Riot

RIOT

By Nuri Wennekers

Television had turned me into a social shut-in. At Least, that’s what the doctor told me. 

He said I spent too much of my free time watching mindless television. 

Too many sleepless nights watching cop dramas, reality shows, or the nightly news. 

Every single night, I’d watch actors have fake sex, or shoot fake guns at one another. 

In the daytime, I’d work at the mall’s electronics shop, selling TVs to families and students.  I got the job while I was a high school student. A decade later, I still wore the same nametag and faked the same fake smile each day. Television sets sat like boxes on top of one another, lining the walls of the store. Each screen played a different channel. The news, food network, the channel with the game shows, the channel with the old movies. 

My manager wanted most of the TV sets to be left on Channel 3, the channel that played infomercials all day and long. My manager didn’t allow me to leave programs consisting of sex or violence on the screens of the TVs. Our manager told us those sorts of things drove customers out. I’d changed a TV set to channel 8 just so I could watch it while I worked. I was courteous enough to choose a TV in the back corner. My manager wasn’t having it. When walked past the TV set, and got a glimpse of a homicide detective sleeping with a downtown prostitute on some cop drama, he threw a fit. I lost my TV privileges after that incident, but my boss couldn’t stop me from watching what I wanted when I was home. 

When I got home from that God-awful job, I’d grab my TV remote, and throw on channel 12. the one with all the cool stuff. I’d watch Channel 12 until it was time for the nightly news on Channel 5. The local news programs were boring when I was a kid. News programs of the modern age became hard to ritually gawk at. There was too much action to be ignored. 

A bank robbery, a drug-den shootout, a string of stick-ups or muggings. 

All over the country, all day long. Somebody being shot or stabbed to death. It was like watching an action-packed drama show, with the exception of the fact that it was all real. 

On Channel 8, this show about cops began airing after the news program. It wasn’t a scripted drama show. None of it was staged. Camera crews would follow real police officers into dangerous and crime-ridden sections of urban cities. The cops would chase, shoot at, and tackle fleeing criminals like they were on a football field. 

Channel 8 was really something. After the cop shows, reality talk shows revolving around social ills would play until midnight. The reality talk shows would revolve around pregnant teenagers, love affairs, domestic violence, and child abuse, all aired out to the public. 

A pregnant teenage girl, her older boyfriend (father of her child), and the parents of both parties would be on stage, surrounded by security guards, facing an audience of shouting and chanting onlookers, all taking place within a television studio space. 

An abused child would sit right next to their abuser, on the very same stage. Large bodyguards humiliate the abuser, as the crowd would cheer the ordeal on. The host of the show would revel in all of it. 

It was hard not to watch, and cheer. After midnight, the sex and violence were permitted to be aired. Cop shows involving taboo subjects. I’d be up until sunshine watching these shows. By the time I’d be ready to sleep, it’d be time for work. 

The insomnia was affecting my abilities at work, so I had to go see Dr. Schultz, who prescribed me the medication. When I told him about the constant television and violent thoughts,  he told me to stop watching television as often. I simply couldn’t… 

The moment I got home from the doctor, I turned on the nightly news.

Crime was skyrocketing in almost every city in the country. 

Riots were being organized and criminals were looting stores every week or so. 

I’d seen a large group of teenagers looting a grocery store while I was on the bus back from work. A month before that, a group of hooded men robbed the electronics store. 

I’d been selling a TV to an elderly woman when they all came running in. Each man grabbed a television set. All three fled as quickly as they came. The news reports claimed that police stations in 5 major cities had been burned down within the span of a week. Riots were becoming so large in certain cities, that the police didn’t have the manpower to handle the situations. While the National Guard was deployed in one city, another would go up in flames. Crowds of hundreds would turn into thousands, as city centers and shopping districts would be openly defiled. In the midst of the looting, teenagers and young people would set fire to cars, and buildings. Criminals would rob, and kill anyone who happened to be driving through the riot zones. A news helicopter filmed a massive fire in another city. A crowd of people had doused a gas station in its own gasoline, before ceremoniously setting fire to it. On my way to work, I noticed police all over the place. A store in my neighborhood had been looted the night before, all while I was watching the television news reports about the riots in another town. I couldn’t help but eavesdrop on a conversation I heard while I was waiting for the bus. Some old woman had been beaten up by a gang of hooligans so badly she’d died. Why hadn’t the news reported on it? I thought to myself. Our manager didn’t want any of the television sets in the store to play news programs that were covering the country-wide riots. When this would happen, he’d switch the TV to another program. All my coworkers could talk about was the impending state of demise. The entire country was rioting, and no common person could reason why. The social and political implications were obvious to many. 

The doctor had told me to turn the television off by midnight and stay in bed even if I couldn’t sleep. Even if I wanted to sleep, the sounds of the chaos outside kept me awake. The people kept screaming and cheering, as they smashed in storefront windows to grab the goods inside. It got terrifying after a while. Someone fired off a pistol. I heard people screaming and stampeding down the street trying to get away from the gunman, who’d fired a single shot into the air, or maybe into somebody. I could only hear it after all. I lay in bed like a petrified child, wrapped up in my safety blanket. The doctor had told me to keep the television off for good after midnight. I wanted it on, but my guilt-ridden conscience told me to just do what the doctor told me. 

Then it happened. Someone managed to open my bedroom window. My apartment is three stories up, so the son-of-a-bitch must’ve climbed up. He had a crowbar in one hand, and a pistol in the other. He’d used the crowbar to pry open the window. He casually hopped through the window, immediately taking notice of my awake self. I couldn’t see his face. He pointed the pistol in my direction. My eyes shot open. 

“Make a move and I’ll blow your head off!” he said softly. He yanked the cord out of the electric wall socket, taking my TV with him on the way out. 

The cops told me there was nothing they could do. They wouldn’t even come to my apartment. The 9-1-1 operator had told all officers they were busy dealing with the mass civil unrest, and that I needed to come into the station to file a report. I spent midnight until sunrise in the police station. Cops were bringing groups of 10 or 20 looters in at a time. The jailhouse got so full, that they started sending arrestees to football stadiums the city police department had rented out. Sitting in the waiting area of the station, I watched the mounted television set that sat in the corner ceiling of the room. More riot footage. Riots were happening in 10 different cities. Once the sun was up in the sky, I was done filing my report to the police. They’d told me they’d do everything they could, but it wasn’t looking good. My TV was officially in the hands of some asshole, who’d probably already pawned it for drug money. I spent the entire workday moping. My boss told me to cheer up. I told him what had happened, and he told me I ought to spend some money on better security measures. “Maybe if you paid me more, you self-righteous ass whip,” I thought to myself. Another massive band of thieves rushed into the store, taking with them a dozen television sets. No one in the store reacted. I didn’t do anything. My manager freaked out, yelled at all of us, and called the police. While we waited around for the cops, someone lit off some fireworks in the mall’s food court. We all thought someone was shooting a gun, so we took cover in the break room. 

On my way home, a deranged man got on the bus and put a gun in the driver's face. The man was kind enough to let us all off the bus, before taking off with the stolen city-owned vehicle. The bus driver cursed his own life, as everyone began walking home. One lady had her purse snatched by some kid. The kid was no taller than 4 feet, but he was fast like a squirrel. I could barely comprehend it all, but it was so exciting but terrifying. I had a certain amount of resentment towards the looters. Especially the asshole who'd stolen my TV and threatened my life. I couldn’t waste time thinking about it all. I got home as fast as possible. At least two hundred people were looting the stores along the main street. At first, I was nervous about walking through the massive riot. I’d heard that some looters would kill people at random. This wasn’t the case. Everyone was too preoccupied with getting their hands on free merchandise and didn’t seem to pay me any attention. It was rather bizarre. A group of people would smash a window with bricks or rocks, then an orderly group of looters would make their way into the store single file. It seemed most of the store owners had fled, likely putting their fates into the hands of their insurance companies. Looters were moving fast, but they weren’t being needlessly violent. 

I got home and felt an empty feeling of despair once I took a look at my empty TV stand. I needed my TV back, but I had no clue who had it. I knew there were plenty of TVs down at the mall. I wasn’t thinking straight, likely because I hadn’t slept in a few days. I didn’t have a plan either. I figured I’d get my way to the mall, get a TV set, and get home in time to watch the cop shows that aired after midnight. 

Someone had driven their car into a telephone pole and simply left it there. Maybe they were attacked by a crowd of people. I didn’t spend too much time thinking about it. I wiped the glass off of the driver’s seat and got in the car. The keys were turned into the ignition, and the engine was still running. I took off and headed to the downtown mall. I saw a group of teenagers flipping parked cars onto the road, and setting them on fire. Most of the highway entrances were blocked by burning cars. The cops were nowhere in sight, and it all looked like a deranged party. The looters were laughing and screaming, like the attendees of Woodstock. I was hoping the looters had overlooked the mall as a target. I was wrong. The mall was nearly empty, as the looters had stolen virtually everything. Even all of the juice in the slushie machines. All of the gumballs in the gumball machines. Every dollar bill in every cash register. All of the TVs had been taken from the electronics store. I knew they kept more in the back of the mall. I was confident that none of the looters knew the code to the storage rooms. A large man approached me. He held a gun and pointed at me. I didn’t know what to do. The man laughed. “You a cop?” He asked. I shook my head no. “Give me a good reason not to shoot you?” cracking a deranged smile. I had to think of something. “I- I work at this store… I know where they keep the TVs”. The man seemed to grow convinced. “Alright”, he lowered the gun. “Take me to them, and I’ll let you live”. I couldn’t believe what I’d gotten myself into. I walked with the son-of-a-bitch through the empty walkways of the mall. I’d heard the man’s voice before, but I couldn’t pinpoint when. 

Then it hit me. This was the same asshole who’d stolen my TV.  I was walking right next to him. I couldn't believe it. 

We got to the back door, and I punched in the code: 3-2-3-5, followed by a beep, and a green light. The son-of-a-bitch pushed past me on his way in, shoving his pistol into his pants. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. Like a kid in a candy shop, the man took a look at all of the merchandise he could steal. He began grabbing electronics, and expensive items. I kept my eye on his pistol. I figured I could get to it faster than he could, considering he was so distracted by the shiny objects. Intrusive thoughts entered my head. 

I justified them, reasoning that this asshole had taken my TV, and threatened to kill me twice. I’d never killed anyone, but I’d always wanted a reason to. 

I jumped forward and snatched the pistol from his back pocket. The man turned around in a frenzy. His eyes were wide open. He appeared like a dog, whose tail I’d just pulled on purpose. The man was forced to stop himself from attacking me physically, once he saw his gun in my hand. I had the hand cannon pointed at his head. “You shouldn’t have taken my fucking TV,” I said. The guy kept insisting he hadn’t taken my TV. I didn’t listen. I don’t remember pulling the trigger, but I certainly heard the thing go off. 

BANG! 

I’d already had the thing pointed at his head, but the bullet hit him in the chest. I just stood there, not knowing what to do. I watched as he fought for his life, and lost the battle. After a minute, he just lay there motionless, bleeding from his mouth and chest. I wondered if the cops on television felt as awful as I did when they shot people. I wanted to take it back. Reach in, and pull the bullet out of the poor guy’s chest. I couldn’t. I just made a run for it. Once I emerged from the mall, the cops had already arrived. They arrested me, found the guy’s body, and quickly put two and two together. I was arrested for first-degree murder. My lawyer had managed to get my sentence down to a second degree. 

The guilt never subsided. 

I never got used to prison. Everyone had to share a cell with two other prisoners. I got put in with two psychopaths. I kept to myself. I was miserable every moment of it. At a certain point, the guards told me my behavior was far beyond most, and I’d be given special privileges as a result. I’d get access to the library at any time, and extra time in the courtyard. 

One day in the library, I noticed something that I couldn't ignore. Could it be? I thought to myself.

It was… 

It was a television set, kept hidden within a small windowed room. I asked the friendliest guard how one could get access to television time. He told me I’d need to do a few favors to get myself a few hours of television time. I did what I needed to do, and before I knew it, the guards were letting me watch TV an hour or two a day. I got it set up so I could watch the reality talk shows, then watch the grittier cop dramas afterward. Both are on channel 8. It was amazing… 

One day, some other do-right asshole managed to get TV time and wanted to watch the old black-and-white movies on Channel 17 that aired around midnight. One night, it was me and him, and he kept insisting on changing Channel 8 to Channel 17. Once the son-of-a-bitch grabbed the remote from my hand, I knew we couldn’t be friends. The cops weren’t watching. I let the thoughts get to me again. 

I effectively ruined my TV privileges, yet again…