{"id":3579,"date":"2010-10-27T09:30:28","date_gmt":"2010-10-27T09:30:28","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.alertnerd.com\/?p=3579"},"modified":"2010-11-03T17:01:31","modified_gmt":"2010-11-03T17:01:31","slug":"retcon-punch-episode-04-strategery","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.alertnerd.com\/?p=3579","title":{"rendered":"Retcon Punch, Episode 04: Strategery"},"content":{"rendered":"

New to Retcon Punch? Start at the beginning.<\/a><\/p>\n

What the fuck did I do?<\/p>\n

I wake up in my recliner way too late, and feel like garbage–not physically, but mentally, like someone took a shit in my head. <\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll think about it.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d <\/p>\n

I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll think about it?!<\/p>\n

What the fuck I was thinking when I tentatively agreed to participate in a fucking heist at my job with a total stranger?<\/p>\n

Let me tell you what I was thinking. When I was in fourth grade, I love love LOVED my teacher, Ms. Mendelbaum. She had big poofy red hair and wore lots of pencil skirts. I actually wrote her a letter when June came around–I told her very seriously that I loved her, and I always would, and I hoped that someday we could meet again, when we were older. I enclosed a picture of myself, and she moved to Cincinatti that summer, with her husband.<\/p>\n

You will think me a fool, but I tell you true: Every relationship with a woman I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve had is just a pale echo of Ms. Mendelbaum. <\/p>\n

Agreeing to help commit a felony, however, is beyond the pale. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve sat through Vonda Shepard concerts, and I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve purchased maxipads, and I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve even read The Bridges of Madison County<\/I>, all for the love of a girl…but I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve never broken the law. <\/p>\n

And I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t even know this girl, so it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s not that quite yet; I know she dates assholes and I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m pretty sure I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m not one. I do know, however, that I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve had fucking credit debt looming over my skull since I was nineteen years old, and to be free of it forever without taking a handout from my parents or declaring fucking bankruptcy…I think I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d steal a dickwad\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s comic book to pull that off. <\/p>\n

This is all swirling in my head as I arrive at Superb to open for the day; there\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a note on the door, and as soon as I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve read it, I swipe it off and stuff it crumpled into my pocket.<\/p>\n

It says, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Ercoles, 9 p.m. tonight. \u00e2\u20ac\u201cV\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

So much of the commercial space down by the ocean has been taken over by mainstream yuppified touristy bars and restaurants, barely a step above Applebee\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s. Joints like Ercoles that have served mostly locals since the 1960\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s are a rarity. <\/p>\n

I like it because the rum and cokes are strong, and because there is next to zero chance of running into a client from the shop. With televisions perpetually tuned to any kind of conceivable sporting event and weekend nights full of trashy twentysomethings in clothes their mothers would not approve, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s not a geek hangout. <\/p>\n

Tonight, I order a Miller Lite and grab the first booth I see; it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s 9:30 before Veronica shows. The black jeans remain, topped off by a vintage Boy Scout uniform shirt; her hair\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s up in a ponytail. She spots me, grabs a beer of her own at the bar on the way in. She sits down across from me and gives me a warm smile, like we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re old pals and she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s meeting me for drinks to tell me all about her crummy boyfriend. At least I have no doubt that her boyfriend is indeed crummy.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Does Sid know you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re here?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153He\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s in Anaheim at some shithole, seeing a band.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d <\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s what he does.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t I know it.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

We drink in unison, almost as though we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re relieved neither of us has to follow up on that classic bon mot. It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s like a very small and shitty Algonquin round table.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153So like I said,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she says. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I owe my ex-boyfriend twenty thousand dollars.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153He can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t give you a payment plan for old time\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s sake?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153He froze the vig for old time\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s sake. That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the best I could do.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153And what, he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s going to break your legs if you don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t pay him back?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Eventually. His patience is wearing thin. I can tell.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a bullshit story,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I spit. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153You expect me to believe that you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re in debt to some thug you used to date, and if you don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t get him paid he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll rough you up, like some low-rent Sopranos<\/I> parody?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Believe it or not. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m telling you. I can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t control what you do with the information.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I should tell Sid about your little visit to the shop last night.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Pause. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Yeah, I won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I say.<\/p>\n

She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s done with her beer, and the waitress brings her a second without her asking. I wonder if she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a regular. <\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153So, did you think about it?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she says.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I suppose I did.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153And?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m just–I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m having a hard time getting my head around it.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You said it yourself–it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s easy. I have a buyer lined up for these comics, the Fantastic Four<\/I> and the Batman<\/I>. He\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s going to pay me $60,000 for the pair. We split that, and I still have enough to pay off Hector and maybe buy a shitty used car so that I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t have to rely on the fucking Sidster to get me around South Bay. You can do\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6whatever it is that people like you do with a lot of money, I have no idea. But I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m serious, and this is real. This could get scary and ugly if I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t take care of it, and I think quietly stealing a few comic books from a piece of shit former Rude Boy who spraypaints his bald spot–\u00e2\u20ac\u0153<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I fucking KNEW it. It never looked real.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Sorry to shatter the illusion,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she smirks.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Why are you with that asshole? No offense, I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t really know you, and I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m not sure I care, but I just have to know.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153He has a massive–\u00e2\u20ac\u0153<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Stop. No need. I knew that too.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You think I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m too good for him?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d She puts on an expression of mock sexy that reads as real sexy to me. It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s been a while, and I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m surprised at how hard it hits, how lonely I am.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I know you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re too good for him.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I blush into the bottle.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153He\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s tried, you know. Telling me my ass looks fat in jeans, ogling skinny fake boob bitches at the beach, that sort of thing.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153And yet, you stay.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Well, there\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s his…you know, and then once I decided to pull this caper, it made sense to stay close, to read the situation and gather as much info as I could. Why are YOU still around, anyway?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d\t<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Me? That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a big question.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153We have time.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

I contemplate telling her about that mild warm glow that comes deep in Wednesday evening when I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m working customers, rattling off wisecracks about ROM Spaceknight and Gorilla Grodd, but I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m not quite there yet. <\/p>\n

What I actually think about, in the tiny span between her words and mine, is why I haven\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t bothered leaving. Ennui, I guess? Getting stuck in a moment, in a place, in a job and a mildly addictive hobby that only provides redeeming moments deep in the dark black of a long night spent alone with an ever-growing pile of STUFF. Bad reasons, but reasons. <\/p>\n

Then I remember this one time when Sid happened to be in the shop, pretending to rack some new trade paperback stock, and a very recognizable geek filmmaker walked in, alone and undefended. I knew who he was instantly, and so did Sid; I greeted him with my usual, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Welcome, let me know if you need anything,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d and Sid POUNCED. This guy was submerged for at least fifteen minutes in this bizarre mix of fanboy worship, pathetic salesmanship, and mock-humble recitation of Sid\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s slight resume of pop culture success. <\/p>\n

Which was sad, sure, until it got mean, and he started talking about how he opened the shop to meet \u00e2\u20ac\u0153cool geek chicks with low self-esteem\u00e2\u20ac\u009d and hired \u00e2\u20ac\u0153losers like this flabby asswipe\u00e2\u20ac\u009d (meaning ME) to keep it running. I turned red and left the room; I saw the filmmaker guy turning red too, but unfortunately he could not escape as easily, and it was at least another ten minutes before Sid slammed open the door of the back room and started bragging and berating me at the same time.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Where the FUCK were you dude? You know I can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t work the cash register. What the FUCK am I paying you for? That guy was awesome and he was totally into a collabo.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

(Sid called \u00e2\u20ac\u0153collaboration\u00e2\u20ac\u009d a \u00e2\u20ac\u0153collabo.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d That goes on his douchebag list, for sure.)<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re a worthless piece of shit and I should fire you right now,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Sid finished up. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Good thing you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re so pathetic no one else would hire you and I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m a decent guy.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Suddenly, leaving seems like the best idea I never had before. Back at the bar, I finish peeling the label off my beer bottle.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m due for a job change,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I say. We spend the next few hours plotting our crime.<\/p>\n

Next Week: Stuff<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

New to Retcon Punch? Start at the beginning. What the fuck did I do? I wake up in my recliner way too late, and feel like garbage–not physically, but mentally, like someone took a shit in my head. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll think about it.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll think about it?! What the fuck I was thinking when I tentatively […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[402,401],"class_list":["post-3579","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-fiction","tag-retcon-punch"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.alertnerd.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3579","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.alertnerd.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.alertnerd.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.alertnerd.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.alertnerd.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3579"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/www.alertnerd.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3579\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.alertnerd.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3579"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.alertnerd.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3579"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.alertnerd.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3579"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}