anything ever happened to those books.
Kresge’s five-and-dime is down the hill from the junior high. It’s a typical Ravensburg low-rent place, same as every other store in this hick town, selling cheap crap that’s either used up fast and thrown away, lipstick and stuff women use, or crap people don’t really want but wind up buying anyway because it costs practically nothing, like a new Speidel watchband.
I wandered around the aisles, aimlessly drifting. I like to do that sometimes, check out the cheap shit they’re selling. The customers were mostly housewives. Some had their hair up in curlers even though it was past four-thirty in the afternoon, sundown practically. A woman walking around in curlers out in public is about as tacky as it gets. They were doing women things, like testing the atomizers of toilet water or buying stockings or maybe having a soda at the counter. Hardly any boys ever come in here, it’s not a man’s kind of store, except for cigarettes and pipe tobacco and stuff like that.
I flipped through the small collection of 45’s they had in the record bin. It was my parents’ kind of stuff—no rock ’n’ roll at all, not even Elvis, Chuck Berry, or the Crickets. Tells you what kind of piss-poor store it was; about ten years behind the times.
“Can I help you?” This horse-faced saleslady stuck her face in front of mine. I could smell her breath she was so close. She had crappy breath, I almost felt like puking in her stupid face.
“Just looking,” I told her, playing real innocent-like.
“No loitering, boy.” She pointed to the sign.
“Yes, ma’am. I won’t be long.”
I moved away from her. She probably thought I was going to swipe something. As soon as any salesperson sees a teenage boy in a store that’s the first thing that comes into their feeble minds. Like every boy’s a common thief. I know plenty of girls that steal like bandits, they’ll come out of this store or Doc Goldberg’s drugstore and their pockets and purses’ll be bulging with nylons, makeup, lipsticks, anything they can stuff in. They’ll take stuff they don’t want, like pipe tobacco. Some even put stuff up their girdles, because they know no salesman would dare check under their skirts.
I knew I had to go home but it was cold out and I wanted to postpone the inevitable, so I drifted over to the notions counter where odds and ends are sold, stuff that doesn’t fit in any particular department. At one end of the counter were these stretch-band identification bracelets with a snap-open compartment that holds a photograph. They’re real popular in my school, they sell for a buck and everybody always wants one, you can insert your girlfriend’s or boyfriend’s picture and think you’re hot shit.
The nearest saleswoman was all the way at the far end of the counter, ringing up a sale. I nonchalantly strolled by the counter, took one more quick look to double-check that I wasn’t being watched, and without even breaking stride stuffed a handful of bracelets into the pocket of my new Ravensburg High jacket. That’s one of the good things about these jackets, they have real deep pockets. I was out of there in no time flat, and nobody even took a second look at me, that’s how shifty I was at doing it.
Once in a while I’ll hook a few of these. It’s like taking candy from a baby and anyway they’re not going to miss a few crappy bracelets. I’ll give them to my friends or sell them half-price. It’s not like I’m taking something valuable, they’d just sit there until they rusted out if I didn’t take them.
As I passed the school on my way home two girls came out of the gym and crossed the street, heading in my direction. They were wearing cheerleader uniforms under their jackets because there had been a pep rally after lunch for the basketball team. Then after school, they stay and practice.
One of the girls was Darlene. She’s co-captain of the cheer-leading squad, which has all the
Kresge’s five-and-dime is down the hill from the junior high. It’s a typical Ravensburg low-rent place, same as every other store in this hick town, selling cheap crap that’s either used up fast and thrown away, lipstick and stuff women use, or crap people don’t really want but wind up buying anyway because it costs practically nothing, like a new Speidel watchband.
I wandered around the aisles, aimlessly drifting. I like to do that sometimes, check out the cheap shit they’re selling. The customers were mostly housewives. Some had their hair up in curlers even though it was past four-thirty in the afternoon, sundown practically. A woman walking around in curlers out in public is about as tacky as it gets. They were doing women things, like testing the atomizers of toilet water or buying stockings or maybe having a soda at the counter. Hardly any boys ever come in here, it’s not a man’s kind of store, except for cigarettes and pipe tobacco and stuff like that.
I flipped through the small collection of 45’s they had in the record bin. It was my parents’ kind of stuff—no rock ’n’ roll at all, not even Elvis, Chuck Berry, or the Crickets. Tells you what kind of piss-poor store it was; about ten years behind the times.
“Can I help you?” This horse-faced saleslady stuck her face in front of mine. I could smell her breath she was so close. She had crappy breath, I almost felt like puking in her stupid face.
“Just looking,” I told her, playing real innocent-like.
“No loitering, boy.” She pointed to the sign.
“Yes, ma’am. I won’t be long.”
I moved away from her. She probably thought I was going to swipe something. As soon as any salesperson sees a teenage boy in a store that’s the first thing that comes into their feeble minds. Like every boy’s a common thief. I know plenty of girls that steal like bandits, they’ll come out of this store or Doc Goldberg’s drugstore and their pockets and purses’ll be bulging with nylons, makeup, lipsticks, anything they can stuff in. They’ll take stuff they don’t want, like pipe tobacco. Some even put stuff up their girdles, because they know no salesman would dare check under their skirts.
I knew I had to go home but it was cold out and I wanted to postpone the inevitable, so I drifted over to the notions counter where odds and ends are sold, stuff that doesn’t fit in any particular department. At one end of the counter were these stretch-band identification bracelets with a snap-open compartment that holds a photograph. They’re real popular in my school, they sell for a buck and everybody always wants one, you can insert your girlfriend’s or boyfriend’s picture and think you’re hot shit.
The nearest saleswoman was all the way at the far end of the counter, ringing up a sale. I nonchalantly strolled by the counter, took one more quick look to double-check that I wasn’t being watched, and without even breaking stride stuffed a handful of bracelets into the pocket of my new Ravensburg High jacket. That’s one of the good things about these jackets, they have real deep pockets. I was out of there in no time flat, and nobody even took a second look at me, that’s how shifty I was at doing it.
Once in a while I’ll hook a few of these. It’s like taking candy from a baby and anyway they’re not going to miss a few crappy bracelets. I’ll give them to my friends or sell them half-price. It’s not like I’m taking something valuable, they’d just sit there until they rusted out if I didn’t take them.
As I passed the school on my way home two girls came out of the gym and crossed the street, heading in my direction. They were wearing cheerleader uniforms under their jackets because there had been a pep rally after lunch for the basketball team. Then after school, they stay and practice.
One of the girls was Darlene. She’s co-captain of the cheer-leading squad, which has all the
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