Rental

I hear the crack of the TV overhead as the Mentos commercial interrupts the otherwise methodical reading of upcoming feature films. My attention goes back to the box I'm holding, now where was I? Oh right. Beautiful love story, with the tension that dueling families bring, blah blah blah. This one is a no. I gently set DVD back in place up against the wall angled precisely to match the others on the shelf. Maybe something with action? I think I'm in need of a little action. Things have been stagnant in life lately. I wake up go to work, come home and do a routine task like laundry, or cleaning bathroom mirrors. All the mundane things that make up being grown and alone. Yes, I definitely need an escape today. This one with the train on the front looks promising. Man with his suitcase, what could it be? Maybe it's a bomb! Perhaps it's important documents that need to get to the court for a make or break case and he's victim of the train being hijacked.

“Hey!”

“Hey man, what's up!”

I turn my head to look over my shoulder at the ruckus that has erupted at the front door. The men are laughing as old friends do when they have a spontaneous run-in. First bumps and hugs, followed by heads pulled in close and hushed conversation. The one who had just entered the door has fixed his gaze on the floor and furrowed his brow as he nods vigorously. Up and down his head goes, prompted by the other man leaning in, gesturing in short but wild movements of his hands. Clearly it was something serious. The first man stops nodding and shakes his head side to side. He takes a step back and then raises his hand to go in for a hand slap turned handshake. As abruptly as their meeting started, it was over. Both men pulled in for a hug followed by shouts of “You bet” and “no doubt!” as the second man left.

Suddenly a young enthusiastic store clerk appeared in front of me.

“That one's pretty good”, she said, her hand-flitting towards the movie I was holding. “It's kind of predictable, but still exciting enough to keep your attention.”

She paused expectantly, clearly waiting for my response to her interaction.

“Um-hm”, I mumbled.

The clerk continued to stare, unfazed by my rejection to cheery conversation. She stood there with complete disregard to my discomfort, smiling confidently in a way that made me feel stupid and clumsy. Now I had to say something else. I could feel the hair on my arms start to tingle as a familiar awkwardness began to clothe my body, hanging extra thick on my exposed skin. Immediately regretting my outfit choice of a tank top and jeans, I gave a shutter and rubbed my arm as if I was brushing off a chill. Unfortunately, fear is more resilient than goose bumps, and the panic continued to creep down my body and inched toward my toes. Once in my shoes it radiated through my body and entered the floor I was standing on. I immediately felt my right leg begin to crumble underneath me, so I braced myself by side stepping and painfully putting what I hoped was a smile on my own face before bringing up my hand to tug on my earlobe. “Ugh” I thought, “my signature ‘I’m uncomfortable’ move.” “I bet this girl never feels uncomfortable. I bet everything she does feels easy and natural. Oh god. She's still waiting for me to say something.”

“It looks really interesting!” I squeak, my voice an uneven mix of forced enthusiasm and genuine terror. “I mean, I'm so glad that you said something about it because I was debating and I wasn't sure if I should go with it or something else but I think now I'll give it a try.”

Still pulling on my ear, I took a deep breath with the intention of calming myself, but instead it caught in my throat and I coughed involuntarily. I tried to cover it with a chuckle.

The girl looked away, obviously clued in now to my social ineptitude. She breezily said, “Glad I could help”, and quickly walked towards another customer.

I watched her for a minute, my eyes glossed over as she cheerfully engaged another shopper. The other conversationalist, a man in a business suit, the trendy kind that looked like he enjoyed wearing it and finds identity in his professionalism, laughed heartily with the clerk as they discussed something he was holding. Their conversation was easy, and jealousy bubbled up in the pit of my stomach. I shifted my gaze toward the store window, and landed on the moving cars in the parking lot. It really was a terrible setup, with haphazard parking spaces; rows too close together for safe backing distance. That's why I never park next to the store, for fear that my distracted driving would result in an incident when I back out of my parking spot. Instead I choose to park by the Pier One store and walk the extra steps. It is either there, or near Ulta, which is completely out of the question. I feel my arm hair is prickling again just thinking about the customers going in and out of the store, beautiful flowing hair, perfect makeup, and nonchalant sweats. They are casual and untouchable all at once, and I don't feel qualified to walk the same sidewalk.

My attention snapped back to my present surroundings as the same clerk shot me a smile as she passed by. I returned her greeting with a raising of my eyebrows as I shook the movie slightly and nodded my head, my nonverbal signal that yes, I will give it a try.

I strolled towards the checkout, bracing every step with a pep talk in my head. “Keep going, you are doing fine. Now, ease a smile on your face, that’s it.” My feet felt heavy and I wondered if my shoes were unusually loud. Maybe it was the way I was setting my foot down after each step, I should try to be smoother with my gait; more controlled as my foot hit the ground. I imagined my foot was curved, turned up at each end, like a semicircle that would evenly distribute my weight as it rockered in stride. In my distraction, I overestimated how many steps were left and I awkwardly arrived at the counter with a thud as I bumped into it with the toe of my shoe.

“Oops!” I announced, glancing around to verify that I had only embarrassed myself in front of a single person rather than others lining up behind me. Thankfully it was just myself and the cashier. He sat down the DVDs he was carrying, being careful to separate them in three precise stacks.

“Hello”, he said, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

I wanted to exclaim , “No, I never find what I’m looking for”, and, “How can anyone know what they are actually looking for?” But instead, I looked at my shoes and said, “Sure”. “It's predictable, and it keeps my attention for a while”.