Undertaped

A guy who comes to the store maybe once every six months walks up to the counter. He had been making such rounds even before Fernando took over as Keeper, but this man never rented anything. His name, address, phone number, all these basic facts are utter mysteries because he does not properly exist in the store's records. However, unlike other people who visit the store and never rent anything, he generally would pick up a couple of old movies off the sales rack, so he was not treated with utter derision by either Fernando or the old Keepers when he came a-knocking. He was, in fact, welcomed, as he was one of the three or four people left on earth willing to erode away the Dominion's VHS holdings.

“Hey, where did all your tapes go?” he asks, placing his elbows on the counter and leaning over.

Fernando levers himself up out of the chair. “Oh, I got rid of those back in December. Sold them off to somebody in bulk.”

The man tilts his head Quizzical Dog-style. “How come?”

“Well, I needed the space on my racks and shelves back here, and they weren't the biggest renters. Selling those off freed up a great deal of that.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Fernando scratches his cheek with one finger and decides not to point out he had no way of getting in touch with his guest. “Er. You hadn't come here for about six months, and I mentioned it to somebody who was here at the time and things kind of went from there.”

“Yeah, but you know I'm good for 'em.”

“Yes, I do. But. I needed to free up the space back in December, not now in April.”

The man thrusts a thick finger into his right ear and swirls it around, then wipes the prize off on his shirt or pants, somewhere below the counter. Fernando wishes he possessed the power to unsee so very many things. “So you don't got any anymore?”

“Not a one. Sorry.”

“Hrm.” The man stumps around the foyer, peering up at the signs Fernando has posted. He picks at the paint on the wall near the Adopt-A-Movie Box. He spreads his palms out on the countertop and taps his fingertips against the glass.

Finally, he says, “So you got rid of all of them?”

“Indeed so.”

“They don't make them anymore, huh?”

“Nope. Stopped almost ten years back. Everything's DVD or Blu-Ray now.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He squints his eyes and bows his head to take in the image of his hands on Fernando's counter.

“You think you'll be getting anymore sometime soon?”

“Probably not, no.”

“Alright. Well, if you do just let me know.” The man turns and shambles out.