Going with Chloe to Buy Poetry
By Seth Katz
The bookstore was quiet, as bookstores ought to be. I left my girlfriend, Chloe, in the poetry section after notifying her of my gastric distress. When I got to the bathroom door I heard someone inside, to my relief, coming out of the stall. I opened the door and saw emptiness. There were two sinks in the counter, in front of which nobody stood; nobody was waving his hand in front of the automatic paper towel dispenser. There was nobody straddling the mercifully small puddle of liquid below the urinal. The stall door was closed.
Somebody, however, or more likely, successive somebodies, had seen to it that occupying this bookstore bathroom, which one might expect to be cleaner than most bathrooms due to the general nature of the store's clientele, would not be a pleasant experience. Toilet paper was strewn about the floor, and drawings and aphorisms marked the walls in pen and pencil, but in a bathroom, one can't help but get the sense that there's more to it than that. If one sees toilet paper on the floor, one naturally expects to find shit nearby.
I crossed to the stall and pulled the door handle. I had expected it to open, so it was no surprise to me that it did. What did get me though, was the hoarse voice that shouted out in protest. My reflexes being notoriously dull, I didn't recoil and slam the door closed, as most people would have. I just stood there, halfway in the stall, and I saw the large, tattooed man seated on the commode. I had always noticed the foul state of this restroom, but had never before met one of the decorators.
The man lunged up, grabbed my shirt collar and pressed me up against the wall.
"What the hell do you think you're doing in here, asshole? You think you can just walk into the stall and kick somebody off the throne? Well you'd better guess again, Trebek, because your life is in jeopardy now."
I was taken aback by his wordplay, though I supposed that this was the type of talk one should expect to hear from bookstore thugs. I also doubted that my life was seriously in jeopardy, but I was preparing myself as best I could for my first beating. The man stared hard at me, and I was too scared to say anything back. Then he bust out laughing.
"I'm just fucking with you, brother. The lock is broken. I'll be out in a few minutes, though. Just sit tight, all right?" He gave me a slap on the back and a gentle push out of the stall. I fled the restroom at once, even though I still needed to use it.
I found Chloe in the poetry section and told her we had to leave at once. In addition to seeing the man again, I needed to get to another restroom very soon or I was going to be in very serious trouble. She said she was almost ready to go, and suggested that the poetry section would probably be the last place the bathroom man would go, so I gritted my teeth and clenched my body as tightly as I could. Every now and then, I'd peek over the top of the bookshelf to see if the man was coming out. Eventually, he did, and I was able to rush in and relieve myself.
When I was done, Chloe had selected one volume each of Rimbaud and Borges. We got in line. There were two people ahead of us, but I stood behind Chloe so it would appear longer, just to put some pressure on the cashier. It's a fun bit of entertainment whenever I'm standing on line, though it doesn't really have any payoff unless the cashier calls for backup, which this one did. It crossed my mind that it would be incredibly unfortunate if my friend from the bathroom ended up being the other cashier, but I figured that since I had imagined that happening, there was no way it actually would happen. Unfortunately, it did, and unfortunately, he, not the original cashier, rang us up. He acted like nothing had happened, asking if we had had any trouble finding anything, if we had a rewards card, and, finally, if we wanted a bag.
"Have a free-flowing day," he said, and I put my arm around Chloe and swiftly took her away. As we left, she leaned into me and said, "Seems like a nice guy."
- - -
I am a sophomore at Bennington College, where I study literature and music. I am originally from California. My work has appeared in American River Review.
By Seth Katz
The bookstore was quiet, as bookstores ought to be. I left my girlfriend, Chloe, in the poetry section after notifying her of my gastric distress. When I got to the bathroom door I heard someone inside, to my relief, coming out of the stall. I opened the door and saw emptiness. There were two sinks in the counter, in front of which nobody stood; nobody was waving his hand in front of the automatic paper towel dispenser. There was nobody straddling the mercifully small puddle of liquid below the urinal. The stall door was closed.
Somebody, however, or more likely, successive somebodies, had seen to it that occupying this bookstore bathroom, which one might expect to be cleaner than most bathrooms due to the general nature of the store's clientele, would not be a pleasant experience. Toilet paper was strewn about the floor, and drawings and aphorisms marked the walls in pen and pencil, but in a bathroom, one can't help but get the sense that there's more to it than that. If one sees toilet paper on the floor, one naturally expects to find shit nearby.
I crossed to the stall and pulled the door handle. I had expected it to open, so it was no surprise to me that it did. What did get me though, was the hoarse voice that shouted out in protest. My reflexes being notoriously dull, I didn't recoil and slam the door closed, as most people would have. I just stood there, halfway in the stall, and I saw the large, tattooed man seated on the commode. I had always noticed the foul state of this restroom, but had never before met one of the decorators.
The man lunged up, grabbed my shirt collar and pressed me up against the wall.
"What the hell do you think you're doing in here, asshole? You think you can just walk into the stall and kick somebody off the throne? Well you'd better guess again, Trebek, because your life is in jeopardy now."
I was taken aback by his wordplay, though I supposed that this was the type of talk one should expect to hear from bookstore thugs. I also doubted that my life was seriously in jeopardy, but I was preparing myself as best I could for my first beating. The man stared hard at me, and I was too scared to say anything back. Then he bust out laughing.
"I'm just fucking with you, brother. The lock is broken. I'll be out in a few minutes, though. Just sit tight, all right?" He gave me a slap on the back and a gentle push out of the stall. I fled the restroom at once, even though I still needed to use it.
I found Chloe in the poetry section and told her we had to leave at once. In addition to seeing the man again, I needed to get to another restroom very soon or I was going to be in very serious trouble. She said she was almost ready to go, and suggested that the poetry section would probably be the last place the bathroom man would go, so I gritted my teeth and clenched my body as tightly as I could. Every now and then, I'd peek over the top of the bookshelf to see if the man was coming out. Eventually, he did, and I was able to rush in and relieve myself.
When I was done, Chloe had selected one volume each of Rimbaud and Borges. We got in line. There were two people ahead of us, but I stood behind Chloe so it would appear longer, just to put some pressure on the cashier. It's a fun bit of entertainment whenever I'm standing on line, though it doesn't really have any payoff unless the cashier calls for backup, which this one did. It crossed my mind that it would be incredibly unfortunate if my friend from the bathroom ended up being the other cashier, but I figured that since I had imagined that happening, there was no way it actually would happen. Unfortunately, it did, and unfortunately, he, not the original cashier, rang us up. He acted like nothing had happened, asking if we had had any trouble finding anything, if we had a rewards card, and, finally, if we wanted a bag.
"Have a free-flowing day," he said, and I put my arm around Chloe and swiftly took her away. As we left, she leaned into me and said, "Seems like a nice guy."
- - -
I am a sophomore at Bennington College, where I study literature and music. I am originally from California. My work has appeared in American River Review.
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Well written and very amusing would like to read more from you Mr. Katz!