Child Proxies

One evening Fernando is minding his own business and reading Fark when a beat-up truck pulls up. Normally this does not arouse Fernando's focus overmuch, since most vehicles hereabouts are beaten up to a greater or lesser degree, but this one piqued his interest because he espied the driver.

This particular driver owes Fernando a total of $18.50 in late fees on six different rental slips. He was one of those people who would rack up eight dollars, pay off three, and then gain eight more when the newly-rented movies went unreturned. The last time he'd come in to rent, Fernando asked for more to be put down than the paltry $1.50 he offered so that headway could perhaps be made. If that for some reason sounds unreasonable, he was paying for about $7 in rentals with a twenty.

He returned those movies late, and ended up with $18.50 in late fees total. Fernando was going to put his foot down most firmly this time, oh yes.

So when the chimes on the door tinkled, what did Fernando see but the man's 13ish-year-old son, who has always come in with him before and was, put charitably, a brat. He saunters in like he owns the place and grabs a pair of rental tags and throws them down on the counter. Then he places his palms on the glass countertop and pulses his body up and down in some vague mockery of a push-up. “Do you have any popcorn?” he asks.

“I'm afraid not. Today is Thursday. Popcorn's on weekends,” Fernando says. He selects one of the pens resting upon the countertop and asks, “How much did you guys want to put on your late fee?”

“Nothing. My dad sent me in here to rent for him because he doesn't want to pay his late fees.”

Well, at least he's forthright. But still a moron.

“Huh,” says Fernando, who has stopped writing because he is about to have fun now that this guy has made it crystal clear he has no intentions of dealing with his late fee.

“What?” asks the lad upon noticing, except in the tone of voice that makes it more a demand.

“I'm sorry. I can't rent these to you.”

“What?” Now his voice is getting high-pitched and whiny. “Why not?”

“These movies are rated R and I can't let you have those without explicit parental consent. You're not seventeen, are you?”

Now he's becoming petulant and starts babbling. "You rent those to other people!"

"Well, their parents have given me the okay before. Tell you what,” says Fernando, “howsabout you go get him and bring him in and we'll hammer out the problem with renting these movies. This way I'm not legally at fault for allowing restricted material to come into the hands of a minor.” And Fernando flashes a big grin.

The kid leaves and opens the passenger side of the truck, and Fernando can clearly see an argument brewing. Then he climbs in before the truck peels out in a final, feeble, act of defiance.