Jackassitude II

Around 2 PM that same day, a pair of sixteenish-year-old ladies enter the Dominion and approach the counter.

“Hi,” says one of them, who has a nose ornament that dangles below her nostrils like the lead on a cow. “We were wondering if you had any copies of Jackass 3 in yet. Our friend said that you had one waiting for him.”

“Er...you mean Mr. Salami?”

“Yeah.”

“Um, that seems to be a miscommunication. I actually don't have any of my copies back yet.”

“What are those movies there?” she asks, pointing to a pair of cases resting on the desk behind the counter, near Fernando.

“Those would be The Walking Dead and The Next Three Days. I'm holding them for someone else.”

“Well, how come those are in but Jackass 3 isn't?” she demands.

“Um...I can't really control when people choose to return the movies they'd rented the day before. The only stipulation is that they have to be back by seven PM to avoid late fees.”

She tilts her head in a way that exactly mimics Quizzical Dog. “Only what?”

“Stipulation. Constraining edict. Rule.”

“Oh,” she says, seemingly content in her vocable ignorance. Then, after a moment, she continues, “You should call the people up right now to tell them to bring the movie back.”

Fernando scratches the side of his face. “I mean, it's basically theirs until seven. I could call people up to ask for them to return things early, but that's kind of a—pardon the pun—jackass move for me, wouldn't you agree?”

“I don't see how it's not,” she sniffs. “My friend wants to rent the movie. You'd get money for it.”

“I understand that. But I'm not going to call up and harass a customer who is allowed to have possession of my property until seven PM in order to make an extra three-fifty off it.”

“Well, when are you expecting it to get back?”

Fernando resists the urge to sigh in frustration. “Again, I don't control when people choose to return the movies they have. If I had the power to snap my fingers and have one of my copies materialize on the desk in front of me right now, I would. But I don't. Rest assured, Mr. Salami's at the top of the list for this thing and I will be giving him a call the minute I get one of my copies back. There's nothing more I can do.”

“What if none of them get returned?” she asks. “What if you get one back and don't call?”

“That would be idiocy on my part because I'd be negatively impacting my income. And to answer your first question, that's why I have late fees.”

“So you'll have one back before seven?” she asks, something vaguely resembling comprehension alight in her eyes even as her words reveal she's not at all following the words Fernando had been saying..

“Odds are pretty good I'll have one back before seven. None of my copies have been returned yet. But it's possible that I won't have any back before seven. In which case those people would be responsible for late fees. Like I said, I can't control what other people do.”

“Oh. Well, don't forget to call then!” she says, then leaves with her silent companion.

Fernando shakes his head and turns to his computer screen and opens the OpenOffice document in which he records his Chronicles. And he proceeds to write the very tale that has just been in part related.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, in part.

Jackassitude

One Saturday the phone starts to ring about an hour before opening as Fernando is sorting his returns. Normally Fernando ignores phone calls, especially those that read CELLULAR NUMBER, that long before he's officially “on the clock,” as it were, but on this day he feels subconsciously extraordinary and picks up.

“Hello, Dominion of Movies.”

“Yeah, I was wondering if you had Jackass 3 in.”

“Um...I don't have any copies in at the moment, but if you wanted to give me your name and number I can give you a call as soon as I get one in.”

“Uh. Ok. It's Sammy Salami, and 101-0110.” Fernando jots this information down in his Notebook of Infinite Might and Justice and reiterates to the young man that he will contact him once someone returns one of Fernando's copies of that godawful movie.

They exchange good-byes and Fernando resumes his lonely vigil in the empty store, keeping entertained by reading Fark and consuming coffee.

A little more than one hour later, at around quarter after twelve, about fifteen minutes after opening....

-Ring ring ring-

“Hello, Dominion of Movies?”

“Yeah, have you gotten back Jackass 3 yet?” It is the same man as earlier.

“Er...no, no I haven't.”

“Well, do you know when you'll have them back by?”

“Not really. I've only been open for about fifteen minutes and have only gotten back maybe a quarter of the movies that were rented yesterday. All my copies are due back today, though, so odds are pretty decent that I'll have one in at some point in the nearish future.”

“Oh, ok. You're still giving me a call when you get them in?”

“Absolutely.” And the young man hangs up, and Fernando resumes his wait.

DUN DUN DUNNN

Signage

Fernando is helping a customer one evening and goes to retrieve the movies she has requested. When he collects them and brings them to the counter, the woman says, “I just wanted to tell you that I love your sign.”

“Sign?” asks Fernando, “Which one?” Fernando has a number of signs proclaiming different things, for example the rules for his weekly drawing or his Name Your Price shelf, strewn throughout the store.

“That one.” She points at a printed notice affixed to the archway leading from the foyer at the front of the store to the area housing all the rental cases. The sign reads “THIS IS NOT A DAYCARE. KEEP YOUR CHILDREN UNDER CONTROL,” in crimson ink.

Fernando chuckles. “Oh, yeah. Thanks. Yeah, that one got put up after an unfortunate incident about a year and a half ago.”

The woman produces a dainty and nevertheless impressive snort. “You're telling me. I used to work for the state. You wouldn't believe the 'parenting' some of these kids had,” she says, utilizing the awesome power of air quotes in full.

“Definitely,” Fernando agrees. “One or two at a time are reasonable, but piles of kids tend to increase chaos exponentially instead of merely multiplicatively.”

The woman laughs. “So, what happened?”

Fernando sighs as he travels down a trite metaphor to recollect. “There were two different groups of kids in the store with their parents. At one point, they started wrestling among themselves. It ended with about two-thirds of the kids-slash-family section on the floor.”

The woman winces. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. Ouch. So, same day, I put up the sign because the parents just stood there while this was happening.”

“I could never have gotten away with that at my old job,” she says with regret.

Fernando barks a short laugh. “It's one of the perks of being your own boss. Sure, the signs aren't exactly professional quality, but I get to be my sarcastic self upon them. Makes it all worthwhile.”

The woman laughs again, gathers her movies, bids Fernando a good night, and departs.

Civil War

It's Monday afternoon at around 3.30. Fernando had just finished grinding some coffee beans and getting a pot of coffee percolating in the back room when a regular customer enters the store. As he begins browsing the new release rack, Fernando greets him.

“What's this Game of Death?” he asks once Fernando has closed the distance somewhat.

“Oh, that's one of Wesley Snipes' last movies before his, ah, unfortunate legal troubles,” Fernando responds.

“Legal troubles? What happened?”

“He decided to not pay his taxes for a couple of years and Uncle Sam paid him a visit.”

“That's bullshit. You don't see Uncle Sam doing anything to all the Mexicans who don't pay taxes.”

Whoa. Had Fernando known his innocuous attempt at making conversation would lead to a misguided political screed, he would have omitted the part about legal troubles.

And the man continues: “You know that's all they do? They come here, take all the jobs, them and the Indians (Fernando assumes he meant the ones from the Indian subcontinent and not the ones seven miles down the road), and they never pay any taxes and after ten, twelve years they pick up and go home and we don't see a cent.”

“Well, they do pay sales taxes,” Fernando cautiously states. He doesn't want to too thoroughly dismantle the talking-points-laden tirade because people usually get finicky and offended when it's pointed out they're wrong, and finicky and offended people run full-tilt down a death-spiral of stupidity..

“Those don't matter. They don't pay income tax. And they get to go to school for free. Some Indian comes over here and gets paid by the gover—by our tax dollars to go to school to be a doctor, but if you,” and here he points at Fernando's chest, “want to go to school to be an accountant you're on your own!”

Fernando isn't sure what he can say in response that doesn't involve being relentless and forever losing, at minimum, one customer to a thorough debunking of the words that had just been said. Apparently this silence is taken as agreement on Fernando's part because the man continues, “What we need is a civil war, something to get rid of all the mooches once and for all.”

“That's just the way things go,” Fernando finally says, hoping to sound simultaneously diplomatic and finished with this conversation.

Thankfully, the man gets the hint and leaves.

Time Sinks

Fernando has one particularly vivid memory of being seven years old. It was a Saturday morning and, as with most Saturday mornings in the year 1991, cartoons were of utmost importance to a great portion of the population. Fernando was engaged in a heated argument with his younger brother this morning at around 8.30. His brother wanted to watch A Pup Named Scooby Doo on ABC.

Fernando, though, had done the thing that people simply stop doing, for some mysterious reason, once they reach a certain age: he had gotten up bright and early, incredibly early, something like 5.30 AM early, in order to play the copy of Mega Man 3 that he had leveraged his mother into renting from the local video store for the weekend the day before. For those of you who know the game's geography, Fernando was currently paused on the long ladder in Magnet Man's stage after the disappearing-blocks-over-bottomless-pits-and-oh-here-are-some-magnets-to-make-it-more-hellacious section. Fernando ended up losing that argument and had to turn off the NES. It was heartwrenching.

The above trip down nostalgia lane is one of the examples of Fernando's penchant for video gaming. He was quite an avid gamer in his younger days, especially with regards to role-playing games. About his junior year of college, though, he flagged in his dedication because at that juncture it became necessary to devote more than just a token effort to doing well in his classes (that, and he was finally taking interesting courses pertaining to his fields of study instead of boring required blowoff things like Intermediate College Algebra and Fundamentals of Interpretative Reading).

So Fernando sort of fell behind the electronic gaming curve and, well, he has never really caught up. His most recent console is a PS2 for which he has maybe four or five games total, all RPGs or strategy-RPGs. He has a DS but only owns about four games for that. Most newer PC games are right out because he's too stingy to upgrade his computer's hardware to play them at a functional level, spare time notwithstanding. He follows gaming trends decently, though, as befits his status as Keeper of a Dominion dedicated to home entertainment.

But he doesn't have the time to be what is commonly considered to be a “hardcore” gamer these days. Oh, he sinks his fair share of hours into Dwarf Fortress or League of Legends, but gone are the days of the ten-hour video game marathon. Fernando is a little sad at that. There really is some queer, visceral joy he derives from going a full night without sleep just to play that much further into his new electronic toy. But he simply can't when he has to work the next day, every day. So now he simply squeezes in a bit before or after work or fires up Bejeweled (that one doesn't need a hyperlink) or GemCraft when things are extra slow and he's not otherwise sucked into Wikipedia or TVTropes or Fark or writing or whatever.

This is the personal downside of maintaining his own Dominion. He's weirdly OK with that.

Five. Five Dollar. Five Dollar Rental.

One Saturday not long after opening a pair of women enter the store.

“Excuse me,” one says to Fernando, “But I'm looking for a movie that I saw advertised once a while back...it has, oh, Annette Benning in it and it's called...called...something about kids.”

“The Kids Are All Right? I've got that one right over here,” responds Fernando, who leads the duo to the movie's hiding place.

“Oh, thank you so much!” says the woman, who plucks the tag. Fernando returns to his chair while the two women browse the new release rack for a bit longer before coming to the counter.

Fernando goes about filling out the rental slip while one of them digs through a purse for money. “It's $3.50,” he says.

“What?” says the other woman. “Why only $3.50?”

“Well, uh, it's a new release, so it's $3.50.”

“But the sign says $5.”

“Sign? Wait, no, no, no, no. That's for two nights. If you wanted to rent the new release for two nights. Then it's $5; $1.50 for the extra night. For a single night it's just $3.50.” And then, in a burst of halfhearted salesmanship and squeezing an extra buck and a half out of a not-very-strong renter, “You didn't want it for two nights, did you?”

“No, no, one night is fine. Wow, it says right there 'two nights.' I don't know how we missed that.”

“No problem. These things happen,” responds Fernando. So the proper amount of money on this rental is exchanged and the two women came away from the store much happier than upon entering it. And Fernando returns to his chair.

Ethnic Wealth

One of Fernando's customers, the one who generally complains about everything, enters the Dominion one evening. He's in a fey mood for some reason. He whistles as he browses the shelves.

Finally he selects his movies and brings the tags to the counter. “Hey, Fernie, is it alright if I pay you in quarters today?”

“Absolutely,” Fernando responds. Paying entirely in change is alright so long as the individual in question is willing to wait out the time it takes for Fernando to count out the coins. Quarters, not a long time. People who pay in dimes, nickels, and pennies generally learn the lesson after their first transaction. Fernando likes to be sure of his tallies, so he double-checks his work.

So the man counts out fourteen quarters and arranges them on the counter as Fernando goes about getting the movies. “Y'know, Fernie, the only reason I'm paying with change today is because I ain't got nothing smaller.”

Fernando waits a beat to let the anticipation grow. There's only one reason anyone ever talks about his or her economic status with Fernando: it went through a marked change in either one direction or the other. "Nothing smaller" implies an improvement. “Oh? Why's that?” he asks, waiting for the gloating to begin.

“Got my unemployment check today finally. Those bastards finally 'straightened everything out,'” the man says with disdain lacing his words. “Now I'm -black person- rich.”

Fernando is pretty certain his normally stoic facade broke in light of this sudden declaration, which has been edited for decency. “Um...what?” he asks, hoping he perhaps misheard the adjective in question.

“Got my unemployment,” the man repeats, “and I'm -nubian- rich. Now I don't have to sell my car.”

Fernando opens his mouth to say something but the man cuts in, “Yeah, I prolly shouldn't be sayin' that because of that PC crap. That, and anybody who has two bucks to their name can be called -attractive and successful African American- rich these days. Anyway, I'll see you later, Fernie!” And he leaves as mysteriously as he came while Fernando is stunned and speechless and unable to piece together any sort of meaningful response.

Fernando was shocked at what had passed moments ago only for the shortest while, until he remembered where he was and who he was dealing with. Then he shook his head in lament and resumed his duties.