We're the Necrotizing Fasciitis

A woman in her late 30s comes into the store one evening. She is a semi-regular customer and had not been to the store in a few months. Fernando greets her and she greets him back. Hell, she even goes beyond the bare minimum of social nicety to ask Fernando how he has been since she last saw him.

"I'm well. Keeping on keeping on, doing the best that I can," he answers. "Yourself?"

"I'm good. My daughter is having a slumber party tonight, so a bunch of her friends are over and they wanted me to pick out some movies for her. Do you have We're the Millers in?"

"Yeah, that's right over here," Fernando tells her, exiting the office to pluck one of the tags from the case. The front reads EXTENDED CUT in big yellow letters, and the woman notices this fact and is likely savvy enough to realize what it entails. She picks up the case and reads the back. Her expression sours and her eyes narrow as she scans the great large box on the back side which has the laundry list of reasons the movie is rated R.

"This is unrated?" she asks him with a slight frown.

"Profoundly so, yes," Fernando tells her. "It out-Hangovers The Hangover."

"Is it just raunchy humor?"

"That, and I feel like I would be remiss not to warn you about the spider bite scene."

"Why, what's so bad about it? It doesn't sound so bad."

"Well, the bite is on a penis."

Her expression wavers between confusion and bemusement. "That still doesn't sound--"

"They show the penis."

The woman stares at Fernando, blinks a few times, then quietly places the case back on the rack. "Let's not get that one, then. Probably not a good idea for twelve-year old girls to be seeing that."

"Probably not."

She scans the rack with a frustrated sigh. "There aren't any other good comedies in right now, either." She taps the case for Grown Ups 2 irately, for all copies of that film were leased out at that moment.

Fernando shrugs. "I can recommend Monsters University."

"Why, is it funny?"

"It has its moments. Mainly it's because it's a good movie. Great movie, in fact. Not quite as good as Monsters, Inc. but by no means does this render it low-quality. I'm old so I'm not allowed to like new things as much as their earlier iterations. It's a nine instead of a ten, is all."

"That sounds really good actually. I'll take it."

And that's how it's done.

Haggle Hag

Fernando, upon doing some basic economic diligence one August afternoon, concluded that he needed to raise his prices to keep pulling in an amount of money which would allow him to exist more-or-less comfortably. His distributor had been slowly hiking up prices on the supply end of things, and the cost of living had, of course, been creeping its slow way upwards over all of history as inflation worked its magic.

He increased the price on his new releases by fifty cents, effective September 1^st. Everything else in the store remained the same price. He did not in the slightest look forward to explaining this change to his customer base, but for the most part people were cool with it.

Then one lady came in to rent Star Trek: Into Darkness.

“It's four dollars now, actually,” Fernando tells her after filling out the slip upon noticing she has dug out three-fifty in bills and change.

“What's that?”

“New releases are now four dollars.”

“They're supposed to be three-fifty.”

“Well, they used to be three-fifty. Now they are four dollars.”

“What if I don't want to pay that much? What if I decide not to come here anymore?”

Fernando shrugs. “Then I suppose you won't be renting or coming here anymore. Though let me pose this question: Do you also threaten the managers of gas stations or grocery stores when they change their prices?”

The lady's mouth snaps shut. She does not answer Fernando's question, but she does withdraw another dollar bill, and that is good enough for him.

Dollars and Sense

A customer comes in to rent one evening. She brings her tags up to the counter and Fernando fills out the slip. “It'll be three-fifty,” he says, before turning and searching the walls of his office for the cases which bear stickers matching the numbers on the tags.

Fernando retrieves the movies and returns to his place at the counter. The customer has pulled a small, folded clump of bills from one pocket and flips through them, withdrawing singles and depositing them in a messy pile on the countertop. “Oh...oh no.”

“What?”

“I don't have enough money.” Sure enough, the pile of money has capped at three ones.

Fernando scratches his cheek. “You have a ten in your hand here.”

“Yeah, but I don't want to use that.”

“You also have a five nested inside of that ten.”

“I don't want to use that either.”

“Um.” Fernando's throat tickles, and he coughs. “I don't think it's a matter of preference right now.”

The customer sighs and hands over the five dollar bill.

Cold Sell

It's one of those demonically hot and muggy days which fill late June. Fernando sits in his comfortable palace and a group of three teens, two guys and a gal, come in. The two dudes are brothers; the girl is presumably an acquaintance of some sort to one of the two.

They drop off some movies they'd rented the previous day and mill about the store in search of more. “It's too hot outside to do anything.”

“Oh, I hear you. That's why I'm sitting in here not doing anything.”

“Yeah, it's nice in here. I think on the way home we'll pick up something to help cool off.”

Ah, yes. Magic words. Fernando latches onto them like an asp to its prey. “Well, I do have delicious and refreshing sodey pop here. Only a dollar fifty with deposit.”

The young man is resistant. “Oh, I don't know....”

Fernando dials up the pressure. “You could head over to Lint's Gas and pick up some there, I suppose, but paying a dollar thirty for twenty ounces? Unreasonable. I've got the big ones here.”

“Well, actually I was thinking getting some ice cream or something.”

“Y'know, ice cream is a really good idea. But you know what would be an even better idea? Ice cream with sodey pop.”

The leader hems and haws, but his brother and the young lady are both eying Fernando's sodey pop fridge. Fernando leans over the counter and pops the door open with his right hand, letting the refrigerated air within mingle with the warmer atmosphere outside the icebox. He spreads the palm and fingers of his left hand in a “what-can-you-do” gesture. “At least that's what I would do if I had ice cream in my future.”

The younger brother takes a step forward, then catches himself. The older brother says, “Ehhh, no, sorry, I think we'll pass.”

Fernando eases the door shut. He has done all that he can do. “Well, alrighty. They're here if ever you want them, though.” The trio collects their movies and departs.

Three minutes later, Fernando is having an in-depth discussion about the quality of film sequels with another customer who'd paid Fernando a visit. The chimes jingle and the three teens from before enter, walk straight up to Fernando's sodey pop fridge, help themselves to some of its contents, and queue up while Fernando finishes his Spiel.

In an appropriate parlance:

“You try smooth talking him with all your cunning [roll d20] but sadly fail to convince him.”

“Did you add in my Charisma bonus?”

“....You almost fail to convince him.”

Urine Trouble

 “Hey, have you seen this movie?” The speaker is a semi-regular teenaged customer, fourteen or fifteen or thereabouts, and he asks Fernando the question on a rent-one-get-one-free day.

“Which one is that?”

“This Life of Pee here.”

“Life of Pi.”

“Pee, pi, what's the difference?”

“I think you'll find that uric acid is rather different from the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter.”

“Whatever. They shouldn't spell it different from how it's pronounced then.”

While Fernando cannot and will not argue against some of the abject silliness found within English spelling, he still responds in this instance with all the snark he can muster. “I'll get right on telling the Greeks they've been doing it wrong these past three thousand years.”

Fernando's guest brushes it off like it ain't no thang. “Is it any good?”

“Apparently it's a kid on a boat with a tiger on a journey of self-discovery, or something like that. I've also been told that it's much better than I'm making it sound.”

“Have you seen it?”

“No, but some year I'll get around to it, probably. Maybe.”

“I just don't want to get a movie if it'll be boring.”

“Have you seen Gremlins?”

“No...when did it come out.”

“1984.” When Fernando sees mistrust start to creep across the lad's features, he hurries to append, “This thing is a Christmas classic. It should be required viewing for everyone every year, right next to the old animated Grinch and stop-motion Rudolph, and Peanut's Christmas.”

“...It's June though.”

“How can we say that one movie is better-viewed at a specific time than any other? Down that road is nothing but arbitrary tomfoolery. Whatever happened to Christmas in July?”

“...But it's June.”

Fernando waves a hand in dismissal. “July's a crappy month anyway. Don't listen to anything nice you've heard about it. Moths and cloying heat, that's what it offers the world. Christmas in June is the new thing.”

“Fine, fine. I'll get it.”

One corner of Fernando's lips curls upwards in a satisfied grin.

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.

Grade Scale

 “Hey, is this movie any good?” asks a regular customer one day. He has gone through all the other, newer, recent releases and desires some far which he had not yet consumed.

Fernando rises from his throne and peeks out of the office at the man, who holds in his hands the case for Gangsters, Guns, and Zombies so Fernando can easily see the title. “It's a B movie through and through,” Fernando tells him. “It's not good, but if you're looking for a movie that's so bad it becomes good, perhaps with the help of liberal application of alcoholic beverages, you could certainly do worse.”

“B is still like, what, an 80 percent in school, right?” the man asks, inadvertently talking up the movie far more than Fernando would ever like to do.

“It most certainly is.”

These words are enough to ensure the film is rented.

I Don't Know

A young man enters the store and returns a movie he'd rented a few days prior.

“Thank you much,” Fernando says as he rises from his throne and collects the film. “Did you want to kill off paying for the extra night now?”

“Can I do it next time?”

It is a paltry dollar-fifty, and Fernando sees this gentleman often enough. “Sure thing, no problem.”

The young man turns to leave, but reconsiders and reorients himself to face Fernando again. “Hey, do you have Band of Brothers?”

“Indeed I do. Did you want me to track it down for you?”

“No, I wanted to know how much you'd sell it for.”

“That I don't know off the top of my head. I hadn't planned on selling it anytime soon.”

“Well, if you were gonna sell it, how much would it be?”

“I don't know.”

“Just give me a rough idea.”

“I don't know.”

“Well why not?”

“I hadn't planned on selling it anytime soon, and haven't researched what a reasonable price for a used copy would be, so I don't know how much I would charge.”

“It can't be that hard to figure it out.”

“Sure it can. I don't want to undercharge, as that would be bad for me; and I don't want to egregiously overcharge, as that would be bad for you.”

“You sell off other movies all the time.”

“Yes, but I don't routinely sell off television miniseries boxed sets.”

The young man, having grown frustrated that Fernando cannot give him the answer he so desires, departs.

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.

Regular Ol' Wednesday Night

Wednesday. 7:30 PM. Fernando sits at his desk and waits for 8 PM to roll around, so he can close up the store and go home. He is excited to do so, for he had conversed earlier with one of his fine comrades about some delectable chicken piccata she had recently enjoyed at a restaurant, and this discussion caused a great longing for the Italian Schitzel-analogue to fester in his belly.

As merry thoughts of breaded and fried chicken dance in Fernando's head, a vehicle pulls up. Some people climb out and a few moments later the chimes above the door tinkle.

“Hello,” Fernando greets his guests. Then he stops and squints at one of them, the only one he recognizes of the bunch. It is a man in his early 20s, the kind of person who finds injecting copious amounts of ink beneath his epidermis to be a laudable pastime. Perhaps he felt that an abundance of tats made him look more intimidating, or showed off his rebellious spirit.

Really all it accomplished for him on this night was jarring Fernando's memory and sending the Dominion's Keeper straight to his forever-ago late list. The last time this gent had come into the store had been about a year ago. He rented two movies and had been a little bit tardy in returning them. When he brought them back and rented five more, he paid off his late fee. No big deal.

Those movies had been out for a much greater length of time. While they, too, eventually found their way into the Dominion's drop box, five movies times six days times nightly late fees added up. To seventy-five dollars, in fact.

The visitors are quick in gathering tags from the new release rack and bring them all up to deposit on the counter. Tattoo Tom says to Fernando, “Hey man. What's up?”

“Not too much. Could I get your name?” While Fernando is almost positive that the bloke standing before him owes seventy-five dollars, it could very well be the case that Fernando has mistaken a newcomer with the other tattooed man.

But, no. “I'm Tattoo Tom. Been a while since I came here.”

“I'll say. You've got some late fees, if you wanted to put something down on them.”

“Really? Shit. How much?”

“Seventy-five dollars.”

“Whoa,” he says, stepping back. “Why so much?”

“You had out five movies for six days.”

“And?”

“And that resulted in seventy-five dollars in late charges.”

“Hold on,” he says. “The time before I only had like seven bucks or something.”

“Eight, most likely. Two movies, two days. But this is five movies and six days.”

“Well does he have to pay it all off now?” asks one of his companions, a rather attractive young woman.

Fernando shrugs. “I'd be content with half now, and then we can trickle in the rest bit by bit.”

“That's still like thirty bucks,” says the girl.

“Thirty-seven fifty, actually. But I'd settle even for thirty-five. An honest showing of penitence to get the ball rolling.”

“I don't know if have that much,” Tattoo Tom says. “How much do these come to?”

Fernando totals the rentals mentally. “Nineteen bucks.”

“So that would be...?” Tattoo Tom asks, scowling.

“Fifty-four dollars all together, with thirty-five on the late fee.”

This exasperates Tattoo Tom, for his blows air from his mouth. “That's a lot of money.”

Fernando shrugs.

“Let me...let me run to the ATM machine real quick,” he says.

“That's fine.” The three visitors exchange a quick look and skedaddle.

Fernando isn't quite sure why Tattoo Tom had to run to the ATM at McMurdo Station, Antarctica, to retrieve his money, but he's positive he'll be back any day now.

The chicken piccata also turned out splendidly.

Arguing Against Tautology

A shabby man Fernando has never seen before enters the Dominion one day. He's frumpled and chunky and wears clothes that make Fernando's fashion sense seem positively enlightened.

“Hello!” Fernando greets him as the door jingles shut.

“Hey, where's your movies?” the man asks.

“Right over here,” Fernando says, striding out of the office and into the obvious. “New releases are right here on these racks, with the newest of the new on this shelf and the top ten rentals up top here. Everything else goes back chronologically. The rest is broken up into genres, so you've got kids' and family over there, sci-fi on the back side of this rack, action on the three spaced out in the middle here, comedy beyond that and wrapping around into horror, which wraps around to the outside wall over there. Drama's next to that and then war and westerns have their own little sections there and there.” Fernando gesticulates fervently during his speech, pointing to each section of the store as he comes to it.

The guy doesn't really seem to have taken any of that in. “Where's the new ones?”

“Ri-right here.”

Shabby Mack trundles into the aisle and stops very near to Fernando. Fernando shuffles away, in part because personal space is not a hypothetical and in part because a miasma of booze envelops the man in a ghastly cocoon. Roll a d20, save against poison. Mmm, nope.

Fernando moves a little bit farther away. “If there's anything in particular you're looking for, just let me know and I'll track it down for you.”

Shabby Mack grunts and looks around the store. “How come these cost more?” he asks.

“Well, they're newer.”

“Yeah and?”

“Um...that's it, actually. They're newer, so they cost more.”

“That don't seem fair.”

Fernando shrugs. “New things cost more than old things. That's just the way things go.”

Shabby Mack rotates and faces Fernando. He opens his mouth. “BBBRRRRRRREEEEEEEEP!”

A noxious cloud of stomach-gas assails Fernando, who staggers back and desperately fans the air.

“That's what I think,” Shabby Mack says. He exits the store.

Fernando, now deader on the inside, returns to the office and considers getting out of the business for the first time.

Opaque Clarity

“Hey, what's this movie like?” a man asks one afternoon. He waves the case for Breathless in Fernando's direction.

“That is a very dark caper movie about a woman who offs her skeevy husband to abscond with a great deal of his money.”

The man squints down at the case. “What's a movie it's close to?”

Fernando ponders for a moment. “The Ice Harvest, maybe? I haven't seen this one seeing as it just came out today so I can't say for sure. It reads similarly in content to that one, though.”

“What's that one?”

“It's got John Cusack and Connie Nielsen. They steal a bunch of money from a mobster or something and they need to find a way to make a clean getaway. It's been a while since I've seen it.”

“Oh.” The man looks around the store. “That didn't really answer my question.”

“I'm sorry. I'm not sure what other answers I can give.”

“What's a movie I've seen that's like those ones?”

Fernando doesn't know what the hell movies that guy has seen, so he pulls a good-sounding answer from his ass. “Um...maybe Safe House?”

“Oh, I liked that one.” With that, the man decides to rent Breathless.

Business Politics

Three guys come into the store one evening near closing time. Fernando's never seen any of them before, and he presumes they are up here for either the off-road races two towns over or to slaughter some type of vertebrate life in their free time. Two of them fan out into the store while the third comes around the entry foyer and stands a few steps inside Fernando's office. “Hey, what's it take to rent here?” he asks.

“I just need name, address, driver's license, phone number, the basics,” replies Fernando.

The man nods. “Okay, okay. How do rentals work?”

“New releases are three-fifty, the older ones are two bucks a night. It's a buck-fifty for each additional night for the new releases and fifty cents each night for the older ones. They just have to be back by seven P.M. the following night.”

“That sounds good, sounds good,” says the man. “You got any good sports movies that come out lately?”

“Hmm...only one I can think of off the top of my head is Moneyball. Let me track that down for you.” Fernando rises from his seat and weaves among the trio of strange men to the movie's resting place on the rental rack. “Aside from that....” he continues, searching for something else having to do with sports.

One of the men whom we will refer to as “Vietnam” picks up the case and flips it over to read the back. “I won't watch this,” he says.

“Why not?” asks the second man, henceforth arbitrarily named Thailand.

Vietnam replaces the case. “It has that scumbag liberal Damon in it.” Fernando wishes he had some small proficiency in toxicology, as there was some grade-A venom lacing the man's words just waiting to be harvested and analyzed.

The third guy, the one who had first spoken with Fernando—we'll call him Laos—turns back to the Keeper. “Yeah, this one ain't gonna work.”

Well, alright. The invisible hand works in all directions. “Okay...uh, I've got All Things Fall Apart. It's football-themed, has Curtis Jackson. It's pretty much a more cynical Remember the Titans.”

The three men exchange a look. Laos speaks. “Eh, I don't think that's what we're going for either. What else you got?”

Fernando's cheeks puff out in a sigh. It's so hard to please people. “That's about it in terms of newer stuff in that vein. Sports drama isn't the most in-demand genre out there. I've got some older stuff—Invincible and stuff like that—if you're interested, though. The releases that've been really big lately are mostly action-thrillers and comedies.”

“What about action? Just straight action,” asks Thailand. Fernando surmises that genre of film must have a fewer scumbag liberals per capita.

“Guns-and-explosions action or ass-kickery fisticuffs action?”

Vietnam chuckles and shakes his head. “'Fisticuffs.' Get a load of this guy here.” Fernando ignores that.

“Give us the best of both,” says Laos.

“Alright. Hobo With a Shotgun's basically a homage to the single angry man seeking revenge for a slight done to him or his community movies from the '80s. Rutger Lauer plays a badass homeless man who's fed up with the mob.”

Laos nods. “Good action?”

Fernando shrugs. “He sticks a guy into a sewer access, ties a rope around his neck, and hitches the other end to a delivery truck.” Vietnam and Thailand make approving noises upon hearing that. Laos takes the case from the rack and carries it with him as Fernando guides them to the next item on his to-sell list.

“I've also got Haywire. It's a...well, I won't call it a kung-fu movie, but it's quite a bit like Fighting or Blood and Bone, stuff where people beat the everloving shit out of other people using parts of their body.” At this juncture Fernando tries putting a bit of a sell on a third movie. “The main actress is actually a professional martial artist so, while the acting suffers a little—kind of like how it was in Act of Valor, the one that had the SEALs—the actual choreography and execution of the fight scenes is spectacular.”

Laos selects that case too. He doesn't bite on Fernando's additional recommendation, however. “I think that's about it for tonight, yeah?” he asks, looking at his companions. They shrug and make noises of agreement. “Okay, get us set up to rent these things.”

Fernando nods. “Easily done.” He retrieves one of his applications and the three men silently bicker over who gets the honor of filling it out. The responsibility becomes Thailand's in the end. He jots down what needs jotting down, hands over his license for inspection without complaint (miraculous, that!) and completes the slip of paper to Fernando's approval.

“Alright, that's seven bucks then.” The men pay and get ready to leave.

“Oh, yeah, almost forgot!” Fernando says. “Friday and Saturday I've got complimentary microwave popcorn, if y'all'd like a bag.”

“Sure, sure, we'll take one,” says Laos. The man extends a hand out to Fernando after the bag of popcorn is transferred over. “You know, Fern, you're alright.” Fernando shakes his hand. “Firm grip, too,” Laos says with some surprise.

Fernando shrugs. “I do the best that I can.” With this, the three man depart.

The not-really-remarkable thing is that Vietnam's binary worldview, which is apparently constructed in no small measure through political inclinations, would immediately shunt Fernando into the scumbag segment of the population, yet Fernando ended the encounter quite amiably. This is something that far too many people both locally and on a nationwide scale don't or refuse to grasp: political leanings don't fucking matter if you're trying to be a good servitor to a customer. Only a douchebag injects (or interjects) politics into the personal business relationship between customer and provider. Be Keepers of your respective Dominions, not Morality Polices of the External World.

The Chain Lengthens

Once upon a time, a pretty young lady came to the Dominion and Fernando visited a morally repugnant thing upon her, not paying attention in the slightest to her overall well-being. Fernando is certain that she does not look at Fernando, or the world, the same way as she did before the vile happening transpired. All semblance of trust and joy was leeched from her life on that fateful night.

This refers, of course, to the time Fernando convinced this innocent soul into renting the soul-crushing horror which is The Human Centipede.

She enters the Dominion one afternoon with a companion, another young lady who is a fairly regular customer. They approach the counter.

“Hey, do you have Batman and Robin?” the second girl asks.

“Oh god,” says Fernando, somewhat taken aback by the highly unorthodox request. “I think we once had it on VHS but it--”

“Got sold?” she interjects.

Fernando nods. “That, or it just up and died.”

“You never picked it up on DVD?”

“Well, this would've happened long before I ever set foot in this place, since I don't recall a copy of that movie being here even then,” Fernando says. “And it never really struck me as a high priority considering how, um, negative popular perception of it is.”

“I love that movie!” says the second girl. “She's never seen it and we've looked everywhere for it but can't find it.”

“I'm not surprised.”

“She tells me it's pretty awesome,” says the first girl.

“For various definitions of 'awesome,' sure. You could definitely do worse.”

The first girl chuckles. “Yeah, like that centipede movie.”

The other girl turns to face the first. “What centipede movie?”

“Human Centipede. It's pretty horrible,” says Fernando. He addresses the first girl again. “Did you know they made a sequel and there are rumbles of a third one?”

Her face grows pale. “Oh god.”

“Yeah, the sequel came out in like February. I did not deign to pick it up. I only got the first one for the 'so-bad-it's-good' crowd, but that one was enough. I'm not giving any more money directly to the people making it because I like to think I have integrity.”

“You say that, but you don't have Batman and Robin!” the second girl says, seizing upon the conversational opening to shame Fernando.

“I said I like to think I have it, not that I necessarily do. But tell you what. I have to search about for a new copy of The Dark Knight anyway, since my copy now looks and plays like someone took a dump on it. If I come across a bundle-deal-thing for that and maybe some of the other older Batman movies, and it's not unreasonably priced, I'll see about picking it up.”

“Well, I don't care about the other ones. I just want that one!”

Fernando dips his head downward in a quick nod. “Fair enough.”

“If I leave you my number, will you call me if you pick it up?”

“Absolutely I can.” Fernando fetches pen and paper and scribbles down the number she offered him. He is a smooth operator.

Then, because Fernando is ever one to test the boundaries of the relationships he forges with others, he asks the girl, “So, you want to rent Human Centipede then?”

She wisely declines.

Inevitability

A pair of high school girls enter the Dominion one afternoon. Fernando recognizes the one of them as the daughter of a regular but he has never seen the other before. They browse the store and select a couple of movies, the tags of which they bring up to the counter.

Fernando begins filling out the rental slip in the name of the father of the girl he recognizes. She sees him doing this and snaps out her arm, grasping Fernando's writing hand in her own. “Stop!” she shouts.

Naturally, he ceases his writing, though it is more from recoiling at the unsolicited touch than a desire to obey her command. “Yes?” he asks.

“Don't put it under my name. Put it under hers.”

“Okay. Could I get your name?”

“Yemen Abstinence.”

“Do you have an account here?”

“No.”

“Then you'll need to set one up.”

“Why does she need to do that?” asks the familiar girl.

“Well, if she wants to rent it under her name, then her name needs to be in the system.”

“Can't we just put it under her name but use my dad's account?”

“Asking me questions like that is the prelude to something horrible happening.”

“What?” says the second girl.

Fernando elaborates. “Usually when people arrange things like this it results in me losing some of my property. I just don't see why this needs to be so complicated as to not have it just be under your name.”

“I don't want it to be under my name,” says the first girl.

“Or your dad's name.”

“She's the one that wanted to rent!” Now the first girl's voice takes on the wheedling whine held in common by all teenagers.

“Then she can set up the account. This shouldn't be that hard.”

The second girl speaks again. “What if I put it under my mom's name?”

“Does she have an account?”

“She should. Somalia Lentils.”

At this juncture, Fernando openly facepalms. This name is that of one of his regular customers. A shuffling of that woman's social bonds deck must have occurred in the past. “Why...didn't you just tell me that to begin with?”

The second girl blinks at Fernando in confusion. “You didn't ask.”

Fernando gave up and let them rent.

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?

Elderly Accomodations

It's a slower than slow evening at the Dominion. Graduation season has arrived and the weather is being mighty uncooperative to Fernando, which is a euphemism for 75 degrees and sunny. The door is propped open by an old VHS case and Fernando reads up on how Battleship is being eviscerated by critics. Then the phone rings. The caller ID reads “Hyperline, Inc.”

Hmm, thinks Fernando as he crosses the room to answer. Telecom company, maybe? That's a telecom name. It could be a pornographers' name, and it is the time of year when they ply their wares....

“Hello, Dominion of Movies.”

“Hey. Do you guys rent video games?”

“We have a few here. Why do you ask?”

“My name's Denmark and I'm calling from Hyperline. We're a company that distributes gaming peripherals, including third-party ones for older consoles like Nintendo, Super Nintendo, and so on.”

This call's content is something that Fernando had never encountered before, and he has vague personal interest in these things, but from a business perspective he has no money or space to dedicate to stocking twenty-plus year-old hardware, to say nothing of the games he would need to procure from somewhere on top of it. On top of it all, Fernando's customer base these days is more interested in shiny new Call of Duty clones over grueling, “ugly” platformers from the days of yore.

Denmark continues: “If you wanted to give me your name and contact information, email and so on, so we could set you up that would be fantastic.”

Fernando says, “I'm sorry, but I don't have any interest.”

“Well, this is the Dominion of Movies and Video, right?”

“Yes.” Nobody ever uses the store's full name, but there is in fact a “Video” appended to the end of the name in official documents. Hell, once in a very very great while Fernando comes across something addressed to "Dominion of Movies and Video Club."

Notwithstanding “videos” and “video games” have two different meanings.

“Are video games moving slowly for you, then? If you could give me a baseline of what you carry, so that we can get on the same page as to your needs--”

“I don't have any needs right now, sorry. I'm not interested. Bye.” Fernando hangs up.

Then he looks around at the empty store and thinks to himself, That was the most interesting thing that's happened to me all day.

Living the dream!

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.