Monday, 22 January 2007 – Cambridge, New Zealand

Chop the lettuce. Put it on the shelf.

Chop the cabbage. Put it on the shelf.

Chop the cauliflower. Put it on the shelf.

To say that this job left a lot to be desired would be an understatement. It’s monotonous, straightforward work that takes about as much effort as raising your middle finger, which coincidently often goes hand in hand with my being in this building. No technical expertise is required. No specific training is necessary. When I started here, all I was told was to get as much product out as possible in good condition. Other factors of the job include wrapping things up, which again doesn’t take much knowledge; and cleaning which again doesn’t take much knowledge. Common sense is probably the only thing necessary for this job, but even that’s debatable as the bandage around my finger from a knife accident and the white spots on my otherwise black pants caused by the cleaning solution will provide evidence for.

But then there’s the whole “people skills” part of the job as well. That’s what really gets me riled up. People these days walk around with blinders on, focused solely on what is best for them. You so often see a negative stereotype of Americans shown in this light by whatever terrorist or anti-war protestor decides to speak up, but by simply sharing that propaganda of America as the new Nazi Germany, those people become every bit as self-centred and single-minded as the villainous construct they’re trying to fight against. Selfishness is not limited to one nationality. Arrogance is not limited to one side of the battle. If you’re going into war, or into debate, or into a sporting contest, you need to be confident in your own abilities. Even when you are in a hopeless situation, you need to be confident that regardless of the loss that’s coming, you can still make somebody stand up and take notice and think “hey… maybe they don’t suck”. Because if you don’t have that confidence, that arrogance, then soon enough you’re gonna be dead - figuratively of course in the case of a sporting contest, and literally in the case of war.

These people that come into this place, have the idea in their head that the entire world revolves around them. Even when they’re in a fucking supermarket! I mean Jesus Christ, just because we don’t have enough of your organic produce to sell you because somehow other carrots that still grow the same way, aren’t “organic” enough for you, it doesn’t mean I should get down on my knees and grovel for forgiveness. Nor should I do that because the equally-obnoxious idiot in front of this egotistical jackass took the last clove of garlic in order to ward off vampires. Its grocery shopping, that’s all. Yet these fucktards get so damn worked up about it all. The amount of times I’ve had to resist the urge to punch someone in their damn jaw can no longer be counted. But why is that?

Well I’m just as arrogant and self-centred as the last clown.

But it’s little tangents like this, where my mind wanders, that allows me to keep working in this place that I’ve so often described to my friends as the hellmouth itself. The place where the demons enter our world from their fiery plane of existence. I do despise it that much. I just don’t choose to find another job due to my laziness and the fact that this low-stress work allows me to get lost in my own head and try to sort myself out. It’s a bit remedial. I can derive a solution for any moronic action I did or didn’t do while in one of my many intoxicated states during the week, while I’m at work. I can sort out my head, which by God certainly needs sorting out. Here, in this construction built by falsehoods, it doesn’t matter if people like me. No matter what I do they won’t. So I can be me. They’ll all lie to me, put on a fake smile to try and get their way, while I just grunt a response and return to my thoughts.

It’s a rare moment when I actually come out of my head. Usually it occurs when somebody I know (and actually like) comes into the vicinity of me. Be it a co-worker who isn’t a complete tool, a friend coming to instil some form of hope in me that there is still good in the world by presenting a plan of action for when I finish work, or even someone coming into the shop to do their own shopping. Those moments are a little strange. Often the process of thought would lead me to say something completely odd which thanks to my natural foolishness can merely be passed off as another Isaac Caine comment. Or in an effort to avoid such comment, I don’t say much.

One such moment has just passed.

My department in hell is located just at the entrance and is a large open space as opposed to the narrow aisles that make up a large part of the rest of the shop floor. But the first aisle of the store, with butchery products in a refrigerator on one side and various assorted grocery products on shelves on the other side, can be seen from some parts of my department. As I stack oranges on the shelf, I happen to be in position to see down that aisle. And at this point in time, I am absolutely mesmerized by one of the most fantastic hineys I have ever seen. The girl’s name is Maria Van Damme, but that’s irrelevant. We are friends, but not too close. I’m good friends with the large majority of her good friends. But lately I’ve come to the realisation that Maria has an incredible body. Her face isn’t bad either. Her voice is incredibly sweet. And she’s a pretty nice person for being so damn hot. Its lust, I know that. I’m not after a relationship with her, partly due to the fact that at this point in time I’d be one of the worst boyfriends in history. But I just can’t draw my eyes away from her. If she turned around I don’t know how I’d explain it. I guess the truth would be a good option and it’d probably be quite flattering for her. I mean come on, I look good. But regardless, it doesn’t put me at ease any further. I’ll probably spend the next hour or so here trying to weigh up the pros and cons of everything.

“It’s rude to stare,” I hear a voice say. A hint of amusement mixed with a little taunting. It’s a familiar voice, and turning around, I’m shocked to see why I recognize it. “Although I must say, if I was a few years younger I’d probably be doing the same thing.”

“Holy shit!” I exclaim, completely ignoring the fact that both elderly people and younger children come through the store, and the last thing I need is somebody laying a complaint about my foul language. Thank God there’s only a little more than an hour before the store closes and I get the hell out of here, so there are no other customers in the vicinity other than this one person. “You’re… you’re Lee Stone!”

“Well congratu-fucking-lations on that astounding observation,” this superstar replies, apparently caring less than I do about that whole censor thing. “And kudos on the whole drooling thing as well. You could’ve chosen a worse looking girl to salivate over.”

“Salivate? You make it sound like I got a case of puppy love.” Being an avid fan of professional wrestling, and also a New Zealander, I recognise Lee Stone immediately, and I also know that I’ve got to be careful with what I say. Mr. Stone has a habit of making fun of others and is always keen to get into a little back-and-forth with anybody. Little does he know, that we have in fact met once before, and in that exchange I won.

“And is there anything else that pathetic display of horny teenage desires should be showing me you have a case of?” I can see the entertainment that Lee Stone is already getting from this conversation. It’s strange that a celebrity known across the world, and in fact one of the most famous New Zealanders alive, can walk into a supermarket in what is known to be his hometown, and completely disregard any notion of being a “role model” simply in order to appease his narcissistic desires.

“Okay, now you’ve got me stumped Leroy,” I use his full name in the way other wrestlers such as Steve Jason do, almost directly challenging his ego and opinions. “You weren’t in the store to see the brief conversation I had with that girl, so how would you be able to bare witness to some “pathetic display of horny teenage desires”? All you saw was me appreciating nature.”

“Bitch please,” he chuckles. “Obviously you know who you’re talking to, but you don’t seem quite aware of exactly what that means. I’m Leroy Bruce Stone, I know these things. To try and deny that you have any feelings for that unlucky girl is ludicrous.”

“Any feelings in regards to her, come straight from down here,” I crotch chop to further my point and give a little message to Lee. I’ve always been appreciative of his in-ring talent and the effort he puts into his matches, but like the actual XWF roster, I’m starting to find him a little annoying.

“You’re a male, that’s to be expected. But they’re feelings nonetheless and therefore…” he flicks his arms into the air and grins. Great… he’s posing. “…I’m right.”

“Don’t you have better things to do right now, rather than bother me when I was already distracted enough from my work by the subject of this conversation?” In a round about way, I concede defeat to him and try to urge him on his way. I do have a lot of work to do still, and on the odd chance that I happen to be out here in the store when Maria walks past on her way to the carpark after exiting, I’d kind of like to be able to see her for the same reason as I was looking at her just before Lee piped up. It’s shallow, I know, but Lee said it best. I’m just a male.

“Well actually I don’t have anything better to do. This sort of conversation is pretty much the most fun I can have without having to perform foreplay. And like the majority of the male population, I hate foreplay.” He tucks his hands into his pockets, firmly keeping his feet in place.

“But isn’t there a reason you came in here in the first place?” I again try to urge him on his way. Must do work. Now. Must get back to the thoughts in my disturbed head. Now. Must fantasize about Maria naked. Now.

“What time do you guys close?” he asks looking down at his watch.

“Nine o’clock,” I reply honestly.

“Well in that case I have an hour and ten minutes to do my shopping in, which is probably an hour more than I need. And that means I have another whole hour to screw with every misconceived notion about the world that you have developed.” I sigh. Why didn’t I just lie to him and say we closed at eight?

“What if I spent the rest of the night in the storeroom area where there is a strict no customer policy that can be legally enforced?”

“Well then I’d have to choose one of two options.” The words come to his mouth quickly in order to shut down my argument. “I could stand at the entrance and simply hurl obscenities down at you, or I could move on and do my shopping. However, we both know that your threat was merely a bluff as you wouldn’t get your work done should you choose to do that. And while you may be an alpha male amongst the people who have learned to not be offended by your comments, something tells me you’re not exactly having sleepovers and tea parties at your boss’s house, nor is he coming over before the big school disco to braid your hair and tell you which dress makes your ass actually look like an ass, as opposed to a fucking inflatable raft.”

“Well on the brighter side of things,” I try to shrug off his impressive little speech, “I do need to go out to the back of the store right now, so that can give me some reprieve from your voice. How does hearing yourself talk not drive you to the brink of pure insanity?”

I don’t even wait for a response. Pushing the trolley I was carrying crates and boxes of fruit in, I leap onto the back of it and sail down through the semi-transparent, green, flimsy strips of plastic that covers the entranceway to the storeroom of the produce department. Riding the trolley past the product that is kept at room temperature, I crash into another trolley and leap off. Throwing the empty crates and boxes to the other side of the room where I’ll tidy them up later, I open the chiller door and get out new produce. Pears, apricots and nectarines. Loading up the trolley, I quickly think of how to deal with Lee. Shutting the door and pushing the trolley off once again, I ride on out to the store where Lee is still the only person there. He’s now propped up in a sitting position on the small ledge that juts out from the refrigerators.

“You should probably get off that.” I say. “Apparently there’s something big, important thing called hygiene that says sitting there is bad.”

“My ass is probably cleaner than your hands,” he says defiantly. “And you’re not wearing gloves.”

“Touché,” he does have a point there. “But still, if you’d let me think that I have at least some sort of power over other people, that’d just be swell.”

“I suppose,” and he jumps down to the ground as I begin to put out some of the stock.

“You know, we’ve met before,” I say to Lee, looking up briefly before going back down to my work.

“Have we?” he inquires. “Was it the most fantastic day of your life?”

“Actually it was quite possibly one of the worst,” I retort. It sounds like a simple comeback aimed at shooting down Lee’s ego, but there’s actually some truth to it. Not only did I have to deal with the unbearable confidence boost that Lee Stone receives after he’s been drinking, but the girl I was crushing on at the time wound up fucking another one of my friends.

“Aw shucks,” Lee pretends to be flattered. “That’s such a nice thing to say.”

“Don’t think too much of yourself,” I ward off his ego yet again. “You were only part of the reason.”

“When did we meet?” Lee asks in a rare moment of character-breaking.

“October last year. We were at The Outback in Hamilton.” The Outback is a nightclub on one half, and a normal bar on the other. “I didn’t recognize it was you at the time, but the realisation came to me in the morning.”

“Hmm… I don’t really remember meeting you.” He tries to think but comes up with nothing. That’s understandable, he would meet a lot of people after all. Plus there was another factor involved.

“You were… how do I put these delicately? Fucked off your face.” I grin at him.

“Yeah… makes sense.” He says quietly. “October was kind of a bad time for me. I wasn’t in a very good place. I didn’t hurt your feelings too much did I?”

Wow. He actually seems to give a fuck right now. I don’t know if I want to know what the situation was back in October.

“You bruised my ego more than anything else,” I say, thinking back to the moment. “I held my own with you and got the last laugh, but with your intoxication it really wasn’t as sweet as I’d have hoped.”

“Well it’s nice to know that people like me exist in the youth as well, however I must take this moment to be serious with you.” I stop my work and look at him.

“I’m listening.” Something in his voice captures my attention. It’s an unexplainable effect. His tone is so often comedic that when it drops to a level of sombreness, you know that he has something worth saying and you can’t help but listen intently.

“I was yanking your chain about that girl before, but I see a lot of myself in you. You make jokes and use your ego as a way to make sure that you’re never left in a position of vulnerability.” He places a hand firmly on my shoulder as I look on at him, puzzled. “But ask yourself this, do you really want to wind up like me? I’m a mildly alcoholic jackass who wouldn’t need all ten fingers in order to count his friends. I just went home for the first time in many months and nobody was there. I never solve my problems, instead I just wrap myself up in something else that will ultimately form yet another issue. Do you want to be like that?”

“Are you on crack?” I laugh at him, much to his visible disappointment.

“Dude, don’t do that. I’ll leave you to your business right now if you promise me that you’ll think about what I just said. Actually take a risk for once.” He pats my shoulder and heads off leaving me to do exactly what he requested of me.

I think about it.

The next ten minutes or so pass by rather quickly as I kind of float around, lost in my own head. What would be the effect if I actually let my guard down for once? Would people think any less of me? Would I lose the Superman image that I’ve force-fed down the throats of everyone else thanks in part to the shirt I bought at Movie World in Australia?

I just don’t know.

But soon I glance out into the foyer, where the exit and entrance to the store both are located, and passing through, guess who I happen to see?

Maria Van Damme.

“See ya Maria!” I call out, barely even in control of my own words. And to my complete and utter amazement, she stops. She didn’t see me in here, but now that she does, she stops and she turns. She enters the shop once again and actually comes towards me.

“Hey Isaac, I just realized that I don’t even have your number on my phone, what is it?” Say what now? I was thinking that if I wanted her number I’d have to muster up the courage to ask myself, not have the reverse happen.

“Text me sometime so I can get your number,” I ask of her after reciting my number.

“Of course,” she says before smiling sweetly and heading back out the store. I watch her leave and feel a vibration in my pocket almost immediately. I look around nervously to begin with, as I’m technically not allowed to have my phone on me while working. With nobody else in sight, I pick the phone out of my pocket and look at the message on it from an unrecognized number.

Hey isaac dis is maria. Wat ya up 2 dis weeknd?

She sent a text already? Whoa. I wasn’t expecting that. Looking back out the entrance, I see Lee Stone walk past on his own way out and give a quick wink and smile in my direction.

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but maybe Lee Stone is smarter than everyone gives him credit for. I think I might need to thank him if I see him again.