Guys Named John: My Nanowrimo

Guys Named John1


I smelled like wet dog. But I always smell like wet dog, I guess. This is a wonderful realization to come to when at work, especially in a small, tidy, quiet little music store, where anything and everything can be smelled, I’m sure. But it wasn’t going to change, and I would have to just stand there, pretending I didn’t smell like wet dog. Because that’s always what I did. 2

I didn’t just smell like wet dog. My pockets were full of pens, an ipod, and sheet music strips I had ripped out of my score paper notebook. I only took the good ones and kept them with me when I went places, so I could maybe look at them and change them around if I didn’t like something about it. It all together bulged at my hips (and not in the attractive way. In the tumor-like way). I actually tried to put effort into how I looked today, because today was a work day and I was supposed to look nice. 3

Supposed to. 4

My bangs were awkwardly parted to the side, the bulk of my hair threatening to explode a thousand ways, only to be contained by one small hair tie. I had put on the shirt that looked so sexy in the mirror this morning that now I realized was too tight on the boobs and made my stomach bulge. Glasses falling over my nose did not make me look any sexier. The argyle sweater scratched at my arms, the plaid skirt added five pounds to the appearance of my legs, and these school girl shoes were a cruel and unusual punishment for my feet. Of course, in my mind, it all worked together perfectly and I looked absolutely gorgeous. But that was my mind, and no one else knew my mind. 5

Which was probably a good thing. A very good thing indeed. People don’t always need to know what creeps around in the dark, mindless abyss…6

“Do you work here?” a voice asked, and I realized they were addressing me. You’d be surprised how commonly asked this question was, as if I totally didn’t look like I deserved to work here, yet I was just standing there, like most employees do. 7

“Oh! Yah,” I tried to wake myself up from thinking. That’s not always easy to do. “Can I help you with anything?” I turned to face the speaker, just like a good employee does. Then I realized who I was talking to, and how incredibly hot he was. 8

Customer #1: pale eyes, light hair swept to the side, fairly deep but melodic voice. Perhaps two years older? Who cares. Very hot. 9

“Right,” he thought for a minute, “Do you have any Dunlop Capos?” 10

Capos. Capos capos capos capos capos. No clue what the heck that was. Why were so many people, in my first week of work, asking for all sorts of obscure things I knew nothing about? I had asked Brad enough questions today, just like a small child: “What is this, Brad? And what is this? How do you do this? Where does this go?” And it frightened me to speak in the first place. Not just because I hated speaking in public in any form, but also because Brad clearly hated life right now and was ready to explode on the next inconvenient word. 11

“On the rack with guitar accessories,” He called from the doorway of the back room, trying to keep his expression as calm and collected as possible. Oh great; now he could just read the aura of the air to realize that I had absolutely no clue what I was doing. 12

The attractive customer looked over in the direction where the voice came from, then noticed the guitar accessories rack, hovering towards it as if a magnetic force of guitar obsession drew him there, against his conscious will. I just stood there and watched him with a sigh. Now if only I could be one of those cheesy soap opera girls, going behind him and talking to him, and ending on a note along the lines of “You have the most gorgeous eyes…” 13

To which he would say something like, “Thank you. You have very beautiful eyes too. Want to go out?” 14

Because life was totally simple like that. 15

And as stated above, I fear speaking in general. Being ignored, naturally, was a better fate than making a complete idiot out of myself. Maybe that was why I still had no boyfriend. Or maybe it was because of my awkward clothes and bulging hip pockets, or the baby fat that refused to die. Maybe I just needed to stop dreaming.16

…No.17

Leaning against the counter, my chin in my hand, I let out a sigh as I watched the hands on the clock painfully drag by. 1:00. Three more hours to go. Oh delight. 18

~19

-boss = awesome20

Employees only. The first time I read the sign, I loved it, because I was now an employee, which meant I was special and could go into that room blocked off from the rest of the non-music-store-staff-world. It was an escape from the work world, a haven from snappy customers and lines of chaos. It was dark, cold, open, airy, the kind of place you want to curl up into a ball and drink a hot cup of tea in. Or at least, that was what I wanted to do.21

Oh how dark and quiet it was in there, and how all the beautiful hard shells of instruments lined the shelves, all just waiting to be played. There was some sort of calming feeling back there (maybe because there were no people!), one that I couldn’t quite try to describe, but it was the place I could breathe, escape, take a drink of tea and still get paid for it: still let the minutes tick away without the pressure of hearing the clock. It was a good place to let ideas 22

o employees only, 0nt the back/storage room: romance scene?, hangs out in storage room, there’s an aura in the back room, something calming, peaceful about it. There are hundreds of voices boxed up, wanting to be set free. SET THEM FREE, DANG IT! RENT!23

-job absolutely PERFECT! Except cassie.24

~25

I love how everyone comes right before my shift ends, just to spite me. So, I had absolutely nothing to do for the past four hours, but now as soon as I’m about to leave, customers crowd around me with the same questions: “We need to rent a flute for band class.” “I need a flute band book” (which friggin’ one?!?!) “How much is it to buy an alto saxophone?” And of course, being the good employee (?), I answer their questions, run around the store getting all of the things they need, and explain everything that they need to know. Goodbye, another hour of my life.26

Today however was my lucky day, because just about everyone was working today. Brad was holding a bunch of complicated papers in his hands, working mainly in the back, but there were at least four other people on their shift out in the front. I had been told all of their names, but that doesn’t mean I actually remembered any of those names. 27

There was some guy named Will, who I almost never worked with. But I was glad I didn’t because he had a fidgety, almost gay (oh sorry, lemme be more subtle: effeminate.) way about him. He played the flute. Maybe that had something to do with it. 28

Then there was Devin, the one I had never actually heard speak. He worked freakin’ fast, and was always the one called to do the complicated jobs because he would simplify them and get them done without a second thought. The only sound he made was from the metal clanging from the chains of his pants, with every step, clang clang clang. 29

There were only a couple other girls that worked here, but I never remembered their names. I just remembered the training day, and how I heard the name Cassie said a few times for different people. So if I forgot their names, I usually called for “Cassie”. That usually got at least one person there. 30

“You’re going to practice the violin, right? Good; how about let’s make a pinkie promise.” I rolled my eyes at the horribly familiar words. Her name was probably Cassie. The boss totally loved her, especially when she pulled out the cheesy “pinkie promise” trick. Her grin was glued on during work hours, and she successfully drew in every customer to buy all sorts of useless things they didn’t need. In the world of working at ______, she was absolutely perfect, and I absolutely hated her for it. My job here was paradise, complete awesomeness…but then there was her.31

Sure, she smiled when she did her work, and knew everything in the freakin’ store on day one. Yes, she sold the most of the newly hired part time. But as soon as no one was around, her grin ripped off and her colourful rainbow of curses and complaints rose to the heavens. The boss didn’t know that, of course.32

I only knew because I adored the back room with all of my soul. Did I tell you about that yet? Oh that’s right; I did. So anyways, I was doing what I loved to do: pretending to work in the back room. Or maybe, actually working in the back room, like writing numbers of sizes on viola cases, but doing it painfully slowly, just so I could stay back there longer. Either way, I was back there, and I was being my invisible quiet self. 33

Naturally, Cassie thought she was alone and free to take off her super grinning mask and let out her “rainbow of curses”, most of which were thrown to our boss. Our freakin’ awesome boss. Who totally didn’t need to be cursed at and who fueled our paychecks. Seriously, at a part time temporary job with an easy schedule, when you get paid eight bucks an hour, and the boss is pretty relaxed, what is there to possibly complain about? But she found something and repeated it again and again until my ears wanted to bleed. But I stayed in place in fear that my slightest movement would cause her to see me. You know, just like in those movies. 34

And just like those dramatic movies, my fingers slipped and a piece of chalk dropped to the floor. Darn chalk. Between the instrument cases, I noticed her eye brows raise at the sound. She first looked to the door, then to the back hall of the room, and saw no one. With a sigh of relief, she took a sip of her coffee and headed back out to the cash register. 35

I was safe. 36

Well, actually, then I banged my head into a giant trombone case on the shelf above me. And it hurt. Real bad. But at least Cassie was gone and I knew what she really was. 37

It wasn’t like I could tell ____ though. That’s not exactly the grounds for firing someone (oh how I wish it was!), and most of all: how could I prove something like that? I was new, not able to be trusted—yet. Plus it would look like I was saying that just to spite her. Admittingly, there was some spite in there, but that was not everything. Oh no, certainly not everything. That was just the first episode in a horrible series called my life: Cyndy Strings and her perfect enemy, Cassie.38

~39

It was just like Christmas! Across the cold cement floor of the back room, there was cardboard box after cardboard box all with the fluorescent stickers “PACKING LIST INCLUDED” on them. Brad told me that I should drag them to the front and open them up. And when he said drag, he meant drag. 40

I wanted to be all strong and feministic-girl-power-like, picking the giant boxes up with my bare hands and lift them so carefreely as if they were all empty. But that instantly failed when I couldn’t even grip the cardboard. So I tried bending down and lifting it from the bottom. Oh, the pain! Never try that again! Hence, I resorted to Brad’s command to drag, push, attempt to move the boxes across the store. 41

It was a long, slow, painful process, but I was successful (not without customers giving me odd looks here and there). Taking a pair of scissors in my hands, I stabbed the cardboard flesh and jumped back when I was sure I heard a squeal from inside. I waited, there was nothing, and I felt like a complete idiot. Again. 42

Inside was a box. And another box. Then there was just lots of packaging popcorn. And bubble wrap. I had absolutely no clue what I was supposed to do with these other boxes (Brad’s annoyed response later was “Maybe open them!”) so I left them aside as I went on to stab another giant packaging box. When I did, contents of stock flowed from the sides, as if grotesquely symbolizing blood. …I killed it?43

“Oh great, more stock,” Another Cassie laughed. The older Cassie. The nice Cassie. The non-cursing, non-evil Cassie. 44

!!45

She snuck it into her pocket, lifting a finger to her lip. “You didn’t see a thing, right? I mean, its just a dumb reed.” 46

One side of me was about to run out, find ____ and shout “Cassie is a _____!”. The other part of me observed, what a dumb thing to steal. So I followed the outward appearance I held of “good girl wanting to be cool”, nodding my head silently and continuing to sort through stock. But I remembered. Oh, I remembered and kept that pathetic black mail in the back of my mind for a rainy day. 47

…When I thought that, I meant it in a figurative way, and yet the next day I worked, it was raining. That was one of those bad omens, I thought. Like if I had run over a black cat or something on the way here. And because it was early in the day, it was just me and _____ 48

-sneak stuff from the stock into pocket49

o STOCK!!, just like Christmas opening the boxes50

Gratuitous four letter words, 51

o nostalgia of dozen a day and bastein, piano lessons52

~53

I. Establish Tension, packing popcorn spread all over back room, perfect girl blames cyndy, cyndy treated worse afterwards: b/r duty, fold cardboard, stock, competition for commissions,54

More of that darn packaging popcorn and bubble wrap, naturally.55

Mr Ian Woon: the annoying inspector man56

, pianist, romanticist, despirate, musician dreams, imaginative, dream name-add some ys, 57

I was sensing a pattern in my life. The guy before me in vocal lessons, my co-worker, the sexy boy across the room in class, even the guy who sold burritos down the street: they were all named John. Why was every freakin’ cute male named John? Well, I tried to reason, that is a common name. Yet it was such a horrible, beautiful, romantically disgusting coincidence. Irony; that’s what it’s called. …I’ve decided I hate irony now. And the worst thing about it is that I couldn’t do anything about it. 58