Brian's Song II

Ernest Hemingway once said "Every true story ends in death." Well, this is not a true story.

—————

I was returning a copy of "Something's Gotta Give" to the Towne Bookstore when I noticed Brian, the part-time and weekend clerk, was acting weird. And I noticed that when I walked in, he'd been playing Tonic's Lemon Parade, an album which he knows I love. But as soon as I walked by the counter, he replaced it with a "best of" compilation by Celine Dion (as if any "best of" collection by her wouldn't actually be a blank CD).

Brian also acted strange when I approached the counter with the DVD of the first Godfather movie in my hands. I was smiling from ear to ear, sure Brian would smile, too, knowing how much I love Francis Ford Coppola.

However he snatched the empty case from me and said, "You can't rent this. It's on hold for someone."

"Then why was it over on the shelf?" I asked, trying to take back the DVD jewel box.

Brian held it high above my head and stepped backward. "Better luck next time!" he said. "Find something else."

We went through this routine five more times. It wasn't until I went to him with a copy of Moulin Rouge (a movie I was sure I would hate as much as I hate all other musicals, and I told Brian so) that he allowed me my selection.

"You say you hate movies like this? Good. You can rent this one for sure, then," he said, scowling. "It'll serve you right."

By that time, the stupid song from Titanic came on, and I was ready to fall on the floor with my hands clamped over my ears, a howl of pain was rising up in my throat. I was close to bursting into tears when I finally begged Brian to please stop playing that music.

"I could even stand Bruce Springsteen better than Celine Dion!" I said.

"Look, you got your movie, so stuff a sock in it," Brian said irritably. "I'm not some monkey boy who's here to make sure you're happy with the music we play in this store."

"But Brian, why are you—"

"Don't even start! You gave me two lines of dialogue in that stupid story! Two lines, and they weren't even complete sentences!"

"Gosh, I'm sorry. But I—"

"And as much as I humor you! You and your endless stream of inane wisecracks while you're walking through the store. Everybody else just picks out a movie, pays and leaves. But not you! You have to say crap about everything you look at—like that you think Penelope Cruz is Salma Hayek's retarded cousin! Yeah, I laughed, but later on it hit me: that's not funny! Normal people don't say stuff like that. Was anyone twisting your arm to rent Vanilla Sky? I don't think so," he said.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I thought you—"

He cut me off again. "And another thing: your late fees. Don't you realize that when you keep a movie past the due date, you've actually stolen it? But do we call all these guys who are running for sheriff in town to come and arrest you? No! We just wait and wait and wait until some force of nature moves you to bring it back, sometimes a week later. If you ask me, you need a movie-return laxative," he said, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

"Gosh, Brian, a lot of people bring back movies a day or so late," I said. "Why are you attacking me about—"

"Right. Normal people do keep movies a day or so late. But only an idiot would keep a movie like Waking Ned Devine checked out for five days and then figure out it's been on the floor in the backseat of her car the whole time," he said, making me turn red with embarassment at the memory of that episode.

"I'm trying to be better about it," I said. "The last few movies I've rented—"

"I'm not talking about the last few movies you rented. A few months ago, at least fifty other lesbians in town were crawling all over my ass when you had that Kissing Jessica Stein movie out for an extra day," Brian said. "I should have sent them to your house to get it back."

I shrugged and sighed. "Well, I kind of wish you had sent at least one or two, actually. . ."

"Bah! You're not even listening," he said. "Just give me your money and go drive some other clerk crazy with your disregard for store policies and that stupid stand-up-comic-wannabe schtick."

I gave him my money, but then I went straight home and stared into space for about an hour. I sure felt creepy for the rest of the day, but at least I'd expanded Brian's cameo to a starring role. I certainly felt better about that.

I just hoped Citizen Jim would never find out about it. Or I'd be in so much trouble. . .

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