Fiction from the 90's

That story that I've been telling you all that I want to write? It's stuck, and I don't think it's going to come out for a while.

So, here is the original story I wrote, which inspired me to want to write a new one. This must have been written back in '96 or '97. I'm copying this verbatim from some notebook paper that has yellowed from cigarette smoke over the years.

You probably won't get as much enjoyment from this story unless you worked at good ol' Papa Gino's #138 between 1996-1997. So, just a quick background. Papa Gino's is a pizza shop. Ray was this short, fat, lazy, Chinese man that kept you guessing if he really was mentally retarded. Mike was the anal manager. Tim was the air headed delivery driver. Those were all real people. Perry is based on a real person, Phillip, who tried to strangle another worker one night.

Enjoy.

Untitled

1997

It seemed like an ordinary Sunday night, as Papa Gino's Bridgewater began closing the store.

Tim, the manager, was out sick with the Tibetan flu, and Mike couldn't be reached, so, like a good PapaPerson, Ray offered to close the store.

At about 9:45 the college bus pulled up, and a large gang of young men with baggy pants and nappy hair got out and headed towards Papa Gino's.

The new kid, Perry, looked out the window at the would be customers, and shuddered. He knew that something wasn't right as they walked into the store.

The biggest one, with the nappiest hair, stepped up to Papa 3 and looked impatient waiting for service. Perry walked over slowly.

"May I help you, sir?" he nervously asked.

"Yeah. Give me three large breadsticks, a small cheese pizza, three cokes.... AND ALL YOUR MONEY, FOOL!" He finished with a mean yell. One of the men locked the door and pulled out a 9mm. Three others, including the one at the register, pulled out guns, too.

"Now, dorkface!" He yelled, pointing the gun at Perry.

"I can't! I don't have the keys!" Perry stuttered. He backed away to the far end of the pizza bench, where he fell into the fetal position against the wall.

"Wrong answer, looser!" The man yelled, and shot Perry three times in the chest.

Just then, Tim, the delivery driver, walked in through the driver's door. Seeing a large group of nappy headed punks, he dropped to the floor and slowly crawled around to the back of the store.

"Ray! They've shot Perry! You've got to do something!" Tim yelled. He picked up the phone and began to call the police.

"Where the hell is the money?!?" The gang leader yelled, clearly getting angry. "I'm getting pissed! Give me the money or more are going to die!"

Ray peeked around the corner to assess the situation. There were six of them, three of them with guns. They were bigger than anybody in the store. Maybe Perry was as big as their shortest, but he's dead, what difference did that make?

Ray had a plan. He sent Tim up front with a giant set of keys.

"Stall them" he said, hurrying out back.

"Ok, man. Ok, man. I've got the keys." Tim said, working his way over to the register.

"Well, hurry the hell up and give me my damn money!"

Tim pulled the drawer out, and made a big production of trying to find the right key.

"It's got to be here somewhere! Ha ha! Can never find it when you need it, huh? Ha ha!" Tim laughed nervously.

"HURRY!"

Suddenly, Ray stepped out from behind the grill.

"I don't think so, assholes! Duck, Tim!" He yelled as he threw a ladle full of hot Fry-o-Later oil at the vigilantes. One throw hit the gang leader square in the face.

"Aaauuuggghhhhh!" he screamed. By the time he was able to see again, Ray was gone.

Tim had ran out the door, and was waiting inside Blockbuster for the police.

Back inside, the gang was getting nervous.

"Man,we gotta leave! This ain't working! The police are going to get here soon! I don't want to go to jail!" One of the gang members screamed.

"Yea, I know! We gotta split, man!" another agreed.

"No! We stay here! That man's going down!" the gang leader said.

"So you think!" Ray hollered. He began throwing frozen hamburg patties at the gang like they were Chinese Death Stars. They all hit with deadly accuracy.

Four ran out the door, and one lie unconscious by the gumball machine.

That left two.

"Get out of my store!" Ray yelled.

"Man, I ain't leaving until you give me my money!"

"The only thing I'm going to give you is a headache, pal!" Ray yelled back.

Using a thick pan cover as a shield, he made is way over to the front counter. He lifted a bucket he had hidden on the floor.

"Eat this, monkey boy!"

He heaved the bucket, which was filled with sopping wet dough, at the men. It slimed all over one of them, and he fell into a writhing ball on the floor as he tried to get the dough off.

"Now it's just you and me, nappy haired one!" Ray said with a wicked laugh.

The gang leader raised his gun, but it was too late. Ray had jumped over the counter and kicked him in the head.

The police walked in (finally), and it took two of them to pull Ray off the guy, who was now crying.

"Good job, Ray!" They said. They collected the guns as evidence, and left.

Tim came back in and helped Ray clean up the store. They closed up and went home.

"You know? I have a funny feeling we forgot something, Ray" Tim said.

"Don't worry, well get it tomorrow. It was a hectic night, Mike will understand" Ray said as he got into his car and drove home.

The next morning Ray and Tim walked into the store. By the sound of Mike's scream, they now remembered they had forgotten about Perry's corpse.

They laughed and laughed, and hoped that Mike really would understand.