It's Made a Liar Out of Me

2014 started off frigid and full of hate. Temperatures which hovered around thirty degrees below zero Fahrenheit proved absolutely remarkable for business, and the Dominion saw a fine surge of custom despite the fact that the bulk of releases were crap that only saw limited theatrical release which nobody in the Saladolsa area had ever heard of. The year seemed destined for brightness and mirth.

Then one of Fernando's regular customers came in to rent one evening and all the good omens were flipped topsy-turvy thanks to Fernando's wretched penmanship and said customer's notions of entitlement.

This person had been coming to the store for years and years, since well before Fernando took over as the Dominion's steward. She was not a perfect customer (few are), but she had never stolen anything nor broken anything and any late fees which she racked up would, eventually, be paid off in slow one- and two-dollar trickles. She came in on this occasion to rent some movies and she also decided to purchase one of Fernando's extra copies of World War Z. She selected, in addition to the purchase, three new releases and two older titles.

Fernando writes up the slip like he had for this woman countless times before, only this time she opts to pay with a check. That's fine; Fernando has no reason to suspect anything out of the ordinary with regard to her bank account's credit. She fills out the check while Fernando mills about the shelves retrieving her stack of movies. The total had come to sixteen dollars: eight for the purchase, and eight for two of the new releases. It was a rent-one-get-one-free day, so the other three movies were rendered gratis beneath that aegis.

She writes the check out for $15, doubtless because Fernando's penmanship is a blight to the world about on par with endometriosis, and Fernando remarks on this when he returns to the counter. "You're a dollar short, but it's no big deal. Check's already written," he says.

"What do you mean, a dollar short?" she asks.

"It's supposed to have come to sixteen dollars. But, like I said, it's no big deal."

"Wait, why sixteen?"

Fernando blinks. "The purchase is eight, and then the two new releases."

"Wait, I thought I get one of those free."

"You did."

"Then why is it sixteen? Shouldn't it be fourteen?"

It does not even dawn on Fernando to ask why she would make the check out for fifteen dollars in that case. Instead he is at a loss for words. "Er...no."

"Why?"

"Because you have the purchase, and then two new releases. They come to sixteen."

She half-closes her eyes for a moment. "I just did the math, and it comes out to fourteen. You're charging me for the one new release when you shouldn't."

Fernando is confused. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Shouldn't I get two of the new releases free and then pay for one of the old ones?"

Fernando tries to put things as politely as he can. "Er...no. The rentals have always been done in tiers like this."

"Tiers?" she asks. "I don't under...." She trails off in confusion while scratching her cheek.

"It goes by the number on the tag, descending, for which ones are free."

"Wait, so I'm paying for the new ones before the old ones."

"Yes."

"That doesn't seem fair at all."

Fernando wallows in a mire of pure consternation while putting on a facade of geniality. "It's been done this way every single other time you've come in to rent."

She ruminates on things a bit more. "And you do it like this to everybody?"

"Yes. Not just me, but the owners before me, and the owner before that, and probably even going back further all the way to when the store was first founded. That's the policy."

"It sounds like you're ripping people off."

Fernando cannot even find the energy to get upset at her noxious accusation. He is quite effectively trapped, for any justification he could give for why he insists on being inflexible--primarily that Fernando is not going to make an exception for her which would doubtless be abused, nor is he going to permanently change things so that he runs the risk of earning up to fifty percent less income on a rent-one-get-one day by letting old titles go first--would be taken in the worst possible light, for she has already convinced herself that Fernando is in the wrong and she is in the right.

So he shrugs and reiterates, "That's the policy and always has been the policy."

She then thinks for a little longer, and says, "I probably won't come here anymore."

Fernando shrugs again. He might perhaps have apologized that she feels this way, but he does not particularly feel like lying to her. Instead he tells her, "Have a good evening," and waits for her to perhaps ask that she be refunded.

Instead she takes her movies and leaves.

Monstrous

The lady who tried to fleece Fernando out of rentals multiple times in the past decided to return to the store one evening. Why, Fernando had no idea, as he had been fairly certain that he had driven her away with his no-nonsense tone and immovable position on giving her an endless chain of gratis rentals. Maybe she was a glutton for punishment, or her avarice fueled a temptation that could not be resisted.

Nonetheless, Fernando greets her and she, not surprisingly, does not respond, caught up as she was in her own world and doubtless plotting her next move. So Fernando returns his attention to the internet while she browses the store. She comes up a few minutes later with a pair of tags for Turbo and Monsters, Inc. Fernando fills out the slip and takes her money and she leaves.

The following day, her vehicle pulls into the parking lot and she climbs out with her movies. The chimes jingle and before Fernando knows it, she stands before his counter, her perpetually irate expression made even more intimidating and vampiric, for her lips are pressed together so tightly as to not exist at all. "This one didn't work for me." She holds the case for Monsters, Inc. in her hand vertically, so Fernando can clearly see the colorful surface of the disc in case he needed to be reminded about how his inventory looked.

"That's no good," Fernando says, rising from his seat and crossing the office. "Let me take a look at it."

"It just didn't play at all," she insists, setting the case down on the countertop rather than passing it over into Fernando's outstretched hand.

"Peculiar. Let me pop it in my player and see. What exactly didn't work about it?"

"It wouldn't load at all. It just spun in the disc holder." She pauses for a breath, then appends with a generous dollop of vitriol, "This is not the first time this has happened."

Fernando ignores that. He powers on his DVD player and places the disc on the tray. When he pushes the button to close said tray, the woman suddenly shouts, "I didn't use a DVD player!"

Fernando looks over his shoulder and blinks rather confusedly. "Then...what? Like a game console?"

"XBox."

The DVD player faintly hums and churns. "Three-sixty?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's probably the cause of your problem. This disc was pressed in what, like 2001? It's older than some of my customers. Newer players, especially ones in consoles, don't like playing nice with geriatric discs like this one."

The woman puffs out a snort through her nostrils.

Fernando follows that up with a question. "Did you ever try this in an actual, like, DVD player?"

The woman folds her arms across her chest. "No."

"Perhaps you should try that tonight and see if the disc treats you better in that instance." Fernando pushes the power button to his television and, lo and behold, there's the DVD's title screen featuring music by Randy Newton. "It seems to be working fine for me." He pushes the eject button, replaces the disc in its case, and passes it back over to the woman.

She looks as though she wants to say something more, but decides against it and instead skulks out.

Transfer of Ownership

A guy comes into the store one Saturday. The weather is, for a change, not a brutally hot and muggy oven, but instead a nice high-70s, low-80s breezy summer afternoon. Fernando does not recognize him, but the dude seems to know what he is doing, for he marches into the welcome foyer and immediately turns to face Fernando.

The strange man slumps down on the countertop. He's a stocky bloke with a Ron Jeremy-esque mustache decorating his top lip, and when he speaks he reveals to all the world that he falls squarely into the boisterous fat guy category. “Hey, old timer!” he booms at Fernando, who sits about ten feet away.

This even though the gentleman looked to be at least twenty years Fernando's senior.

“Hello. What can I do for you?”

The man scratches at a jowl. “Yeah, I've got a free rental here.”

“Interesting. Can I get your name?”

“Yeah, it's under Kosovo Waterloo.”

Fernando recognizes that name, as it's one of his regular customers. “If it's under him, then why do you say that you have a free rental here?”

“He told me that I could use it.”

“Well, that's awfully genial of him. But I'm afraid I can't do that, not unless you have some proof besides.”

“What, you don't believe me?”

“It's not that I disbelieve you so much as that I am quite hesitant to let people use other peoples' duly earned rewards on nothing more than a say-so. If you had a free rental coming, would you like it if the man in charge of keeping track of it let someone else use it merely on his say-so?”

“Yeah, if I told him that he could.”

“But how would I know that you told him?”

“He'd tell you.”

“If I told you that someone you know said that you would hand over the keys and ownership papers to your house to me, would you do it?”

“Nobody told you that.”

Here Fernando realizes he would be trapped in endless stalemate if he continued his argument, so he cuts short the conversation and puts his foot down. “I'm sorry. I can't do what you ask.”

The strange man heaves back up and walks out.

Negotiator

At around 1.30 in the afternoon one Wednesday, Fernando hears the rumble of a vehicle outside the store. He peers through a corner of the blinds. A red pickup is sprawled in the parking lot directly blocking the door. A woman sits in the cab, idling away. Her location leads Fernando to surmise that she is dropping off a movie, but after two minutes of sitting there he amends his supposition and views her as a camper.

Fernando makes himself busy in the office, straightening things which do not need straightening. 2 PM rolls around and the truck has not moved. He sighs and unlocks the front door.

The lady in the truck's cab leans out the window at him. “Oh, now you open?”

“Yes, now I open. It's two.”

“I been waiting half an hour for you to come in.”

“I get that a lot,” Fernando says, turning and striding to his office. The lady shuts off her truck and comes into the store after him.

She browses the store for about five minutes, then comes up to the counter with six tags in hand. “It's get one free day, right?”

“Indeed so.” Fernando retrieves a pen and rental slip. “Can I get your name?”

“Azerbijan Switzerland,” she answers as she fishes through her purse for crumpled small bills.

Fernando stops writing. “You have twenty-eight dollars in late fees. How much did you want to put down on them?”

“Oh...all I have is this.” She drops nine tattered dollar bills to the countertop.

“That's not even enough to cover the rentals, setting aside the late fees.”

She frowns at the pile of tags. “How much do I need to pay off on the late fee?”

“How much do you feel you ought to pay off?”

“A dollar?”

“Let's do this: you rent two of those and put the remaining five-fifty from your nine dollars towards the late fee.”

“Well....okay.”

Fernando takes her money, retrieves her movies, and watches her depart. The movies wound up two days late, so she now has two and a half dollars more on her late fee than previously.

It never stops.

Spoilsport

A young man comes in to rent. “Hey, can I charge this one?”

“You have twelve dollars in late fees.”

“...And?”

“And no.”

“Spoilsport.” He leaves.

Coincidence vs. Contrivance

A lady rents a couple of movies one day in December. She has with her a gaggle of four children, their ages ranging from eight to three. The transaction concludes without conflict; she selects her movies, pays, and leaves. Hell, her kids didn't even do obnoxious things to the store.

About an hour after she'd gone, the phone rings.

-Ring ring ring-

“Hello, Dominion of Movies.”

“This is Indonesia Radula. I was just in to rent some movies.”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to get Men in Black 3 but instead you gave me Paranorman.”

Well, she certainly selected Paranorman as one of her rentals. Fernando digs through the rental slips to double-check that he hadn't done a stupid thing and given her the wrong movie.

“Hmm...well, it seems that the tag I got was for Paranorman. That's no big deal, though. If you wanted to come down and swap it out, I'd be more than happy to.”

“I'm not going back down there.”

Drat. Fernando fortunately has a second-string response to placate disgruntled customers. Sometimes Fernando fucks up. “Okay, then the next time you come in I can make Men in Black available to you, gratis.”

“That's good.” Then she hangs up.

Three weeks later she returns, kids once again in tow. “Yeah, I called a while back about getting a free rental,” she informs Fernando. Her tone is condescending and waspish, but that cannot be allowed to rattle Fernando nor change the fact that he gave the woman his word that she'd be getting a free rental.

“Indeed,” Fernando says. He happens to have a copy of Men in Black 3 in and he retrieves it for the woman's benefit. “Here you go.”

“I want to get a different one.”

Well, one new release is priced the same as any other new release. “Sure thing.”

She throws down two tags, Frankenweenie and The Odd Life of Timothy Green. Fernando fills out the slip and fetches the movies for her. She pays for the one and leaves.

About an hour after she'd gone, the phone rings.

-Ring ring ring-

“Hello, Dominion of Movies.”

“This is Indonesia. It happened again.”

“What did?”

“You gave me the wrong movie.”

“I did.” Fernando's tone is dry, and he retrieves her slip.

“Yeah, you gave me Frankenweenie but I wanted Hotel Transylvania.”

“I got the tag for Frankenweenie.”

“Yeah. That's not the one that I wanted.”

“That's the tag that I received.”

“But you gave me the wrong movie.”

“Curious.”

Nobody speaks for the span of ten seconds. Then the woman asks, “What are you going to do about it?”

“If you'd like to come down and exchange them, that can be arranged.”

“I don't want to come back down there tonight.”

Second verse, same as the first. Fortunately, Fernando possesses a measure of longitudinal awareness which extends back at least three weeks. “Ah. In that case, I'm afraid there's little I can do.”

These words are not taken well at all. “This the same thing that happened last time I rented!”

“That is quite the odd coincidence, isn't it?”

“Wh-what--”

“I got a tag for Frankenweenie. How should I know that that isn't the movie that you actually wanted? Besides, this exact thing happened the last time you were in and that strikes me as a little weird.”

The lady hangs up on Fernando in a huff.

Ah, No

The guy who kept a pair of movies out for about a month before returning them slinks back into the store one day not long after Fernando opens. He approaches the counter. “Yeah, I want to move the stamps I have on my card to somebody else's.”

“Ah, no.”

The guy leaves.

Stamping Out Fairness

Semi-regular customer comes in on a Tuesday. Customer rents four movies. Customer provides Fernando with a card to stamp. Fernando stamps it two times.

Customer is disconcerted by this. “Hey, why did you only stamp it twice? I got four movies!”

That was unanticipated. “Stamps are not given for rentals which are free.”

“That's dumb.”

“Not really. It's always been done this way.”

“It's not fair.”

“If I gave stamps out for free rentals, I would find my income depressed in rather short order. People come in fairly often to take advantage of my various deals and customer incentives, and I do like being able to buy Munchkin sets and food, among other accouterments of lesser importance.” Customer can find no response to that, so he leaves.

Maybe he just had a bad day and thought arguing with Fernando would be a good way to relieve his frustration? Who knows.

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 Best-Laid Plans

It's New Release Tuesday and one of Fernando's quasi-regulars appears in the parking lot about fifteen minutes before opening time. He comes up and pulls at the locked door, then taps on Fernando's large office window. He hadn't been to the store in a couple weeks now.

Since Fernando has no other housekeeping to do, he figures he can open a little bit early.

“Hey guy, what you got that's new? Anything I'd like?” the man asks .

This guy asks Fernando this question every time he comes in, so rather than the usual “Well, that depends what it is that you like,” answer-that-is-not-an-answer-but-lets-Fernando-give-a-better-answer-answer, Fernando cuts right to the chase and selects two movies in the genre the man Fernando has learned he prefers. One of them is a title that had just come out today, but Fernando does not mention this fact to the man.

After the man leaves, at around six in the evening, the phone rings. “Hello, Dominion of Movies,” Fernando says as he picks up.

“Yeah, it's Jordan, Jordan Amman. I was in there earlier.”

“Indeed. What can I do for you?”

“This movie that I got, it's all scratched up.”

“Oh, Freelancers?”

“No, The Hole.”

“That's odd.”

“Yeah, I wanted to tell you that it won't play at all.”

“Really now.”

“Yeah. I ain't asking for no free rental or nothing [dear Baba Yaga, those negatives!] but I figured I'd tell you so you know.”

“It was like this when you got it?”

There's a short pause. “Well, yeah.”

“You realize, right, that you're the first person to rent it. It just came out today. I put that movie in its rental case about six hours ago and it looked fine to me.”

The silence is longer this time. “Oh.”

“Oh.” Now Fernando pauses for effect. “So it's scratched up and won't play, you say?”

“N-no, I think it's actually good. Maybe it's just my player or something, I dunno. Just got a new one, maybe that's it.”

“Yeah. I hope that's the case and not that a brand-new disc is wrecked.”

The gentleman on the phone starts speaking quickly, almost babbling. “Well, I'll go try it out again and see if that does it. I'll, uh, I'll get it back to you tomorrow.”

“Indeed. Good-bye.”

“Bye.”

When the movie appeared in Fernando's drop box the next morning, an inspection of the disc's underside revealed it to be pristine.

Season of the Bitch

A lady rents Season of the Witch one evening. The next day Fernando finds the movie in his dropbox, but with a folded piece of paper inside. Curious, Fernando reads what is written thereon:

“Scratched badly. Would not play. You owe me a rental.”

Fernando scowls at the paper, then at the disc. He lifts the DVD out of its holder and inspects the bottom. Minor marring does exist on the disc's underside, but that's to be expected of a movie that came out over a year prior. Certainly that small bit of wear should not render the disc unplayable.

More to the point, Fernando does not react well to people who order him around as though they are his betters.

Seeing as it was not even eleven in the morning, Fernando pops the movie in, prepares some coffee, and settles down to watch it through. Tangentially, Fernando shares reviewers' opinions that it is a plodding mess without any real tension or reason for viewers to invest in the characters. It could have been something much better than it was, perhaps some sort of guilty pleasure dark fantasy adventure romp like Van Helsing (though that movie is helped out a great deal by the presence of the charming Kate Beckinsale), but instead the creators squandered Ron Perlman's potential for cinematic gravitas.

As a result, after twenty-odd minutes Fernando is playing a game of League of Legends while the movie continues in the background.

Once the not-so-scary demon is slain and all the characters who aren't Nicolas Cage are inured, Fernando shuts off the DVD player and television and gives the lady a call.

-Ring ring ring ring ring-

“Hello?”

“Yes, this is Fernando calling from the Dominion of Movies. I received your note.”

“Oh, good.”

“Yeah, I just gave the movie a playthrough. It played just fine for me and there's no evidence at all of 'bad scratching.'”

“You can't have done it already. You only opened half an hour ago.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I must give up on my busy social schedule to arrive at the store early. I've been here all morning. That being said, if you would like to rerent Season of the Witch today or some other time you are more than welcome.”

“It won't work on my player.”

“Perhaps the DVD player on which it was played is in need of cleaning. Like I said, you are welcome to have it gratis some other time.”

“I don't want that one. I want a different one.”

“How far in did you get before it skipped?”

“What?”

“How far in did you get before it skipped? When did it start acting up?”

“In the middle.”

“What scene was it? What was happening?”

Silence. Fernando waits a few moments before continuing.

“I'm sorry. You can have Season of the Witch or you can have nothing.”

“I don't want that one!” the woman shouts.

“I'm sorry. I won't be held responsible for people choosing a crappy movie and regretting it afterwards, then trying to leverage it into something better. Have a good day.”

He hangs up.

The woman in question is a white lady in her 50s. Being an asshole grifter really does cross all demographic boundaries.

Foamy Memory

Some people come into the store to rent a couple of movies. “Can you get us a new card?” says one of them to Fernando. “I forgot mine at home.”

This is not the first time this has happened. In fact, it is a not insignificant event for them to accrue four or more stamps on a given card in their quest for a free movie. When they finally reach the much-vaunted free rental, they bring in a cache of paper rectangles that could wallpaper a small room.

Fernando has asked them in the past if they would prefer to keep their card here at the store like most people choose. They have always declined, but Fernando is stubborn and optimistic in life. These qualities prompt him to say, “You know, I can keep the card here, and we can consolidate the ones you have at home no problem next time you're in or whatever.”

“Oh, no, you don't need to do that. I'll remember them.”

Fernando dies a little bit inside, but acquiesces. He throws a couple of stamps onto the card and hands it over.

They come in the very next day to return the movies from the day before and to rent again.

“Hey, I forgot my card at home.”

So it goes.

Cardcaptor

A quasi-regular enters the store. She selects four movies and brings the tags up to the counter. As Fernando fills out the rental slip, she tells him, “I think I have one of them free.”

Fernando pauses in his tallying. “Could very well be. Let me check for you.” He sifts through the full cards in his possession while she waits. “Actually it doesn't look like you do.”

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“Pretty sure,” says Fernando, “But let me double-check.” He goes through the stack again, this time a bit more slowly. Nothing with her name on it materializes. “Nope, sorry.”

“Let me see that,” she says. Fernando shrugs and hands over the clump of cards. She begins rifling through them but stops after the first five or six. “How do you know whose are whose?”

“The name is written at the bottom.”

“Yeah, but how can you tell whose it is?”

“The name at the bottom.”

She squints down at the name written upon the card on the top of the stack and then glares at Fernando suspiciously. “You can't read that!” This is a fair statement, as Fernando's penmanship underwent linear degradation between the time he started learning how to write and today. Notetaking in university courses in the days before everyone and his cousin used a laptop necessitated a quick but accurate scrawl, and once Fernando attained the mantle of Keeper and no longer had to pretend to make things written on rental slips legible to others, all pretense of readability went straight out the window.

“I can. But look, you probably just used it last time you were in. You've got a new one started in the box and things will progress from there.” Fernando retrieves her new card from the box and shows that she has a paltry two stamps upon it.

Though she does not look entirely satisfied, Fernando's words and actions soothe her worries enough that no more is spoken of the matter.

Subversion

A guy comes down to rent Act of Valor. It is Monday, a rent-one-get-one day, but he does not select a second film. “Hey, can I just have this one for two nights since I'm not getting another movie today?” he asks.

Strangely enough, this is the first time this request has been made of Fernando in all his tenure as Keeper of the Dominion. Even more strangely, it is entirely reasonable. “Sure thing. You're actually the first person to ever bring that up to me.” So the deal was struck, the return date was incremented by one, and both parties were content.

What, you expected something horrible to happen?

Names the Same

A guy and his lady pal and their child come into the store for the first time in over a year. “Hey, do we have a free one?”

“I don't think so,” says Fernando. “But let me check to be sure.” He does so and they, indeed, do not have a free rental coming in any form.” This does not dissuade them from browsing the store. As they search, Fernando digs through his stamp card box and pulls out the card bearing that man's name. They're seven-tenths of the way to a free one, and Fernando points this out to them.

Free is better than not free, so they search for four movies. Suits Fernando just fine. Their meanderings bring them to Fernando's sci-fi section, whereupon the lady asks him, “Hey, they're coming out with another Avatar, right?”

“Indeed they are,” answers Fernando. “But it's not set to come out for a while yet. I understand they even have Cameron roped into a third.”

“No, not that one. The M. Night Shyamalan one.”

Not the first time this overlap of names has left Fernando looking silly. “Oh. That one I haven't heard they're doing a sequel.”

“Why not?”

“It tanked in theaters and got pretty bad reviews.”

“It was awesome! They have the whole rest of the cartoon to do!”

“Right, but it's not happening. The last time I heard anything about it was back in like September of 2010.”

“They should know by now that M. Night makes quirky movies.”

“I mean, they do know this. That's why they're choosing not to give him money to make said quirky movies.”

A declaration like that could not be refuted, so the transaction proceeds as usual.

Fernando's Adventure, Part 7

Fernando was mighty tired after he wrested the equivalent of victory from the grubby hands of a peevish superhero. He retreated to the bedchamber, where Alfonso and Ronaldo already slept. Sunday was the day on which they must return to their homeland and they must be moved out of their room by 11 AM or Fernando would incur an additional day's charge, something which he hoped to avoid if at all possible.

Fernando set his alarm for 8:30 again and Sunday morning passed much as had Saturday morning. There was one remaining panel Fernando wished to attend, a “wish-list” discussion of the things which people would like to see in 5^th Edition Dungeons and Dragons. Monte Cook was, at the time, still a lead designer on the project and some of the panelists had an in with the man, so there was reasonable assurance that their words would be heard. It began at 10, which left plenty of time for breakfast.

It was less good this time around. The delectable American fries had been replaced by waffles and the disgusting foreskin sausages reappeared in their serving bin. Everyone loaded up on eggs and waffles and coffee, but since Alfonso and Ronaldo had not finished their morning rituals until nearly quarter to 10, Fernando had to depart so as to be on time for his panel. Not that it ended up mattering because it started late. Andrés made an appearance as well, for the fellow DM had a vested interest in the future of the world's most popular tabletop role playing game.

Like most of the other panels he'd attended, this one was rife with disappointment. Rather than discuss the potential merits of 5E, most of the panelists masturbated furiously over Fourth Edition. The audience, not so much. Fernando sits firmly in the 2E camp, Andrés favored 3E. An older man in his late 50s or early 60s came out as a 1E adherent. Most of the rest of the attendees, which numbered about twelve, threw in their lot with Third Edition. So when, for example, the 1E grognard mentioned that he and his group looked poorly upon the class homogenization that took place come 4E, the concerns were brushed under the rug. “After all,” to paraphrase the most verbal shill, “Why would anybody want to play the stereotypical magic-user and be utterly useless from levels one to three?”

“Why deny people that option?” countered 1E Man. “If 5E does not give me what I want, well, then I won't play 5E.” Wise words from a wise man.

Fernando made his voice heard as well in this discussion. “I'm not so much concerned as to which edition it's closest to as to how exactly combat will be structured.”

“I don't know what you mean,” said Shill.

“My group plays a mutated hybrid that lifts rules from basically everything: First, Second, Third, BECMI, whatever. The thing with 4E and to a lesser extent with 3E is that it basically requires you to have a battle map set up. We tried that, it ended up not working for us, so we use a free-form and abstract style of dealing with combat encounters. It makes it so that, for instance, the party wizard can't exactly gauge where to precisely drop his Fireball as to incinerate the bad guy there but leave his comrade who is meleeing that bad guy completely unscathed. I think that 5E should allow for abstract combat like that.”

“Well, you realize that it's been that way since First Edition,” retorted Shill. “D&D has been tactical its entire history. You probably know it comes from wargaming roots.”

“Strategic, sure, but not necessarily tactical. 1E doesn't require minis. 2E doesn't. BECMI certainly does not. I understand Wizards wants to make money off minis and pregenerated battle maps and encounters and that's why things are the way they are. But like the guy before me said, if 5E doesn't make it so that my group can play the game in the way that we have always played the game, we'll just stick with what we're doing now.”

“If abstract combat is what you're looking for, maybe you would be better off doing that.”

Okay. Andrés and Fernando took their leave of the panel at this point, since it was now blatant that this was not intended to be a discussion so much as a power trip. But, hey, it let Fernando help with the packing and to proceed with check-out.

The four wayward souls reunited in the parking lot to share a final smoke break and to exchange contact information and good-byes in front of Andrés' car. Andrés' hand was shaken, he was wished well, and he vanished from this saga. Perhaps he will resurface down the road. Fernando would be okay with that.

However, there was now the matter of the gift certificate exchange to deal with. Sir Dicks-A-Lot had resumed his Chess Guy persona, for the time being, and he waited near the games room for the rendezvous. They would head out to Misty Mountain Games in separate vehicles (the man had offered to ferry Fernando there and back, but Fernando declined. He liked being alive,) and meet up in the parking lot to split the winnings at the store. Finding it would be easy, even though Fernando and Ronaldo were out-of-towners! After all, Ronaldo had retained the services of Gertrude Pauline Samson, and she could serve as spiritual guide on this journey! Chess Guy insisted on giving Ronaldo his telephone number, though, perhaps because he had entered into a vile contract with GPS and knew what was coming. Alfonso would be sticking around the convention for a short while longer. He wished to browse the dealers' room one last time in case a surprise bargain might rear its head.

The address was entered and they were off, navigating the twisting mess of off-ramps and overpasses! GPS guided them with confidence out an exit, and she told them to take a left up ahead into a strip-mall. Location dead ahead, she intoned!

Except not. In petty revenge for being slighted in favor of Google for the journey down here, she had led them to a place that was not the place which they sought. Fernando cross-checked the address on the gift card with the information he had entered. They were the same. Oh, that bodiless woman's spite!

Ronaldo looked at Fernando with apprehension. “I don't want to have to do this.” He retrieved his phone. His face was pale.

Fernando extended his hand. “I'll do it. Wish me luck.”

-Ring ring ring-

-Ring ring-

“Hello.”

“Yeah, this is Fernando. The GPS got us lost.”

“Lost? What do you mean lost?” Chess Guy was gone, and Sir Dicks-A-Lot had taken the field. His tone was not one of amusement.

“We're at where the GPS told us the address on the gift card is, but it's not that address.”

“Look around. Do you see the bank?”

Fernando looked around. He saw a bank. “Yeah.”

“What about the Culvers across the street?”

Fernando turned his head. There it was. “Yeah.”

“Did you drive around the mall?”

“We circled it twice.”

“What street are you on?”

“Fennel.”

“Fennel? Fennel? Did you go under the overpass?”

“Yes.”

“Is there another overpass ahead?”

The fuck kind of question is that in fucking Madison, Wisconsin. There's always a fucking overpass in sight. “Yes.”

“What exit is it?”

“I can't see from here.”

“Well, get there and then call me back.”

“I mean, it's right there. We just have to take a l--”

-Click-

Fernando took a deep breath through his nose. “If we didn't have thirty-five dollars in shit coming to us that we otherwise wouldn't be able to spend, I'd just say fuck it and go home.”

Ronaldo turned on his blinker. “I know what you mean.” He took a left out onto the street and a couple of miles ahead there was an exit.

Fernando redails the number. -Ring ring ring ring ring-

While this happening, thanks to how traffic does what traffic does, Ronaldo has been moving in a forward direction. “So are we supposed to take this exit or what?”

“That's what I'm trying to fig—”

“Hello?”

“Yeah, Fernando again. We're coming up on the exit.”

“What number is it?”

“404.”

“Take it.”

Fernando repeats the instructions to Ronaldo, who must now move over one lane through noonday traffic over the next half of a mile. Somehow he manages this, and Sir Dicks-A-Lot is not given more ammunition for his crabby arsenal.

“Now what?”

“Take a left. Go through two lights. The next intersection will have a bank and a Culvers. Take the left there.” Then he hangs up.

“God damn it so much,” said Fernando. He relays this information and Ronaldo does as he is bade. There is, in fact, a bank and a Culvers at the intersection in question. Two restaurants of the same chain that is not a McDonald's or a Burger King or whatever within five miles of each other? What are the odds!

Ronaldo wended around the strip mall and there stood Sir Dicks-A-Lot in the parking lot. “It's about time,” he said. “Well, come one. I don't have all day.”

They entered the Misty Mountain and it was glorious. The gaming store in Fernando's area had closed up...Christ, has it been five years already? Regardless, Fernando does not have a readily accessible place to get his nerd on and so this place was a breath of fresh air. Well, recycled ventilated air. A large number of people sat at large tables in the rear area playing a wide variety of tabletop games, and it seemed as though a Magic tournament was going on.

“Let's make this quick,” said Ronaldo. “I don't want to deal with that guy any longer than I have to.” Fernando concurred wholehearted with that sentiment. They browsed for about five minutes before they found what they sought: the Game of Thrones tabletop board game. Valued at $59.99, it would set them back a paltry $26 in real money today. It was purchased and the pair exchanged requisite farewell courtesies with Sir Dicks-A-Lot, who chewed on his glasses' earpiece and read the back of the box of a Munchkin expansion and gave them only cursory attention. Societies niceties given appropriate deference, Ronaldo and Fernando left Sir Dicks-A-Lot to his angry self.

On the road again! Fernando and Ronaldo navigated the twisted skein of roadways until they found themselves on a highway heading east, retracing their steps. The drive was uneventful and passed by quickly, for much discussion was had on the horrid D&D panel Fernando had attended and some new house rules that might be put into action based on the meaningful interactions and discussions they had over the weekend. They avoided the war-torn areas of Muskrat Blessing and returned to the land where Perkins reigned supreme. Fuck the Culvers and their being-on-every-streetcorner-ness.

The only remaining bit of interest on the journey was when Fernando and Ronaldo stopped for food in Verdant Cove, swinging by the mall and its food court and its delicious toasted sammich restaurant that was there. Fernando had the spicy chicken teriyaki melt and, though it shames him to admit this, he suffered from hot-mouth. It was not an up-front murder like Dave's, but instead an insidious aggregation of capsaicin oils that slowly gained in fervor until it overwhelmed Fernando's senses.

It was delicious.

In the end Ronaldo guided the car back through Zail-Kanzin and further on into Saladolsa, where the Dominion stands. Fernando disembarked and thanked Ronaldo for his company and for making the weekend overall a success, for it was a success despite the individually horrible bits. Fernando met new people, and bought nice things, and came out a winner for once.

Monday followed Sunday, as it usually does. Fernando unlocks the front door, sorts through the returns, and catches up on the things which he needed to have done over the weekend.

The phone rings.

“Hello, Dominion of Movies.”

Fernando's Adventure: Part 6

After dinner, Alfonso rendezvoused with Andrés for cigarettes. Fernando and Ronaldo retired to the games room, where Chess Guy and Chess Kid lurked as they always do. More games of Siamese-style chess were had and the two smokers joined in eventually. Such things were a way to pass the time, nothing more. The real reason for camping the place was the Munchkin tournament that was to begin at 11 PM.

Other people began to filter in starting at about 9, crowding the room and camping the hallway outside. One of them was a lanky man with long hair whose goth/emo/whatever-dressed girlfriend at one point apparently opted for a procedure that surgically melded the two together. Wondertwins never physically separated. When they stood in the hallway, she draped her arm and leg about his front and Fernando couldn't help but be reminded of Zalera, the Angel of Death. When Wondertwins sat down for a game of chess at the behest of Chess Guy (quite probably because he didn't want to deal with Chess Kid any longer), he spun the chair around so the female half could straddle it behind him, whereupon she wrapped her arms and legs around his shoulders and torso like a vast tentacled beast from the deeps that had just seized its prey.

Fernando and Ronaldo took a detour to wander the halls and escape the cloying public display of sentimentalism. They decided to check out the band that was playing in another room, a self-labeled “murdercore” performance troupe. About twelve or so people, eleven of which were female, with the last one an awkward-looking guy standing off to one side, comprised the audience.

Now, Fernando's not all that well-versed in popular music and the various -cores that exist within it, but one would think that by appending the affix “murder-” to “-core,” it would feature a style and theme somewhat similar to death metal, with which Fernando does have passing experience thanks to upstanding gentlemen like Former College Roommate Nataniel and the brave music battles he waged against the dread forces of Generic College Dorm Rap Music. Namely, a lot of guttural growling, fervent guitar riffs, and lyrical content which explores topics like stylized violence or existential nihilism.

Instead, the performance was milquetoast punk. The particular song being performed when the pair popped in was about being yourself despite other people's judgments. A laudable topic, sure, but not really deserving of the label “murdercore.”

Fernando is, however, forced to admit that this band was infinitely better than the drum circle which followed.

The overseer for the Munchkin tournament showed up about twenty minutes after 10 and announced that the tournament's start would be delayed until 11:30. What is it with people and their incapability of adhering to a schedule? The room was cleared and the cluster of nerds now filled the hallway. Fernando stood and swapped more D&D stories with Andrés. Alfonso and Ronaldo joined in for a while, but then went off on their own. Fernando assumed at the time it was solely for a food run, but a plot was hatched and Fernando would only grow aware of it after everything from the evening had played out.

At long last, the tournament began. Alfonso, Ronaldo, Fernando, and Andrés made a pact with one another stating that it was better that one of us win than none of us. The three travelers had only known Andrés for less than two days, but the stranger had wormed his way into their hearts and they would all be okay with him coming away a winner.

An epic spread lay on the three dining room-sized tables: roughly $1500 in Munchkin cards: every base set, nearly every expansion, summing untold thousands of tiny paper rectangles. Overseer Oman laid out the rules, the first and foremost of which was, “There will under no circumstances be any drinks on the tables. If there are drinks on the tables, they will spill, and if they spill, they will get on cards, and if they get on cards, you will be replacing them.”

Winning was determined in the usual Munchkin way: the first person to reach level 10 wins that table. The two winners of the respective tables would square off at the third table for the vaunted Level 11. The table winners would receive a $10 gift certificate to Misty Mountain Games. The loser at the third table would win an additional $50 certificate to the game store and copy of the newest expansion for Munchkin Zombies, autographed by John Kovalic.

First prize was a drawing-slash-card by John Kovalic that would become tournament-legal if Steve Jackson, the genius designer behind the game, affixed his signature to it.

The fifteen competitors were split into two tables, one of eight and one of seven. Fernando found himself divided from his comrades, for Alfonso, Ronaldo, and Andrés were clustered at the other table, along with Chess Guy, last year's champion, a father-son pair, and a teenaged boy. Fernando was stuck with Wondertwins (even now, inseparable, though the female half was not playing) and five other people he'd never seen or met before. The youngest player at Fernando's table was a girl aged maybe twelve or thirteen.

Let the game begin! As Fernando only had real experience with the base set and Munchkin Cthulhu, it is from those decks that he drew most of his cards. Play progressed as it usually does in that game and oh yeah Fernando got eaten by Cthulhu on his third turn because WHY NOT. All fourteen other competitors got to go up a level based on Overseer Oman's ruling of the card's text, and the text-mandated mockery of Fernando's horrible fortune by the other players only rubbed more salt in that wound.

Nothing of interest happened at Fernando's table aside from his consumption by the Great Old One. The other table, though, suffered much drama and trauma. Not long after Fernando's death, a booming howl erupted from that side of the room, rife with indignation and accusation. “I have a right to see what that card does because it is public knowledge! Turn...it...OVER!”

Everything stopped. Heads turned and the sight was awesome and frightening to behold. A man had shed his mortal trappings, unleashing his full potential. Stress and a personal vendetta against Reigning Champ had forced Chess Guy to metamorphose into Sir Dicks-A-Lot, for last year it had come down to Champ and Sir Dicks-A-Lot in the finals, and it all had hinged on a judge's decision.

Oh, it was on now.

Not long thereafter, Overseer Oman gave a ghastly cry of abject torment. “NNNNOOOOOOO!”

The dread prediction had come true. Waterboy had placed his cup of refreshment on the table and Murphy's Law had been invoked. Ronaldo's in-play cards swam in a clear liquid which the world hoped was water and not Sierra Mist. The boy slunk out and Ronaldo lamented that his apparently awesome steamroll had been forestalled by the vagaries of fate.

Long story short, Fernando won his table because everybody thought he was out of the game for the longest time, so he hoarded his power and wealth and came from far behind, leveling from 6 to 10 in a single turn, and the other people at the table could do nothing about it because they had burnt all their cards on the other people on the edge of winning. Fernando had his gift certificate in his possession for only a short while, though, as the other players at his table (except for Wondertwins, who skedaddled immediately after Fernando's victory; and Little Gamer Girl who never saw it coming) clustered up and unanimously agreed to approach Fernando about giving the card to Little Gamer Girl, who had been a simply phenomenal sport about everything.

This seemed like a good idea to Fernando, so everyone left the room to chase her down. Anywhere but a gaming convention five grown men hustling after a pubescent girl would set off all kinds of red flags, but everyone caught up to her and the card was transferred with pomp and ceremony, and even though she rejected it the first time, Fernando insisted. Cheers, Little Gamer Girl!

He spent the next hour standing in the corner of the room near the third table as the other table finished.

It all came down to Team Dad versus Sir Dicks-A-Lot. Ronaldo was still a viable win, but he had put most everything towards helping Alfonso make a mad dash to victory which proved fruitless and left Fernando's brother out the running. Andrés, sadly, never really got any momentum going due to horrid draw luck. Reigning Champ was kept down all game by Sir Dicks-A-Lot, and so Reigning Champ spent his time and energy fucking with everyone equally.

Team Dad had just barely been thwarted on the father's turn. His son did everything in power to ensure Dad's win, but it was only through concentrated effort from everyone else that he did not move on to the finals. Next up was Ronaldo, who was not in a position to win and drew no cards that could help ensure a win. Following him was Sir Dicks-A-Lot. Fernando heard him ask Ronaldo, “Does our agreement still stand?”

Wait what now?

Sir Dicks-A-Lot then powerleveled from 8 to 10 in one fell swoop, slaying a monster he played from his hand while Ronaldo helped him. Wailing and gnashing of teeth ensued from all the other players at the table except Ronaldo, who had something of a smug look on his face.

In exchange for his assistance, Ronaldo received the gift card that Sir Dicks-A-Lot would otherwise have won. Furthermore, he had nothing to bring to the winner's circle, while Fernando still had something resembling an arsenal in his hand and equipped to his character. He knew this, and so he approached Fernando with a proposition: to split the winnings evenly. Half of the $50 gift card would go to Fernando, the other half to Sir Dicks-A-Lot. They would sojourn to the game store tomorrow to split the winnings. Fernando would also have first pick of either the drawing or the Munchkin expansion.

His reasoning was as follows: “Better for both of us to get something than for one of us to get nothing.”

O...okay. Fernando would have been just fine with the picture alone. Now he has $25 in gift certificate money out of it as well, on top of the $10 of Ronaldo's.

So Fernando took the picture. Muchkin expansion boxes are small and easily crumpled and why does he need another copy of John Kovalic's signature when he has the two on his Munchkin boxes and the half-tourney-legal card?

Overseer Oman was okay with this proposal, since it was after 3 AM by this point and he just wanted to go to bed. However, the tournament rules stipulated that the winner of the tournament would be granted ownership of the picture. Since Fernando now had ownership of the picture, Overseer Oman was forced to conclude that Fernando technically had won the tournament.

Fuck yeah.