The automatic doors glided open with a swoosh, just like they did every morning. Brian “the cart wrangler” Harris waved like an idiot, just like he does every morning. Rebecca pulled her thick brown hair up into a pony tail, just like she does… Every-fucking-morning!
My knuckles ached and the tips of my thumbs were numb. Someone scratched the ‘M’ off my name tag to read ‘elvin’. I’m guessing it’s the same someone who glued elf ears all over my car. Fuckin’ pricks, all of them. Rebecca included. If she thinks her fruity goddamn lip gloss is gonna save her she’s delusional. “Hey Mel, register two is doing that weird thing where it doesn’t open. Kind of a problem”. ‘Yes Scott! No shit that’s a problem! Thank you for being so pro-active you fucking ass hat!’ Is what I wanted to say. What I actually said was, “Thanks for the heads up Scott! You’re doing a great job!” To which he replied, “Whatever fuck-tard!” *Sigh* Great guy that Scott… Solid individual.
I gloomed back down the shitty hallway to my even shittier office, the metal weighed down my pants. Now understand that when I say shitty, I don’t mean it simply as a colorful adjective for my place of employment. No, no, no… The whole store is actually painted shit brown. Accented ever so delicately by a tasteful, yellow, baby shit ceiling. As pleasant an environment as any? No?
I watched the clock tick for an hour and a half before realizing my shirt was soaked with sweat. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. Fuck them! If I’m going down, we’re all going down! Son of a bitch, here comes the ass hat again. “Hey Mel, you haven’t fixed register two and now Shauna’s freaking out”. Maybe I should pop him right now. Right in the head. But at this range there’d be whatever small amount of brain he has all over the wall. “Rightio Scott. I’ll get on that in just a minute”. Fuuuck me. Did I really just say rightio?
I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror this morning. Since Meg left all I wanna do is gut these useless fuckers with my bare hands! Woh, I have really gone insane. I wonder if any of them have even noticed? I’ll take care of Rebecca first. It’ll be the first shot in the face she can’t clean up with a wet towel. Then Shauna, followed by Scott, Brian and Cathy. Chris can live. He’s only been here six months and six months is definitely not enough time to earn my hate. He’s a good Irish kid, Mc-something… Does what he’s told, works hard. I wish I had just one more Chris. Or maybe more of me. Ah yes, a world with more Melvins. Hm… Maybe that’s not such a good idea.
I figured I’d enjoy some much deserved quiet time in the men’s room. Sort of a pre-game prep if you want. Can’t go on a murderous rampage all blocked up ya know. Down the two flights of stairs into the cement basement where the illustrious employee facilities are. I can’t even get cell phone reception in this dungeon.
After a 45-minute slice of alone time I made my way upstairs to the main hallway. The store was quiet, even from a distance. As I approached the swinging doors I noticed the pools of red and splashes of crimson lining the store. Rebecca laid face down at her checkout counter, shot in the back of the head. Scott had also been executed with a shot to the head. The others were all gunned down in much the same way, along with a few afternoon customers. There were bodies littering the floor, covering the linoleum tiles in fresh death. There was a note stuffed in the drawer of the number two register. It read, “Melvin, I made everything quiet in this horrible place. I decided to leave you out of harms way as I believe you’re a good man that works way too hard and would never give these fuckers what they really deserve. Oh, if you’re still wondering, a world with more Melvins wouldn’t be half bad. In fact I’m naming my band after you. The Melvins live at Club Soda! Sounds good doesn’t it? PS. I fixed register two. PPS. I quit. Regards, Chris McGovern”. (more…)