1st Person Single Vision- Writing Exercise

     “Can you believe it?” she said excitedly about the new place. “Two and a half bedrooms, two baths, a GIGANTIC living room with an outdoor patio? What the fuck? This place was a steal,” Stacy said to me when we moved in twirling like it was the Sound of Music and she was one of the Von Trap sisters. I couldn’t break her heart but it was a condo complex in an outdoor mall in Yonkers in the middle of the boondocks. It overlooked a parkway, graveyard, and was not a stone’s throw away from an electrical switching station. Moving from Long Island City after a third of it was permanently flooded to Yonkers was a shock but at least we could have a dog now if it didn’t’ get run over, electrocuted, or buried in a ditch.

     It was the beginning of February and the move was simple enough but there were too many boxes lying around half-opened, stacked on top of one another, pushed out of the way into the corners. We lived on take out from mall restaurants for the first two days. The cable guy couldn’t come until the 15^th for whatever reason but the televisions were already mounted in front of the couches right by the fireplace and bedroom. Some part of me wanted desperately to by a big ole white bear skin rug, tell Stacy to invite her girlfriends over, ply them with wine and see what happens. But we had two boxes full of movies and an empty apartment ready to be filled, stacked, and sorted with the discretion of our conspicuous consumption beliefs and patterns.  A world full of possibilities.

     “Hey, where is the electronics box? I want to see if there is a coaxial cable we can plug into the wall. Maybe we can get basic cable?”

     “I don’t know Paul, I think it may be in a box titled office or electronics.”

     “Stacy, Can you brew me a cup of coffee at least? I’m going to look in the boxes we put in the office or second bedroom. Shit what are we going to do with all this space?”

     “I don’t know, first world problems Paul.” She said yelling almost from the master bedroom.

     “Yeah.”  I mean when a place is empty it sounds empty but this place sounded beautiful. When I got to the second bedroom I just wanted to yell back, “R-I-C-O-L-A.” But Stacy would find that shit annoying sometimes.

     “Coffee is ready.” After 15 minutes of looking in a pile of unlabeled boxes I found the cable and grabbed some coffee when the doorbell rang.

     “Hey are you expecting someone? It’s S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y.”

     “I think it may be a package from Amazon,” she said.

     Should I care that I look like a bum? I opened the door trying not to.

     “Hey.”

     “Package for Mrs. Bart. Just sign here please,” the man dressed in the FedEx deliveryman uniform for today said.

     I had to take off my glasses, “Sure” I replied as I fumbled with them and, “Thanks,” when I closed the door.

    She came in half dressed after just having taken a shower, “Is this it?”

     “Yeah, is that it? You know if I was a deliveryman and you came to the door like that I’d pass out due to blood loss.”

     “Get away” she said smiling as I tried to grab her exposed breasts walking away back to the bedroom. “Hey can you do me a favor and get me some Gatorade at the store? I think I had too much to drink last night.”

     “Think? Which way is the store again?”

     “Just use the glasses that I got you for your birthday.”

     “Awesome.” But not exactly I got my coat, wallet, keys and phone, put some pants on and walked out the door, “ Orange, Red or Yellow Stacy?” I called back before I left out the open door. “I’ll get what ever they have then, call me if you need anything else,” I yelled out when she didn’t respond. 

    “That’ll be fine.”

     I put the glasses back and closed the door behind me.

    “Glasses on.” I said. Nothing happened. “Ellium!.” I commanded as I walked onto the courtyard. In the left frame a tiny LCD screen appeared and an earpiece that are connected to the frames and inserted into the ear, came a female voice, “ How can I be of assistance?”

     “Supermarket.”

    “Hi Paul there is a Whole Foods in the Westchester Ridge Hill Complex on Market Street. Please follow the hilighted path to your destination. Will that be all?”

     “Yes.”

     During my brisk 15 minute walk through Archer Ave. and Market St, I passed a total of 10 people.

     “Actually no. Glasses on.”

     “Yes Paul,” the female avatar said politely. I hadn’t yet customized the VSC-2020s but when you purchase them at least the name of the buyer is programmed into the software. Voice recognition is activated when they are first turned on by the individual user. The whole customization thing is a pain in the ass.

     “What is the weather like today?”

     “Weather for Yonkers, High of 36 degrees falling to 26 degrees Fahrenheit with a 46% chance of snow. Will that be all?”

     “Yes, that is all. Thank you Ellium.”

Not exactly the City but still quaint, Westchester’s Ridge Hill was a mall that was supposed to resemble a town in Florida or Arizona with one Avenue and a couple of streets. All of the stores and restaurants were within 15-30 minutes walking distance. There was also a tram but it wasn’t running at 9:48 on a Saturday morning. The sign on the supermarket says Stew Leonard’s not Whole Foods.    

     “Gatorade” I mumble to myself, “….Excuse me?” Over by the entrance is an employee wearing a white smock stacking oranges in evenly spaced patterns paying much attention to the detail of the spacing. “Sports drinks?”

     “You have to go all the way around until you see them. Sorry but there’s no easy way to it. But it’s right next to the canned goods“ He said.

     “Can I ask you another question?” 

     “Whole Foods moved out three years ago buddy. Upgrade your glasses.”

     “Thanks.” As I walked through the supermarket I realized that it had no aisles, just cut thrus every once and a while so you have to snake your way and meander through the whole entire store picking out the goods you want to buy.

     “Ellium what is my schedule for this week?”  I said, talking to my glasses. Calendar dates for the week of Monday 2/3/2020 were projected into the left lens.

     “Should I add anything Paul?”

     The Gatorade was by the canned goods like the man said. It just took some time walking around the store like some abandoned Coney Island funhouse without mirrors.

     “No, but you can stop calling me by my first name all the time.”

     “How shall I address you then?”

     I also picked up some other items for tomorrows game.  And approached the register: Smoked Gouda, potato chips, sour cream, French onion dip, fresh broccoli, carrots and Gatorade were almost spilling out of my arms.

     “Don’t. You don’t have to use my name. It creeps me out.”

     “Yes, sir.” She said, as I put the items down on the check out counter.

      Stacy called right as the items were being scanned. Digging the phone out of my pocket I answered,        
      “Hello?”

       “Hey, it’s me. Can you get some beer too, or wine if they have it? I really don’t want to go over Frank and Sarah’s without bringing something,” she asked.

     “$45.42,” the cashier looked up and said to me, “How do you want to pay?” The name on her badge said JEN in thick black lettering.

     “What? Wait, can I get wine or beer before I pay?”

     “Sir?”

     “One second okay?” I replied racing through the store like some TV reality obstacle course. The beer was next to the bottles of soda and water by the canned goods where the sports-drinks were. It took me less than 5 minutes to get a 12-Pack of IPA Craft Beer. I must have set some sort of record somewhere.

     “Hey, JEN?” I called out, “Where is the rest of the stuff?” The beer was getting heavy so I switched it from under one arm to the other. No one replied. An elderly woman looked back casually as the supermarket radio station played some dance song from the 1980s. 

     “Hello?!”

     “Wait your turn,” said the woman standing in front of me, her hair was gray and short. She wore some throwback glasses and a purple jump suit that zipped up with white shoes.

     “JEN, can I check out now? I got the beer where is the rest of the stuff.” I continued,. “You know, politeness still accounts for something these days. What makes you think…” the woman standing in front of me continued by this time she was looking directly up at me, almost into my nose. Everyone stopped what they were doing and all looked at me, or at her yelling at me.

    “Look I was here before, a minute ago, checking out.” 

    “Forget it,” the old woman said and turned around. “I apologize for this man’s lack of civility today,” she addressed the old man and two employees who then began their activities as before like nothing had happened. How fucking embarrassing was that? JEN went to another register turning on the light to let them know she was open to scan their items.

    “Is that all?” said the cashier who had short thick brown hair whose nametag read LISA as I put down the 12 Pack of IPA Craft Beer.

    “Yes,” I said. No I meant, where is my other stuff? 

    “That will be $18.59.”

     I pulled out a $20 bill from my wallet and paid the cashier. “Is there another store that sells sport drinks around here?” I asked.

     LISA looked at him, “Is that your hat?” she said.

     “Yes, Super Bowl MMXX. Do you think we will win?” I smiled at her confident in the Jets new rookie running back and retooled offensive line as she bagged the 12 pack of IPA Craft Beer and gave me my change with the receipt.

     “No. The Jets suck.” LISA said and then turned to the next costumer, “Hi, welcome to Stew Leonard’s. Did you find everything you came for today?” As I left the store all I could think was, “Gatorade, fucking Gatorade.”