup got some good air as it left my hands and I had just enough time to see a reaction before the bomb landed. Her face was pure joy to my eyes. Just as her mouth started to open up into a scream, her Extra hot, double half-caf, non-fat, no-whip Mocha with soy milk landed on her face first, then her chest and the last little bits made it all the way to her feet. Like a cartoon, the cup hit her square on the head a hair later than the coffee did. I was an unbelievable shot. Everywhere that it landed it slid downward, around all her fatty rolls, invading every crevice and planting flags at each stop to claim its territory. The bloodcurdling scream she belched resounded so loudly that a few other people dropped their own drinks on the floor in surprise.

  The new gu
y, eager to be helpful, rushed over to the woman with a whole ream of napkins to help get her dry. Marcus ran out of the back and as he saw the whale, he ran full speed over to her almost knocking over the display of Starbucks sponsored CDs and a few customers as well. After assessing the situation, looking at the woman and then Melinda, he looked straight at me. I had never seen that look in anyone before. He looked the way Jack the Ripper must have just before he carried out his well-planned murders. I tried to act surprised, but I was enjoying the moment too much to pull it off with any sort of conviction, and he saw my game. “Josh. My office. Now! Oh, God, you have got to be kidding me.”

  I slowly and triumphantly removed my apron and in my head I heard everyone in the place erupt into applause. I’m sure a few people who were there had seen what happened before and had seen her in the store a few other times as well. I hoped that someone understood and smiled with a nod while seeing the whole thing play out. Melinda looked at me as if she had just gotten smacked across the face by her best friend without provocation. Slightly bowing every few steps along the way, I brushed past Melinda, pushed open the door and arrived backstage to my green room.

  It didn’t occur to me until a few minutes later that this would end up hurting me pretty bad. I was still running on the fumes of my high to care much, but it all came to a screeching halt when Marcus came back in looking like Wile E. Coyote with the Road Runner in his sight.

  Chapter 3

  Marcus beat my ear for an hour or so until he finally collapsed like a lover after a marathon romp in the sack. As big of a man as he was, he had a surprisingly small angry tone. Normally in the equation of men, the size of the man is directly proportional to the size of his voice capacity. This was not the case with Marcus and it was the sole reason that I didn’t fear for my life during his rant. For most of his spiel I drifted in and out of a daydream where I was floating around above Coney Island invisibly as if I were haunting the place. It’s odd though, because I’ve never been to or even seen the island. That’s the fun with dreams, they’ll lie right back to you.

  Needless to say I was let go. I would have fired me on the spot as well, but would have probably tossed in a nice brisk slap across the face or kick in the shins as a severance package. I couldn’t really complain as I clearly did it all on purpose. The trick was just going to be finding my next job. Marcus, still exhausted from his tirade, looked as though he needed a cigarette. “Well, do you have anything else to say?” he asked plainly.

  “Not really. Frankly, I think it was worth it. She was just the worst.”

  Marcus had cooled down and now chuckled with me. “Well, at least you’ve got a good sense of humor.”

  “Yeah, maybe now I’ll open up my own Starbucks across the street. You know I’d get more business.”

  “You go ahead and try.”

  ?

  I walked out of the office with an odd tranquility surfing along my veins. I laughed out loud as I recounted the last 24 hours. “I’m like a bad movie,” I mumbled to a stranger as he walked past me in the opposite direction. Maybe it’ll end up being one of those movies that’s so bad that it’s good, I thought. I thought about going to Allison’s, but decided to just forget about her for the night and walked a few more blocks, around the corner and into Our House, a local bar.

  The place was pretty dead. After all it was only 5 o’clock. The happy hour crowd was just starting to trickle in with their pea coats and Bluetooth headsets and the jukebox hadn’t yet been turned up to eleven. After picking my seat at the bar, I ordered a Jack Daniels on the rocks. The bartender was this guy I’d seen there before, I don’t know his name, but the thing about him that stood out is that he always wore the same shirt. Granted I didn’t go there all that often, but every time I did he was wearing the same cowboy shirt with blue and brown stripes and mother of pearl buttons. The kicker was this bolo he wore with an Arizona style cattle skull and turquoise stones for eyes.

  I downed my first drink in about one and a half sips and signaled for more by tapping on the rim. Bolo came over and poured me another drink. I looked up at the TV and the news happened to be on. I always hated the news. It’s always the same and we never actually learn anything. Someone died, a new medical study says we can’t eat something that we all eat regularly, another pharmaceutical bought their way into a piece about how their drug is the new best thing, more killing, etc. (The only thing I’d steal from our Canadian brothers to the north is their news. They actually have news that matters.) They were doing a piece that night on the carnival that had been in town. Apparently one of their employees had been drinking and rammed one of their trucks into the camp killing 12 and injuring 9.

  The camera zoomed in on the smoldering campfire with branches of metal and debris around it. Broken cages, aimless animals, corn dogs and cotton candy were strewn about mingled with all the orphaned stuffed animals keeping them company. I couldn’t really grasp right away what I was seeing on the screen. It all seemed very familiar though I couldn’t figure out why. I must have had my mouth hanging or something because Bolo asked me, “Hey, you alright?”

  “Yeah, I just… I was just there the other night.”

  “Oh the carnival, huh. That’s some shit, right? I wonder what made him do it.”

  “You think he did it on purpose?”

  “That’s what they’re saying. Either that or he’s just got really bad aim.”

  “I proposed to my girl there last night.”

  “Oh congratulations.”

  “She didn’t say yes.”

  “Oh.”

  “… ”

  “Here, this one’s on me.”

  “Thanks.”

  We bantered a bit as the place started to fill up. The bar always drew a strangely eclectic crowd. Of course the local college kids came in with their fake IDs and were normally accepted without question. There were often had businessmen, because of the college girls; older gay women, because of the college girls; blue-collar types, because of the college girls, and then the other 20-30 somethings as well. It’s amazing the demand for college girls. Try to work on a girl 5 years older and you’re ten times more likely to actually get somewhere with her, flattered that you passed up all the newer, younger models.

  The pool table lit up with its constellation of balls–new solar systems being created every ten minutes or so. It was an amazing universe. I sometimes felt like God watching it all happen from the outside. Right as I was admiring a constellation that looked like a smiley face, a soft voice bubbled, “Hey, can I sit here?”

  “Um… sure, yeah.” I stammered.

  “It’s my birthday!”

  “Happy Birthday.”

  “Are you going to buy me a drink or what?”

  “Oh, um, yeah. What’s your drink?”

  “I don’t know, something fun.”

  I waved Bolo over.

  “So, it’s her birthday and she wants something fun.”

  “How about a couple buttery nipples.”

  “Ha! What’s that?” She giggled. I couldn’t help but cringe a little at that giggle.

  “Warm butterscotch schnapps. It’s pretty amazing.” Bolo replied.

  “Make two,” I said. “Aren’t you here with anyone else?”

  “Yeah, my friends are over there.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want them to drink with you?”

  “No, that’s why I came over here.”

  “Oh, ok. Two it is barkeep.”

  Bolo twirled the schnapps bottle around his finger like a cowboy in a shootout at high noon and poured two shots, then returned the bottle to its holster and pushed the drinks over to us.

  “How about a toast?” She smiled.

  “Sure. Let’s see,” God I’m awful at toasts.

  “Make it good, it’s my birthday.”

  I sighed, closed my eyes, took a deep breath and said, “Ok here we go. Wait, what’s your name?”

  “I thought you would never ask.” She leaned in so
close to my ear that I could feel her lips brush my ear as she spoke, “Nicole.”

  I stayed there a second savoring that feeling, then snapped back to reality.

  “To Nicole. May her birthday be as full of life as the stars in her eyes.” I said. Where did that come from?

  For a moment she didn’t say anything. She just looked at me with a touch of sadness that I felt drip to my feet as if I just stepped into a light rain. The moment passed and she screamed, “WHOOOO!”

  We both took our shots and I felt the warmth coat the lining of my throat and fade slowly down into my stomach. “My name is Josh.” I said.

  “Well, let’s have another, Josh.” Nicole said with a slight hint of rebellion. I will rebel against the world by drinking butterscotch schnapps, I thought. If only Stalin had access to butterscotch schnapps instead of Vodka, he may not have been such a dick.

  Bolo poured us another and without a word we downed our second.

  “One more?” I tossed the words out into the booze filled haze unsure of why.

  “Yes.” Her neck started to loosen up. You’re already tipsy? I thought to myself. I’ve been here drinking whiskey for a few hours already. She sat on the edge of her barstool like a child waiting to open her first present at a birthday party. Bolo poured us another two short glasses. Mid-shot, she exclaimed as loud as she could with a mouth full of schnapps. “Mm Mm!”

  She slammed her glass down onto the bar and jumped up to her feet. “This is my song,” she screamed as she bobbed her head back and forth. The whole night they’d been doing an 80s theme with the tunes. Take on me. Take on me. Take me up. “Let’s go dance.” As any guy would do, I tried to keep us at the bar and as far away from the dance floor as possible. She was surprisingly strong, though, and pulled me up out of my seat. She bounced with the beat all the way over to a small open area and kept bouncing full force, occasionally doing that Flashdance running in place move.