GZ's short story

Absolute vanity corrupts absolutely
by GZ

Pulling into the convenience store parking lot, I coasted my car down
into a spot right in front of the double glass doors. Ten feet before I
stopped, i noticed a not un-pretty young woman smiling at me with a sort

of earnest, but vacuous intent. She was slouching in a folding metal
chair just left of the doors, holding with both hands a coffee can with
a homemade pasted on paper label.
Opening my door, i stare at the ground while exiting. I'm trying to
avoid eye contact with her, but the cigarette butts, gum blobs, and
rainbow glinting oil stains have once again upstaged the best in
post-war art. Even though this living museum of the quotidian is viewed
in an instant, it makes a big impression. Swinging around the door while

closing it in one fell swoop of grace, I step over the curb and commit
to the inevitable. I knew from the first instant that she wanted
something. She wasn't selling chocolate or anything, probably just
asking for a donation to aid in whatever cause a pretty young women
might find herself engaged. My desire to avoid and/ or repulse contact
meets with the curiosity and attraction that a not un-pretty young woman

can muster in a man that spends alot of time looking intently at street
and sidewalk surfaces. Split second contemplation (so many things to see

and do on this short walk to the door!) has me deciding to allow her
whatever social interaction she has up her sleeveless baby-T.
"Woo you like to donate to the hurried mumble mumble?" Ugh. It
breaks your heart. You can't decide if you just want to give them a
buck, or tell them that no matter how many times they give the pitch,
they have to make it sound like the first.
Looking her straight in the eyes, feeling a bit conned by her innocent
and sweet yet earnest but vacuous smile, i tell her I'll think about it
as I enter the store.

Five weeks later.

"Jake, it's George"
"What's up man?"

So starts a conversation that has my friend Jake meeting me at Yucca
Valley High School for the first football game of the season. I got
there a little early, nervous with anticipation. Sitting in metal
bleachers for the first time in 16 years or so, I'm amazed at how the
little raised rows of anti-slip design, still make my butt feel wierd.
Tempted to buy a YVHS TROJANS bleacher cushion, I pass. This is the only

game I'm going to. Jake finds me and sit's down to my right.

"What am I doing here?"
"It's football Jake. What more could you want?"
"Uhh."

Ten minutes before the players take the field, the YVHS Trojan
cheerleaders set up arms length apart and begin the first cheer.

(with expected movement of synchronized pom-poms)

"Y.V.H.S. Trojans won't, take no mess".

(then in a completely unexpected departure from traditional cheer
choreography)

"Humpin'. Funkin' jumpin'. Gig around, shakin' your rump'n when a doodle

point rubber nosed visitor fronts, you tell'm to STEP OFF! Were doin'
the hump".

This newish sort of hip-hop cheering has half the crowd on it's feet,
screaming an attitudinal approvement.

"You look tense man, what's up?"
"I hope we win".

Pretending to be sitting in imaginary chairs, the cheerleaders began the

next cheer.

"Like Beckett like Partch like Ubu Roi, rhythm in rhymes do we deploy,
like Paul Revere at his silver forge, we just wanna say THANK YOU
GEORGE!

The crowd goes absolutely crazy. In motionless silence. I feel my face
turning infra-red.

"They talking about you G?"
"Uhh, yeah. Let's split."

Embarrassed but still fairly proud of my transaction, i walk to my car
with a binary glow. Five weeks previous, i had come out of the
convenience store and made the not un-pretty young woman an offer. "I'll

give your group twenty bucks if you mention my name in a cheer at the
first game."
"You got it. What's your name?" I almost said Richard Fellashio, but
instead told her "George".

Absolute vanity corrupts absolutely.