CULTURAL INTOLERANCE AT THE CIRCLE K
When I spotted that Circle K sign, it was like
seeing an oasis, a fountainhead, a shimmering
pool in the heart of the steaming urban jungle.
It must have been one hundred degrees that
day in July, and I'd been skating for over three
hours. All I wanted to do was kick back for a
while with a cold drink and the latest issue of my
favorite skate "zine.
What's this? No cars in the parking lot? Hot
damn! That meant the greasiest curb in town
was left unguarded.
I swooped down across the littered parking
lot, gaining speed and piecing together a line
from my mental catalog of makeable moves. I
neared the curb, tweaked my angle of approach,
then noseslide (made it) to crooked grind (nailed
it) to shove it...shit! (missed it).
My skate skipped once on the concrete and
slammed into a garage can. Helluva racket.
I walked over to my board and gave it a
little kick out of frustration. As I bent
over to pick it up, I noticed
In
something strange in the
store window. A pair of
wild eyes were staring out
at me from beneath a beer
poster. I knew in an instant it
was Jaligfar, my favorite new
American, and he was not glad
to see me. I had to chuckle.
Before I cold turn around he
was out the door and into his old
routine, hopping around on one
foot and flailing his arms wildly.
"What in the face of hell are you
doing here?" he shouted in his thick
foreign accent. "Why have you come to
torment me in my place of business?"
I gave him an annoyed look and
brushed past him as I walked into the
store. I had nothing against the guy-in fact
I sort of liked him-but what I liked better
was acting like a hard guy and giving ol'
Jaligfar a bad time.
He followed close on my heels, shouting and
gesturing while I pretended to ignore him. "Why
must you hoodlums dent the fenders of the pay-
ing customers with your stupid rollerboard?" he
shouted at the back of my head.
That pissed me off, rollerboard sounds a lot
like something else I happen to despise. I turned
around and shoved my finger in his face. "Hey,
you shut up. We buy plenty of this crap."
"Oh, my goodness! How could I have been so
blind?" he said sarcastically. "Let me see now,
my skater friends buy five beefy-bean burritos
and one Slim Jim each week. Yes, I am sure that
you are keeping me into the black."
I proceeded to get my drink and then headed
for my usual siesta spot-the narrow gap
between the beer cooler and the Icee machine.
It was just wide enough to scoot back into, and
it stayed nice and cool even on the hottest days.
Muttering and cursing under his breath, Jaligfar
went back behind the cash register.
I had downed half the drink before I remem-
bered the magazine. As soon as Jaligfar saw me
heading for the back of the store, his tone sud-
denly changed and he became very polite and
informative. "Perhaps you will purchase one of
our fine Dolly Madison bakery products. I have
tried many of them and found them quite tasty."
I stared at Jaligfar with a look of disgust. "See,
that's what pisses me off about you. One minute
you're hassling me about skating, and the next
you're trying to peddle your little packets of pro-
cessed sugar, you're just a hypocrite."
"Hypocrite!" Jaligfar laughed. "Such a big
word from the ignorant skater dude."
"I know what it means, "I fired back.
"Maybe, but can you spell it?"
Ouch. I pretended to ignore
him and picked up the
magazine. All
of the
time
I was trying
to come up with a
different cut. Returning to
the front of the store I said, "I've
always wanted to ask you something. Why
are you people drawn to convenience stores the
way tornadoes are drawn to trailer parks?"
"Let me ask you something," Jaligfar respond
ed. "Why do you buy the magazine every month
hoping to see your own silly face?"
"Why don't you learn to speak English?" I
said, becoming increasingly irritated.
"Why don't you get a job?" he said.
"Take a bath, you buzzard!"
"Kiss my ass!"
"Go to hell!"
"Skate trash!"
"Raghead!"
"Hoodlum!"
"Monkey fucker!"
"What?"
"Monkey Fuck-e-r!," I repeated slowly.
The insult struck a nerve somewhere deep
inside him. His eyes narrowed to slits and his
voice fell to a menacing whisper. "Now you have
done it. You have insulted me to the bottom of
my bones." He picked up the telephone. "I am
calling for the arm of the law. I am demanding to
hear your name."
Without hesitating I said: "Bly Gibbons, 5150
Dusty Hill Road, Tres Hombres, CA, 90210."
"You just wait, Mr Billy Gibbons," Jaligfar said,
punching out the numbers furiously.
"Yeah, you go ahead and call them," I said.
"I've been needing to tell them about a certain
convenience store clerk who makes a habit of
selling beer to minors."
Jaligfar said nothing, but I saw his finger push
down gently on the button to cancel the call.
After a moment he said, "You have no proof of
that, Mr Billy..."
"Video," was all I said.
Jaligfar fell silent, then: "Oh, oh, now I am
seeing it." He was furious. "Now you will
be sending me the black mail!"
"Well, blackmail is such an ugly word,"
I said quietly. "I don't think it will come
to that, do you?"
He slammed the phone down and
began cursing in his native tongue. I
had just scored big. I smiled and
returned to the magazine to look.
for my own silly face.
A few minutes later I noticed a
red Ford Escort roll past the
front of the store and pull.
around to the side. Hadn't I
seen that car pass by earlier?
A big dude came walking
in. He wore the standard
issue LA Raiders ball cap
and dark sunglasses. He
looked like trouble. He
made a slow lap around the inside
of the store, stopping only to grab a
quart of malt liquor from the cooler. Every few
seconds he would glance toward the windows as
if he were keeping an eye on the parking lot.
Jaligfar had forgotten completely about me and
was eyeing the dude nervously. He had reason.
to. The guy walked right past me without ever
noticing me, but I noticed the shiny pistol grip.
that his t-shirt didn't quite cover. He wasn't
expecting to see anyone else in the store since
there were no cars parked outside.
He walked slowly up to the counter and set
the frosty bottle on it. Then he looked directly at
Jaligfar and calmly said: "Give it up."
Jaligfar forced a smile and acted as if he didn't
understand. The dude whipped out the .357 and
shoved it against Jaligfar's forehead. Jaligfar.
began to tremble as he fumbled with the cash
drawer. He was on the verge of tears.
I thought I was about to see a murder. The
thought made me feel sick. But I knew there was
nothing I could do to help Jaligfar. As quietly as I
could, I began to draw my legs farther into my
hiding place, but my eyes remained on the dude.
I accidently bumped my skate.
To my horror it began to roll across the uneven
floor toward the counter. What a time to have
decent bearings. I knew that in a few seconds it
was going to roll against the dude's foot. I cov-
ered my head with my arms, feeling certain that
I was about to meet my end along with Jaligfar.
Hearing the low rumble of the wheels, the
dude spun around, searching for the source of
the sound. But as he turned, his foot came down.
on the nose of the skate. The skate shot out from
under him and his leg went skyward. His head
struck the floor with a dull thud and the .357
belched at the ceiling. The sound was deafening.
A fluorescent bulb exploded overhead and
rained down a shower of white flakes.
Jaligfar let out a pitiful cry and dropped
behind the counter.
The dude seemed to be unconscious for a split
second. Then he snapped out of it and flung his
arms outward, striking the butt of the gun on the
floor. The .357 spoke again and the bullet drilled
into the Icee machine, sending the little polar
bear to snow cone hell.
Jaligfar let out another shriek and began to
pray. The dude sat up and rubbed the back of his
head. He seemed confused and bewildered. The
Escort screeched to a stop outside the door and
the driver sat down on the horn. The dude stum-
bled outside and more or less fell through the
open window of the car. The Ford product laid
down heavy rubber exiting the parking lot.
It all happened so fast, I was stunned for a
minute or two. Then I went through the usual
self-checks: no vomit, no wetness in the crotch
area, no foul odors; apparently I had controlled
my bodily functions. But I discovered that my left
arm was soaked with cherry syrup leaking from
the murdered Icee machine.
I got up and staggered over to the counter.
Jaligfar was still in a crouch, holding the phone
and praying desperately.
I was so happy that he was alive, that we were
alive. We had survived against a common enemy.
At that moment, in a blinding flash of insight, I
realized, possibly for the first time, that our dif-
ferences as human beings were so insignificant
that it wasn't worth an ounce of energy to con-
sider them. I wanted to slap him on the back and
tell him... But then I recognized a golden oppor-
tunity. After all, I really am skate trash.
"It's all over," I said calmly. "He won't be back."
Jaligfar's head popped up instantly. "What
happened? What happened?"
"The less you know about it, the better," I said.
"Let's just say I handled it."
His eyes got big as saucers. Then he noticed
my arm. "Jeezy peezy!" he screamed, pointing.
to the syrup.
"It's nothing," I said. "I took a slug."
"Golly money! I must call for the pair of
medics," he pleaded.
"No! I'm in violation of house arrest simply by
being here. You never saw me, understand?"
(continued page 77)
ACIDINE
A vast concrete jungle stretched into darkness before my eyes. The streets covering the
monster called the city passed in front of me. An overhead streetlight illuminated the bat-
tle zone before me. A fast flight of five stairs rolled down into a deep dark abyss. Many had
tried it, few succeeded, even fewer had survived unscathed.
My chariot of conquest rested below my foot. I ended a bead of sweat's trail with my
sleeve. I looked at my friend reclining on his cheap wooden toy taking a sip on a farge forty
ounce bottle. I pushed myself on my board and entered the void.
I continued at a fairly quick speed. A slow steady breeze whirled about me. The night air
flowed in my lungs, setting me on edge. The stairs loomed in my eyesight. I positioned my
feet on my skate and steadied my balance. The time came and it seemed the obstacle
called me in a voice filled with ecstasy I popped the board under my feet as I jumped. The
wood fluttered into a 360 kickflip as my foot waited to trap it. I caught it in the air and a
feeling of great joy flowed through my body. I rolled from the staircase and stopped. I
turned to look at my conquered land. I saw it through hazy vision.
I reached for my pack of smokes and pulled a cigarette cut. It felt so familiar in my mouth
as I St it. I looked to my friend, hoping he'd seen my incredible achievement. As the nico
tine cloud cleared my vision, I saw my friend asleep in the comer with his empty bottle in
his lap. Tough shit homeboy.
-Eddie Schexnaycler, Slidell, Louisiana
42 THRASHER