Teleportation Tech

The doorchimes jingle half an hour before closing time while Fernando helps another customer by retrieving movies. Since he is somewhat distracted by his task, he does not immediately see who enters, but once he finishes up with his other customer he sees two young men around the age of sixteen, seventeen milling about the new release aisle. They wear canvas jackets and dun-colored pants, and their boots track clods of dirt across Fernando's carpets, a sure sign they had been mucking about in the forest at some point during the day.

“Good evening,” he greets them, and they do not respond. Instead, they wantonly pluck tags until they are satisfied to at last approach the counter and spill four of them upon the glass.

“Under whose name tonight?” Fernando asks.

The pair exchanges a glance before the shorter of the two replies, “Mine, I guess.”

Fernando flicks his pen back and forth between his fingers. “And that is?”

“Suriname Elohim.”

Fernando looks the lad in the eyes. “Do you have an account here?”

“No.”

“Easily fixed.” Fernando heads into the office and retrieves a matriculation form, then places it upon the counter and hands over his pen. The young man fills out his name, his city, and his date of birth, then pushes the paperwork back across the counter in Fernando's direction. Fernando, upon reading what his guest had written, saw that he apparently hailed from Pearpound, which lay nearly a three hour drive away to the south.

“I'll need your address, phone number, and a driver's license,” Fernando tells him.

“Oh. I don't have those. I rode here with my cousin.” His eyes dart to left, where the taller member of the duo stands.

Fernando shrugs. “That's fine. Perhaps he could fill it out then.” Fernando retrieves a fresh application and tears up the first. The second young man fills it out and provides eerily similar information, except for the name. Most specifically, the Pearpound residence.

“I'll need your driver's license,” Fernando repeats, for that line had been left blank yet again.

“I don't have one.”

“Hmm. Then how did you get here?”

The pair exchanges another glance, then both leave.

Godwin

“Hey, is this movie about Hitler?”

“Which movie is that?”

“This one that has Hitler on the cover.”

Fernando peeks out the office at where his guest, a high school-aged young lady, points to one of his wares, Emperor, which features General Douglas MacArthur as portrayed by Tommy Lee Jones front and center on the cover. “...No. That is not Hitler.”

“He looks like Hitler.”

“In no way is that statement correct.”

Did The History Channel become so abject a failure in quasi-educational television so long ago already?

This Shit Again

Holidays portend bum-fuckery of the highest degree because everybody takes the day off, so nothing is accomplished and everyone needs to frantically scramble over the following few days to catch up on the missed work, instead of, say, having done the work ahead of time like a responsible adult. Fernando is the one who suffers, for is it not always the case that the most competent individuals in a group are dragged down to the fetid mediocrity accepted by the masses?

This happens on every holiday, but it's worst when the days in question fall on either a Friday or a Monday because then the weekend is immediately adjacent and it provides a minimum of three nonproductive days for the failures to gestate into a tentacled beast which threatens to choke the joy and life from him.

Memorial Day always occurs on a Monday.

Fernando sits at the store that Tuesday. He awaits delivery of his movies and has been at the store for a few hours now, as it is rather important that he procure his inventory so that he might arrange for profit to be made off it. Coffee at the ready, he kills time alternating between browsing Fark and playing browser-based tower defense games. He has his blinds open so he can easily catch glimpse of the delivery truck and, more importantly, so its driver can catch glimpse of him. He takes a great risk in doing this, since open blinds attract ne'er-do-wells and lookie-loos who think that because Fernando visible within the store, the store is open for business.

At around 11.30, the UPS truck pulls into the parking lot from the printing place next door. A second man is perched within it, sitting on the steps leading up to the cab. The truck slows up as it cruises past the store, then vanishes out Fernando's line of sight. The deceleration led Fernando to infer that it would be pulling up somewhere in the parking lot.

Fernando rose from his chair and walked around the counter to meet the driver. He peeks out the front door.

The truck is in the process of pulling back out onto the highway. Fernando attempts to flag it down and shouts, “Hey! HEY!” but he is paid no heed. The truck speeds away to the south.

“For FUCK'S sake!” Fernando yells, loudly enough for some old people coming out of the restaurant about two hundred feet away to look in his direction. He growls out a sigh of consternation and storms into the store to plop down before his computer and pull up contact information for his local UPS syndicate.

Again.

Fernando calls the nearby customer center which serves his area; he learned last time that the nearest physical UPS Store is unwilling to provide any meaningful service to him. Fernando allows the phone to ring seven times before he hangs up.

Perhaps he dialed a wrong number. Such things have been known to occur. Fernando tries again, double-checking each digit as he taps it out on the numerical pad.

Fernando allows the phone to ring six more times before he hangs up.

“God damn it so much,” he mutters as he pulls up the webpage to UPS proper. He dials the customer service number and is greeted with the prompt which implores him to choose one of a limited number of options, none of which will assist him. When the computer-lady finishes asking if he'd like to press nine for Spanish, he growls, “Representative.”

“We can help you with that in just a moment,” chirps the automated message. First, though, they would prefer that I elect one of the previously listed options.

Fuck that noise. “Representative.”

“One moment please. Your call is very important to us.” Fernando hears the fuzzy click as his call is rerouted. “UPS customer service, this is Australia.”

Fernando tells the man his name, his business, and why he is calling.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” says Australia. “Have you tried contacting your local customer center?”

“I did. No one answered.”

“Sir, what was the tracking code so I can check into that for you?”

Fernando rattles off the line of 25 letters and numbers. He hears faint tapping, then Australia says, “The delivery is scheduled for today.”

“Right. I am saying that the truck drove right past the front of the store.”

“Sir, perhaps it was a different truck out on a different route.”

“Possible, but unlikely, seeing as there's but the one route here and the truck had just pulled out of the printing press next door, into my parking lot, and past the store.”

“Sir, items which are scheduled for delivery on a certain day are not guaranteed for a set time. It is possible that the item is still awaiting delivery and will be out to you by the end of business hours today and was not on the truck in question.”

“I checked the shipping status online. It is marked as in transit. Why would it be marked as in transit and scheduled to be delivered if it is not, in fact, in transit and scheduled to be delivered?”

“Sir, I appreciate your concern, but the item is scheduled for delivery by the end of business hours today.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“Sir, could I put you on hold for just a moment?”

Fuck no. Fernando felt the suspicious tingle that if he were shunted into customer service limbo he would never escape its noxious embrace. “I would rather you didn't.”

“Let me pull up the contact information for your local center and send them a message. It will just be a moment.”

“Very well.”

Fernando hears typing as Australia composes his message, or something which resembles a message. This takes about two minutes, during which both Fernando and Australia are silent. Then Australia says, “Sir, I have sent a message to your local center and you should expect a phone call from them within an hour regarding the status of your delivery.”

“Sounds good. I look forward to hearing from them.”

“Sir, I apologize for the problems you seem to be having with this delivery.”

“It's not your fault. Thank you for your help.”

“Thank you, sir. Good-bye.”

“Bye.”

The waiting resumed. But look, now it's opening time and Fernando did not receive his promised phone call and still does not have his movies!

The saga continues.

Your Attention, Please

A young lady enters the store one afternoon and selects a movie to rent. She had been in before, but always as a second fiddle to another of Fernando's customers, and this is her first time being the name on the slip. Unfortunately for Fernando, he has no idea what her name is. He retrieves the movie for her in the hopes that she'll finish the matter which demands all her attention by the time he returns.

Alas, she does not. “Could I get your name please?” he asks her as he returns to his place at the counter.

The young woman is, however, still engrossed in texting, perhaps with another of Fernando's patrons who had experienced some ineptitude when it came to social niceties. She does not look up from her important work and mumbles something which sounds vaguely like “Tannnnnyehlleh.”

Fernando presses his lips together. “I'm sorry, I didn't get that.”

She ignores him.

Okay then. Fernando fills out the slip for a Tascribblescribblescribble. It is not as though his penmanship would have rendered the proper name in any way more legible. She still has given Fernando no attention. “There is an additional service charge, you know.”

“Kay puttionere.” She still has not looked up nor paused in her texting, and doesn't seem to care that Fernando is making things up whole cloth.

“It's fifty dollars.”

“What?” She looks up, finally, but she does not seem upset by this grossly inflated number. She hadn't heard Fernando, but she does place a five dollar bill on the countertop.

“It's fifty dollars.”

Now she's confused. Still not outraged, like most people might be, but it's a step up from apathetic. “Why is it so much?”

“You ought to start paying attention to the words which other people say."

“Wait what? Hold on.” She returns to her texting.

Fernando takes the bill and puts it in the till. One reaps what one sows. “You're all set.” She ignores that too.

Fernando walks away and returns to his business in the office. At some later point during the day, when he happens to glance over his shoulder at the counter, the young lady had gathered enough of an attention span to collect her movie and walk out.

Rectangular Prison

Fernando sits at his computer one evening. A beaten-up blue sedan pulls up in front of the store and a man who looks to be in his mid-20s clambers out, one whom Fernando has never seen before. Lots of those have been visiting the Dominion lately. He holds in his hands one of Fernando's slim cases, bright yellow and visible from space. He crosses the short distance to the drop box and Fernando hears the familiar klek-klik of the Dominion's Guardian Flap being lifted up.

The man seems to experience some difficulties, however. He can't seem to get the case through. Fernando watches through his office windows as the man's face transitions from bemusement to confusion to seething ire. This is high entertainment, something which one could doubtlessly exploit to make millions of dollars, even though Fernando's savvy allowed him to reason out the drama's entire plot the instant the curtain rose.

After about ten seconds of trying and failing to fit the case through the drop-hole, the young man remembers that there exists an interior to the Dominion where he may deposit his film. The chimes above the door jingle and he strides up to the counter.

He slams the case down upon the glass countertop. His eyes are baggy and rimmed with red. Fernando absolutely does not make any internal judgment calls about people who should sleep more and smoke pot less. “Man, why do you have a drop box if these things won't fit through it?”

“Your orientation was off by ninety degrees.”

“Heh?”

Fernando takes up the yellow case and grips it in midair by one edge, so that the case's longer edge is in his visitor's line of sight. “This is how you were trying to do it.” Fernando thrusts the case a short way towards the man for emphasis.

Fernando now rotates the case so the shorter edge faces the man. “This is how it should have been done.” Fernando pushes it forward again, but this time releases his hold. Gravity performs its usual deeds, and the case tumbles to land on the countertop.

The man's mouth hangs open. He closes it and then leaves.

Ire of the Keeper

Rise of the Guardians proved to be a pretty popular release. Fernando had many people ask that he hold a copy for them during its first week on the shelf. Fernando did such reservations, and gladly, for he much enjoys making money and providing good service to his customers.

One evening a gentleman comes to the store and asks if Fernando has any copies available.

“Sorry, not right now. I am expecting some back yet today, if you wanted me to hold one.”

“Yeah, that'd be great. Give me a call when one does.” He leaves.

One does come in, and Fernando dutifully contacts the gentleman. He leaves a message, sets aside the movie, and waits. Alas, he never came in. Fine, life happens. The next morning Fernando takes the copy and returns its corresponding tag out to the floor. Customers come and go and all of the Rises of the Guardians Fernando has in vanish in short order.

Early in the evening the man comes into the store. “Yeah, you got that movie for me?”

“Rise of the Guardians? No, all my copies are out.”

“You said you'd hold it for me.”

“That was for yesterday.”

“No it wasn't.”

“...Yes it was.”

The argument having reached its conclusion, the man selects another film. “Okay then, save me another copy once one gets in.”

“Can do.”

None are returned over the remainder of the evening, but all of them are nestled in the drop box the following morning like Peeps in their house. Seeing as the gentleman must return the movies he'd rented the day before, Fernando calls him to ask if he ought to perhaps save one of the movies for such a time. He tells Fernando “Not right now.”

Okay, cool. Back out onto the floor they go.

Around six in the evening the man brings back yesterday's rentals. The first words out of his mouth: “Got any Rise of the Guardians?”

“No.”

“What about the ones you said you had earlier?”

“I put those all back out on the floor when you said you didn't want me to hold one, and other people picked them up.”

“Oh. When are you expecting some back.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Call me as soon as one gets in.”

The cycle repeats itself. Copies rest in the drop box. Fernando gives the man a call and is once again shunted to the answering service. He tells the man that a copy of Rise of the Guardians is available for him to come by and pick up.

The other copies make Fernando money, but the last one sits behind the counter, sad and alone. Other customers come in asking about that movie, if Fernando has any available, but Fernando cannot let the one remaining copy go because he gave his word that it would be kept available, and Fernando does not renege on his promises.

Come closing time, it is still resting behind the counter. Fernando sighs and shakes his head.

It is now a few days later. The man pulls into the parking lot about an hour after opening time and enters the store. Fernando has copies of Rise of the Guardians in. Nothing can go wrong this time.

The man gives the new release rack a cursory glance before approaching the counter. “Hey, you got any Zero Dark Thirty back there?”

This...this was not how things were meant to go! The previous knot of incompetence and failure was to have been solved Gordian-style! “No,” answers Fernando.

“Could you hold one for me?”

At this point Fernando's frustrations over being jerked around over roughly the past week bubble to the surface. “Will you come in and pick it up this time?” he asks rather crossly.

Fernando's guest has the good grace to at least appear a mite sheepish. “Something came up,” he offers by way of excuse, though not apology.

“Indeed.” Fernando thinks for a moment. “Tell you what, it's rent-one-get-one today. Pick something out now and I'll call you later once I've got a copy of Zero Dark available for you, and that can be the free one for today.”

This plan sounds good to the man. He picks up a copy of The Hobbit and departs.

Fernando just happened not to have any copies of Zero Dark Thirty which were to be made available to this particular man come in that day.

Charisma Helps in Intimidation Rolls, Too

Four days after the ill-fated attempt at littering perpetrated by That and VHS Guys, the schizophrenic weather decided to swing back to the “cold” side. The winter had been one of bounding extremes, with sub-zero temperatures (Fahrenheit, of course, since Fernando lives in a country filled by ignorant boors) followed up by topless-sunbathing-level heat waves in the thirties and forties. This pendulum teetered back and forth over the span of two weeks and in the end of it all, the snow which remained was no longer fluffy wonderment but a flat pancake of dirty ice.

Fernando does his best to keep the Dominion's front clear of life-threatening obstacles, but there are some things a plastic snow shovel simply cannot deal with, and smooth ice clinging to the sidewalk or road like the latex bodysuit on a saucy dominatrix certainly falls under that umbrella. He threw down salt, removed the slush when he could, and hoped for the best when the weather was too cold for salt to function effectively.

It was on this particular day that the chimes above the door jingled. Fernando heard the rustle of a paper bag and the clomp of boots worn by a heavyset individual. VHS Guy's face appeared around the corner, all but guaranteeing that Fernando would suffer nightmares for the next week. It was puffy with cold and wore a combination glower and smirk.

“Y'know I about slipped and fell out there front of your store,” he says as he sets his brown paper bag atop the counter and sets his body so he faces Fernando directly.

Fernando does not rise from his seat. “I'm sorry to hear that. Fortunately you didn't actually slip and fall, so no harm was done.”

“A guy could though, just sayin'. Like I almost did. I'd have ta sue ya if that happened.” Whether this is meant to be good-natured advice or a piss-poor attempt at veiling a threat is a mystery. Fernando chose to take it as the latter because of VHS Guy's history and personality.

“That would be no good. The walkway's clear of snow, right?”

VHS Guy looks out the front door at the storefront and parking lot. “Yeah, seems like it.”

“Well, and I've got a bag of salt right there next to you that I've been putting out there. There is salt sitting out on top of the ice, right?” While it would not serve to melt the damnable solid under the current temperature conditions, the crunchy granules would provide some small level of friction for people brave enough to cross the wasteland. It wreaked havoc on Fernando's carpets, since people left dusty white trails behind them wherever they went in the store, but these are the trials of the Dominion's Keeper.

VHS Guy seems a trifle uncertain at this point but nevertheless assented. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“In that case, I have little to worry about it seems.”

VHS Guy mulls that over in silence for about twenty seconds. Then he grabs his paper bag and departs.

Fernando returns his attention to his computer screen and pays no heed to VHS Guy as he stumps past the office windows.

Against All Odds

A guy, his girlfriend, and one of his buds enter the Dominion one fine day. The couple is a newish member of Fernando's congregation, having begin using the Dominion's services perhaps a month prior. Fernando has had no trouble with them. The bud is just a guy who tags along with them.

The boyfriend member of this triumvirate approaches the counter. “Hey, how many stamps do you need to get a free one again?” he asks, producing a stamp card approximately four-fifths of the way to the vaunted free rental.

“You need to get to ten.”

“Well, do you think you can stamp us for the last time we were in, when we forgot to bring our card? That should get us there I think.”

This seems like a reasonable request to Fernando, who was (by necessity) present during this transaction three days prior. He does as the gentleman requests and the card reaches full capacity.

“Awesome, thanks,” says the man. He and Girlfriend and Bud stream out into the store and decide that tonight's film du jour will be The Woman in Black. “Free, right?” Boyfriend asks, despite Fernando having made this clear a minute or so ago.

“Yes indeed,” Fernando responds. He fills out the rental slip, retrieves the movie, all seems well. Being as it's a Friday, he then asks, “Receipt or popcorn?”

“Wait what?” Boyfriend asks.

“It's Friday, so you're welcome to a complimentary bag of popcorn to go with your complimentary movie, if you like.”

Fernando's clarification only served to further muddy the waters of comprehension. “Hold on, what?”

So Fernando does the song and dance he has done before on the options which are made available to customers when popcorn is involved. After all is explained, the three share a look and Girlfriend tells Fernando, “No, I think we're good, thanks.” They depart.

However, in all the tizzy and confusion, Fernando neglected to take the full card into his possession. This seems like it should be no problem, right? After all, he can just ask them to turn it over next time they are in, or to destroy it if it is not with them. There is no reason to mistrust these people who have never given Fernando cause for worry before.

The following day Boyfriend returns along with the movie. He is on his own, only in to drop it off. “Thanks much,” Fernando says when he sets the case down upon the glass of the counter. “By the way, I accidentally forgot to snag your guys's card when you were in yesterday. You wouldn't happen to have it on you by chance?”

“Uh...no,” says Boyfriend.

“Okay, that's fine. Just tear it up or something, or bring it in next time.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, though his voice has an odd lilt to it, the sort which belies the existence of facts which are meant to remain obscured. He departs.

The day after that, Bud comes in. “Hey man, can I rent under Kiribati's name?”

“Yeah, sure,” Fernando answers. “You're in with them often enough.”

“Cool.” He sets something down on the countertop. “Can I use this then?”

It's a full stamp card! O, contrivance!

“Uh,” Fernando says, using his fingers to slide the card over to his side of the counter. “You guys used that last time you were in.”

“No, this is a different one.”

“Really now.”

“Yeah.”

“Weird.” Fernando lifts the card up to the light, peering intently at it. “It doesn't look like any kind of forgery.”

This confuses Bud. “What?”

“Oh, I'm thinking to myself, 'How could you guys have gotten another stamp card when I only ever gave out the one to you guys?' I mean, nothing's outside the realm of possibility, what with quantum probability and all, it could very well be that another full stamp card for this particular store spontaneously generated after I asked that the old one be destroyed. Really odd.”

“Um...y'know what, never mind. I'll go talk with Kiribati about it.”

“Okay, sounds good. I'm going to remain in awe of this marvel of creation. Maybe I'll buy a nice frame to keep it in.”

Bud leaves.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Ah, November! Two-fifths of trees are dead, one's feet are frozen upon waking up in the morning, and everybody's favorites, the hunters, return after a year of absence!

A strange gentleman clad in camo jacket, camo pants, and a bright orange hat comes into the store one afternoon. His beard is scraggly and ill-kept, a sure sign of somebody who doesn't do facial hair except when that queer hunting season custom dictates it. “Hey, what's it take to rent from here?” he asks.

“I need you to fill out one of these-here applications. I'll need to see your driver's license.”

“Sure thing, no problem.” Huh. Normally they put up a bit more fight.

The application is completed and the guy meanders out into the store. He comes back with four tags. “How much would these cost?”

“Considering it's rent-one-get-one-free today, only seven dollars.”

“That's for one night?”

“Yes. Did you want them for two?”

“No, I think I can manage. When are they due back by?”

“Tomorrow, seven PM.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” The rentals are leased for one evening and life goes on. Fernando is not too optimistic he'll be getting any of them back, though. He felt that tingly aura of incompetence coming off the guy while speaking with him. The movies being rented were not that impressive, however. The best of the bunch was by far The Muppets, but the other three were forgettable and derivative R-rated comedies that could be substituted for just about any other R-rated comedy without any noticeable change in quality or content.

The movies go unreturned, and when Fernando calls the cell number the man provided on his rental slip (one which Fernando had no reason to believe would not work considering it was within the same area code), he hears the cheery sing-song lady announce, “This number has been discontinued.” Fernando does so love when he is right, even if the victory is as Phyrric as anything in life.

We fast-forward a week. A strange young woman comes into the store. “Hi, I'd like to set up an account here.”

“Sure thing. I just need you to fill out an application, and I'll need to see your driver's license.”

She sets to work and hands over the completed application in due course. Fernando gives it a look-over.

The address seems rather familiar to him.

“Hold on a second,” he tells her. He retreats into the depths of the office and digs through his records. Well well well. What a coincidence.

She looks somewhat apprehensive when Fernando returns to the counter. “You know Albania?” She does not immediately answer. “I see,” Fernando continues, “The good news is that you are not him, but if you should happen to see him, let him know it would be appreciated if he were to come down and chip away at his late fees and perhaps return the movies he's got out.”

“Um...which ones were those?”

Fernando produces Albania's rental slip from his ban-list pile and copies the fraction of his inventory described thereon to a sheet of paper using his absolute best penmanship. “If they should happen to turn up, it would be nice to get them back. Now, these come to four dollars altogether.”

Fernando's missing movies were in the drop box the next day. The amount of the attached late fee remains unaltered.

Repo Man

A guy who has rented at a store numerous times in the past comes in one day and takes out two movies, The Avengers and Five Year Reunion. This happens in the beginning of October.

Responsibility left the building for a good long while and Fernando eventually wrote the movies off as stolen. He appended them to the Annual Abscondments for the year and everything.

Then, amazingly, they come back in early November. The young man brings them up to the counter. “Hey. What's my late fee on these?”

Fernando rises and takes the movies into his custody, ensuring that they are in their cases and undamaged. Then he answers, “Eighty-eight dollars.”

This flummoxes the man. “What? I thought you stopped late fees at twenty bucks!”

“No. I stop them after two weeks. These were out for about a month, but I stop the late fees after two weeks.”

“Yeah, but I brought them back. That's gotta count for something.”

“It does. Now the late fee is only eighty-eight dollars instead of one hundred and thirty-eight.”

“I can't believe—I should have just fucking bought them outright!”

Fernando makes a noncommittal sound. No words he could say would change the facts of the situation.

The man clenches his fists and raises one arm. “You...fuck.” He lowers the fist and storms out.

“Have a good evening!”

Store Policy

A young man in his late teens pulls into the parking lot and enters the store one afternoon in late June. Fernando has never seen him before. The gent browses the older releases for a while before grabbing a pair of cases and approaching the counter.

“Yeah, I want to rent these?” he says with a strange interrogative inflection, placing the cases down on the glass.

“Firstly, I'll need you to fill out an application.” Fernando rises and retrieves said paperwork, then crosses the office to lay it upon the countertop.

“Um...that wasn't what I meant. I meant how do you rent a movie here.”

“Like I said, first you need to have an account here.”

“How do you know I don't have an account?”

“It is somewhat evident this is your first time here based on the questions you are asking of me. Added to this is the fact that you're a new face and I actually only need the tags from the cases. But worry not, the application process is painless both physically and emotionally, and in a short while you'll be ready to go.”

Fernando's jovial verbosity spread much confusion across the young man's face. “Huh?” 

Time to dumb it down, then. “I need you to fill this out.” Fernando gestures towards the application.

The young man picks up a pen and sets to work. He writes down that he is from Happyrock, a municipality which lies about thirty-five minutes away. Why he came all the way out to the Dominion is a question for the ages, but whatever. People from Jobsdaughter, thirty minutes in the other direction; or from Hephaestus, twenty minutes in the other other direction, swing by as well. “Do you really need my driver's license number?” he asks after a short while.

“Afraid so.” Though Fernando is willing to rent to people who reside well outside the Dominion's sphere of influence, he did not fall off the back of the delivery truck yesterday.

“Why?”

“Store policy. It's just the way it is.” That's an excuse Fernando hasn't been able to use in a while. Might as well dust it off.

“That sucks,” the teen says. “Your boss sounds strict.”

Oh, my. “You have no idea,” Fernando says, doing his best to emulate Jeremy Irons' Scar. However, the documentation is presented and Fernando verifies that the lad's responses were not made up whole cloth. The application is filled out to Fernando's satisfaction and the pair of older releases head out the door in the hands of a new customer. Things looked bright.

This being a Chronicle, the astute reader will no doubt already have arrived at the conclusion that things did not work out in any way which approaches the ideal.

The movies wound up late, Fernando had to leave a series of voice messages at the young man's number, and the guy who had rented a pair of older movies on a rent-one-get-one-free day managed to accrue $15 in late fees. The DVDs were in Fernando's drop box one morning in early July and Fernando figured that the irresponsible young man would never return to the Dominion out of shame or good sense, and his name would join dozens of others on Fernando's super-scary late fee list.

This being a Chronicle, the astute reader will no doubt already have arrived at the conclusion that a tale which opens with the story of a new customer has more to it than just “Ha-ha, Fernando got burned.”

In mid-September the guy returns. He heads to the new release rack and selects a pair of cases to bring up to the counter.

“Hey man,” he says to Fernando, no doubt recognizing him from his previous visit. He puts the cases down on the counter.

“Hello. Did you want to put something on your late fee?”

“Uh...my late fee?”

“Yeah. From when you were here in June and rented Who's Your Daddy and Knocked Up.”

“Oh.”

After a few moments' silence, Fernando says, “So, did you want to put something on it?”

“Do I have to?”

Fernando checks his late list for the precise amount owed. “It's at fifteen bucks.”

“Oh. Well, can I pay it next time I'm in?”

“Sorry, but I can't rent to you until some sort of good faith payment has been made.”

“Fine.” The teen digs in his pockets and pulls out a handful of change, which he dumps on the countertop with a clatter.

Fernando squints at the small pile of dimes, nickels, pennies, and pocket lint. It sums to maybe sixty or seventy cents. “I was hoping something a little more substantial, actually. Five bucks or something.”

“Come on, man.”

“Sorry, store policy,” Fernando says, remembering what he had invoked at the boy nearly three months prior.

The kid digs through his wallet and pulls out a crumpled five dollar bill, muttering, “Your boss is kind of an asshole.”

“Yeah, I know. On the bright side, I believe in giving people second chances. Optimism at work.” The guy looks at Fernando oddly but it doesn't seem as though he has registered that the asshole boss is the bloke standing before him.

Maybe next time it will sink in.

Damage Control

Cortez visits the Dominion one evening to shoot the breeze as closing time draws near. As he and Fernando discuss matters of great importance in life, a vehicle pulls up and deposits a movie in the drop box. Fernando heads over to take it out and replace it on the shelf, but when he lifts the case he hears rattling.

Ah, thinks Fernando, they've left money in there. Some of Fernando's savvier customers leave their money for late fees in the cases when they drop them off to save everyone the trouble of remembering that they exist down the road. This also allows Fernando's customers to get rid of some of their small change without being too obviously dickish about it.

But when Fernando opens the immortal plastic outer case to remove the inner jewel case and disc, two things were awry. The first was that Fernando had been mistaken about the presence of money in the case.

The second is that the jewel case came apart in Fernando's hands, spilling the movie to the countertop:

Cortez sees this horrible series of realizations unfold. “Wow,” he says after Fernando arranges the bits of the jewel case on the counter.

Fernando, meanwhile, is peering at the store sticker on the disc. “I know exactly who rented this.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. This one's six days late. My question is why bother even including the case when it is clearly ruined beyond any hope of use.”

“I couldn't tell you.”

Fernando sighs and adds another fifty cents to the tally.

The Parenting Trap

The day on which Fernando rebuked the cultist seemed to be going fairly well. After all, he had salvaged his sanity and it had cost him relatively little. The day could only snowball to the better.

All momentum the joy-ball had gained was lost come around 6 PM.

A lady came into the store. She bore a toddler in her arms. After a short while, the toddler began to cry. Rather than try to soothe it or perhaps to remove it from the store because it might irk the other customers present (to say nothing of the Keeper of the Dominion), she did the super-smart and super-responsible thing: she let it run loose.

Oh, good.

Rather than quieting the child down, the new-found freedom goaded it to new and ever more annoying heights. It thought the areas under Fernando's rental racks were fine places to explore. They are, in truth, the opposite. Gazing beneath one of them is akin to visiting the murky jungles of Borneo. One second you're safe and secure and the next an arthropod the size of your forearm has injected its descendants beneath your epidermis while you've just contracted no fewer than three incredibly uncomfortable tropical diseases.

“Please get your child out from under there,” Fernando says once he hears the unmistakable ker-thump-tump-tump of a toddler bounding off the inside surfaces of the racks like it's the ball in an Arkanoid game.

“Oh, he's fine,” says Mother of the Year.

“I would prefer that he remain that way, actually. I'd rather not have my racks fall in on him.”

As if on cue, Satan chooses this moment to channel the ambient noise filling the deepest bowels of Hell through the young child's vocal tract. Fernando had never in all his years experienced an unearthly, ear-shattering wail. The other patrons in the store stopped what they were doing to stare in mixed awe and despair at the source of the noise, for they realized just as Fernando did that the foul denizens of the underworld had left the imprint of a goat's hoof on their awareness that would never, ever fade.

The newly formed gateway to Hell crawls out from under the rack in a shrieking, gibbering frenzy. Tears stream down its face and it paws frantically at the hair on its head as it spins in place, a gyrating puppet possessed by the lords of the deep. It gives another scream which portends nothing but eternal suffering and collapses. The mother rushes over, picks it up, and murmurs soothing words in its ear.

It seems the lad had trespassed in the domain of one of Fernando's Guardian Spiders. Even Fernando is careful in dealing with them.

Now that the fit has passed, awkward silence blooms. Fernando shifts in his chair and the other customers cautiously go back to perusing Fernando's wares. They find movies in suspiciously short order, pay, and leave. The transactions are carried out with a minimum of banter. This leaves Fernando alone with the mother and her offspring.

“You shouldn't allow kids down there,” she says to Fernando once the store is empty.

“I don't, actually.”

“You have it so they can get down there.”

Fernando looks up at the “THIS IS NOT A DAYCARE. KEEP YOUR CHILDREN UNDER CONTROL” sign that the woman cannot see from her current position. “Auto repair places have lifts and stuff that kids are able to get under, too.”

“And?”

“Well, if your kid runs out underneath one of them, is that the store's fault?”

“That's not what I'm saying.”

Fernando flicks his eyes back up to his sign. “But it's what I'm saying. If I had put a leash on your kid to keep him from going under those racks you would have rightfully raised holy hell because, last I checked, I can't decide to raise other people's kids on a whim. Besides, you're the one who told me he was fine under there.”

The woman's mouth gapes and she stares at Fernando. Then she closes it and says, “Okay, we're leaving.”

Fernando shrugs, inwardly relieved. “Have a nice evening.”

Parenting licenses. They need to happen.

Amateur Delivery Hour

Fernando comes down to the store early one day because he is expecting his weekly allotment of movies to arrive. By being at the store, he can ensure they come into his possession and he can set them up and subsequently rent them out all with minimal fuss. Usually the UPS guy comes through between 11 AM and 1 PM, but since Fernando has been at the Dominion since 10 AM things seem like they could not go wrong.

Pssssssssshhhhhahahahahahahahahahahaha!

Come half past 1, Fernando grows increasingly perturbed by his dearth of inventory, so he double-checks the shipment tracker. He heads to the distributor's website to get his incredibly long tracking code and copy-pastes that into the UPS website. The page that pops up after Fernando clicks “SUBMIT” proves equally enlightening and infuriating.

Apparently a shipment attempt was made at 1.12 PM local time. Because “the receiver's location was closed,” the delivery could not go as scheduled and another attempt will be made the following day.

This sounds rather legitimate, except for the teensy detail that Fernando was at the damn store the whole time. Either UPS came into a great deal of disposable income and invested in some damn fine cloaking technology for their vehicles or Fernando is dealing with monumental levels of ineptitude.

So he makes a phone call to the local UPS store. -Ring ring ring-

“UPS Store, how can I help you?”

“Yeah, this is Fernando Stevens calling from the Dominion of Movies in Saladolsa. I was expecting a shipment to arrive today and when I checked the tracking info it seems that a delivery attempt was made.”

“Well, sir, we're just the shipment center, so I actually can't help you with that. Let me get you a number you can call where you can receive assistance. Are you ready?”

Fernando tells her that he is and she rattles off a 1-800 number for him to call. Fernando thanks her for her help and then proceeds to dial it.

“Welcome to the UPS automated customer service. Para español oprima uno.”

Sigh.

Fernando is presented with four choices which he may say. None of them are what he wants, namely a real person on the line. He holds his peace and the robot-lady repeats herself after pretending to be sorry that she could not hear him.

Fernando keeps waiting. Robot-Lady goes through her spiel two more times with increasingly exasperated words appended to her rote recitations. First it is, “Sorry,” then, “Please speak louder,” then she began presenting Fernando with numerical alternatives for the options, which were no doubt enacted through pressure from the mime lobby.

After about three minutes of Robot-Lady talking to herself, she finally says, “If you would like to speak with a live representative, please press 0.” Fernando does.

A different robot-lady now says, “Please hold. A customer representative will be with you shortly.” Fernando is then shunted to Inoffensive Muzak Land, where atonal saxophones hork a repetitive sequence of notes. Second Robot-Lady interrupts every thirty seconds with, “Please hold. A customer service representative will be with you shortly,” and this is Inoffensive Muzak's cue to loop the reel.

Fernando sits down and begins typing up this Chronicle as he waits.

Fernando just got a live customer service representative on the line now.

“UPS customer service, how may I help you?” says a woman with a faint Hispanic accent.

“Hi, my name is Fernando Stevens and I'm calling from the Dominion of Movies in Saladolsa. I was expecting a parcel to arrive and I just checked the tracking information. A delivery attempt was made here at 1.12 my time but I've been here since the morning and I didn't see any of your trucks pass by.”

“Could you get me the tracking number, please?” she asks.

Fernando takes a deep breath and reads off the 25-digit monstrosity. After a pause, the woman on the other end says, “Yes, that seems to have been the case. It seems that this is the second delivery attempt, is this correct?”

“If that's what it says. I was not around yesterday when the delivery was made so I actually can't vouch for it, though.”

“And you received a notice slip informing you that the delivery attempt was made today?”

“Actually, no. I didn't even see the truck pass by.”

“I understand, sir. Could you give me your last name, sir?”

“Stevens. S-T-E-V-E-N-S. But the package is probably addressed to the Dominion of Movies.”

Fernando faintly hears keys click-clacking. “Yes, I see. Your phone number?”

Fernando provides it. More faint typing. “Okay, sir, we will contact the driver and inform him that you are expecting the delivery. Are your business hours clearly posted on the door?”

“They are, but I'm usually here well in advance of when I open when I expect a delivery.”

“Very good, sir. Allow me to place you on hold while I process this information.”

“Okay, thank you.” Fernando is returned to the Land of Inoffensive Muzak where he waits for about three minutes until he is disconnected from the call, presumably by the customer service representative.

Fernando types up to this point in the Chronicle and polishes up the stuff he wrote before. Then he waits. The customers who enter the store expecting a bounty of new media to consume are left disappointed, and for that Fernando apologizes.

His movies arrive the following day at about 10:30 AM.

Da Update

Fernando's distributor sends him an email one day. It seems they are instituting a new credit card billing system and they need Fernando to resubmit his information for use in this new system. If he does not do this thing, his service could be interrupted and his orders could be tardy (which...yeah. Just yeah). At least this time it is done via computer and does not involve using the antiquated and tortuous technology called the fax machine.

So, Fernando follows the link in the email to the revamped but still unnavigable company website and meanders his way to the account profile setup. He fills in all the assorted fields, makes sure everything is correct, and clicks SUBMIT.

He is redirected to one of those “do not hit refresh” pages where a little curved arrow turns, letting him know that the company's servers are churning their silicon hearts out. After a few moments, Fernando is shunted to a different page. This one is blank but for some size 8 text which reads as follows:

“Your information has been submitted to our system however there was an error when attempting to add the card to your account management page An associate will review your information.“

God damn it, distributor. And hire some web designers who know what punctuation is, while you're at it.

Derp

It's a Friday, frigid and hateful. Fernando sits in his office and is speaking on the Book of Faces with one of his compatriots, Oso Hija. The conversation is mundane and soon the topic turns to work because that is apparently what adults talk about.

“Today is a super-duper slow day for me,” types Fernando. “I have not made a single cent!”

“That's because you need more exciting advertising!”

“Like what?”

Oso Hija links Fernando to a page full of neon signs which can be purchased. There is an abundance of ones that read “Live Nudes” and “PORN!” Oso Hija can be quite the comedienne at times.

“Are you suggesting that I attain live nudes?”

“You can get the PORN! sign, and just start carrying porn movies. Think of all the business you'd generate!”

Fernando is about to respond to her with a comment about how he likes maintaining the sanctity of his back room when a vehicle pulls up, then backs up in front of the window. The driver looks at Fernando in confusion, and Fernando has no idea what is going on. The man shrugs and points over to Fernando's front door, so Fernando gets up to check it out. Maybe an animal was turned into road pizza or something.

But, no. Fernando was just a derper and forgot to flip his freaking sign to OPEN. He remedies this and has a sudden, mad influx of custom to the store.

When he finally has a spare moment to attend the conversation on the computer, Oso Hija tells him, “That's okay. Nobody's perfect!” Then, after a pause, “You should write a blog about this!”

“That would make me look bad.”

“Exactly!”

Okay, Oso Hija. You win.

Surname

Fernando is collecting his mail one day (random aside, but for some reason the post office decided to grace his box with two copies of the free weekly paper) and sees a letter from a local television station amidst all the usual newspapers and bills.

“What could they want?” Fernando muses aloud, shifting his gaze over the envelope. It sadly seems to have been misdelivered, as a Fern Setevs should have come into possession of it rather than our protagonist. Fernando perpetrates some sort of federal offense by opening this stranger's mail to browse the envelope's contents. The station would greatly appreciate Fernando's attendance at a small business seminar put on by some advertising agency in order to “more effectively advertise,” which, of course, is code for “create a captive audience to harangue for some billboard-making guys in order to pimp their services.”

"That sounds nice," says Fernando as he rips the letter up and disposes of it.

Words of advice to social gathering organizers: If you want Fernando to RSVP your event, make sure you do enough basic research on him to ensure you spell his fucking name correctly.

Mix-and-Match Critter

A couple of people Fernando had never seen before come into the store. The male half is one of those ratty-looking guys who enjoys placing an abundance of metal bits in his head while the female half is one of those Fernando-aged people who nonetheless look far older than their years.

They browse about and eventually decide on Season of the Witch. The guy plucks the tag and brings it to the counter.

“This is that one with the ghost-devil-demon-zombie-monster, right?”

Holy 3E added templates, Vecna! “Uh, yes,” answers Fernando, since the man is partially right and Fernando didn't feel like arguing the point. “Can I get your name?”

“Bobby Strong.”

“Do you have an account here?”

“Yeah, I should. Haven't been here in three years or something.”

Fernando takes a gander at his records and, hey, what do you know? “It seems you have some late fees, actually. Nineteen dollars, back from '06. Did you want to pay them off?”

“Uh...do I have to?”

“Well, you haven't been to the store in five years and you racked up nineteen bucks before. Put down say six bucks and we can trickle the rest out no problem.”

Instead of bitching and getting upset like the usual ornery customer, he puts down ten dollars upon the late fee. Marvelous!

Oh, except for the fact that the movie is now sort of...absent. Shame on you! That's what you get for seeing goodness in people, Fernando H. Stevens!