I Am The Local Atheist (15 page)

The
gentleman’s hand reached for a bottle of gin. His partner coughed.
“Wow, you really want to get me fucked-up tonight don’t you?”

The hand
casually passed over the gin bottle and headed towards the martini
bottles.

“
That’s better boy.”

The man
grinned. “Know this woman like the back of my hand.”

“
Don’t get smart or I’ll fuckin’ deal to ya’.” She looked at me
cheekily and said, “now all we need is the martini glasses, eh? You
got those boy?”

“
No” I said, trying not to look at her with
derision.

I took the
drinks to the counter with the man and woman walking behind me out
of sight. I briefly saw her image in the reflection of one of the
fizzy drink fridges pause at some bottles that we were passing but
as I got to the counter I focussed on scanning the drinks and
taking the man’s cash that he had ready and waiting in his
hands.

The man was
looking at me with some strange happy smile plastered across his
face, like he was really high, but he wasn’t exhibiting any signs
of being stoned that I could notice. It just looked as though he
couldn’t wait to start drinking. He asked me what I’d be getting up
to later on, as if to make conversation while I bagged the drinks
and got his change. The woman walked past and was already out the
door. “Gonna drink a few yourself later on then?”

“
Nope” I said. “I have no intention of parading my stupidity to
the world.” And there it was: my own derision voiced.

I placed the
change in his hand. He looked at me as though I was the stupid one
and then left clutching the drinks at his side.

I heard my
boss’s voice yell “Stop them David! Thieves!” He came running down
the stairs from his office.

I heard the
woman yell from outside “Run!!” The man was running, his feet
slapping against the concrete outside as he rounded the corner.

I heard car
doors opening.

My boss’s
voice: “Stop them David!”

The car engine
started with a roar, tyres spun out.

I saw my boss
run around the counter and out the front door screaming at the top
of his voice “Stop! I’ll get the fuckin’ cops onto you!”

I saw the car
drive right past him with the man in the passenger seat pulling the
fingers and laughing as the car drove off, barely avoiding a crash
as it screeched and skidded onto the wet roads weaving into the
main flow of traffic.

“
Jesus fuck David, what happened?” The boss was walking back
into the shop.

“
I… I… don’t know. I turned my back on the woman. I don’t
actually know what happened.” I scratched my head. “What
happened?”

“
I saw her hanging around the vodka specials when you went to
the counter.” He shook his head. “Shit! Damn it.”

“
Damn, sorry. I didn’t see her take it out with her. won’t you
have them on the security cameras?”

He suddenly
brightened up. “Yeah! Yeah, I will. Shit, forgot in the rush of the
moment. Okay, I’ll get that to the police straight away.” He waved
his hand in front of him. “Look, don’t worry about this incident
okay? I’ve stuffed up this situation before as well. Nothing to
feel guilty about. Y’ doing great.”

I wasn’t
particularly concerned. I kinda liked the fact that the incident
happened. Made my day that much more interesting. And that man and
woman didn’t really look like they were that much concerned either.
Kinda looked like they were actually having a load of fun.

* * *

I never told
Mum I was working in a liquor store. I couldn’t.

I have seen
people obsessed by their craving for alcohol walking through the
front doors with a look of eager anticipation and wetting their
lips like a six-year-old stepping through the gates of a
wonderland, their bodies racked with a shake that demanded
appeasing.

I hated that
job so much because it had ended up reminding me of just what I was
trying to forget: the people I had known – kids in the youth group,
Lisa’s very own parents, friends from church who had stood in front
of me with enough balls to actually claim that alcohol was a less
harmful ‘drug’ than marijuana when they had neither tried marijuana
nor read or compared any of the facts about both; and the people I
did know – Mum. All of them abusing alcohol like it was some kind
of solution to their problems. Those thoughts brought memories like
a plague that at one point had me in tears after one of my
shifts.

I couldn’t
stand the thoughts that alcohol sales and distribution were
dredging up from my past, so I opted for a job that was easier on
my conscience.

Chapter 4:

Life-Games
presents: “Fool-time Worker”

I had spent
about a year playing one game. Stuck in my room – I take that back;
not so much ‘stuck’, but more along the lines of being cosily snug,
wrapped up in a blanket, face plastered to my computer screen as I
trudged through rain and mud, wind and snow; a soldier in an elite
team of online commandos running through broken homes, tearing down
doors, smashing windows and snipering enemy from far-off distances.
I took breaks and began shorter games that would only last me a
week or so, before going back to the life of a soldier with endless
days of fighting against the weather as though it too were the
enemy who hid behind the crests of hills, guarded outposts with
their comrades waiting silently in trees overhead; and with the
slightest sound, the slightest wrong move, I was a goner with blood
washing over my vision and darkness encasing the screen.

Damn I’m Hungry!
It was only in those
moments, when the ‘You are Dead’ or ‘Game Over’ window popped up
that I could think about the needs of my body, don a coat and brave
the torment of the world outside as I made my way to the grocery
store on foot, head down with cap pulled low for fear that other
eyes might recognise these ones.

I miss the
excitement of not knowing what was coming next; of having such low
health stats that to survive the rest of this level would be a
miracle; of what was waiting around a corner that looked like all
the other corners that had lulled me into this sense of security
only to be bombarded by missiles as I desperately pounded the
keyboard in futile attempts to escape: I miss my heart pounding
with the expectation of the obvious but unknown.

It was all
just fun and games.

Games are
fun.

Work sucks.
But you already knew that.

I steal to
relieve the boredom.

Part I

–
Planning
–

I would say
that it began with sneaking a few cups of coffee outside of my
designated break times. Any true thief would say that it doesn’t
start until the threat of police action is apparent, but that was
something I had to work my way up to, so I stole stuff they were
throwing out anyway.

Sheets,
towels, face cloths – it didn’t really matter to me. I worked in
and out of a giant shed filled with women folding and re-bundling
hotel sheets, overalls from the Freezing Works and lots of laundry
from the hospital. All I had to do was unload the bags of laundry
from the trucks they came in, or transfer all the bundles of hotel
sheets from containers to trolleys, then push the trolley inside
and drop them off down the correct aisle. The only time anyone was
watching me was when I was inside, and the only time the bosses
stepped outside was to have a cigarette or to leave the
premises.

Jill would
push her trolley out whenever it was filled with old product that
the laundry rental company would no longer use because “it isn’t
ours to sell or give away” said the boss, yet that would’ve meant
that it wasn’t theirs to throw away either, so I took it upon
myself to stop such wastage occurring and allow myself the luxury
of free stuff.

I waited for a
day when I was out by the rubbish bins emptying one of Jill’s loads
and there was no one around. I grabbed a bundle of sheets that were
already wrapped up in plastic and quickly ran around to the side of
the building and stashed them under a tree. Shit, I got back and
picked up another bundle to throw away just as the boss walked out
of the building to “disappear” as she does every afternoon at about
two o’clock or so. At about nine-thirty that night I rang Lucas and
suggested a night time mission. He was more than keen.

I had picked
the ultimate night – lots of mist and cold air hanging precariously
about. We parked close but not directly outside for fear of being
too ‘obvious’ – a short walk up the footpath might be enough to put
an outside observer off. But as we left the car and began walking
towards that tree around the side of the building, I realised that
the only ‘outside observers’ would be either prison guards doing a
night-shift or the prisoners themselves (assuming they had windows
to look out of). And that’s when the prison really began to make
its presence felt. It just stood there over the other side of the
road waiting patiently; like an impenetrable fortress about to
laugh off its would-be assailants. Except this fortress was waiting
for that false move that would land the outsider inside. I wondered
if it knew subconsciously what I was doing and was waiting for me
to trip an alarm or something; generally just to fuck up and cause
enough havoc that it could laugh through its belly as they dragged
me through the gates wearing a blue uniform and being reduced to
nothing more than a number – everything our Fathers in Sunday
School had warned us against finally coming true. It haunted
me.

Lucas stood
‘guard’ (with one hand in a pocket and the other concentrating on
the cigarette that was being swamped by mist), while I went in like
an SAS agent, slowly creeping across the raised lawn, pausing at
the edge of the building, sneaking a look around the corner and
then finally moving in and grabbing the cargo.

From directly
behind me I heard Lucas say “Got it?” He had followed behind
casually and wasn’t doing much to try to stay hidden.

“
Yeah” I said, “Lets go.”

We shuffled
off towards the car but the prison across the road kept its eyes on
me. I kept my head low.

The next day I
was constantly waiting for the boss to come up to me and ask for me
to go into her office for a private meeting. I had tried sussing
the whole camera angles out before hand but had completely failed
to recognise any cameras at all so thought I was in the clear. Then
the head CEO’s came for a visit and the boss was in the office with
them as I continued my daily chore of unloading the hospital linen
from the truck and piling it down aisles ready for the ladies to
unpack, refold and restack. I was kind of trying to speed things
along by throwing the bags down the aisles instead of carrying
them. All of a sudden the boss was behind me and gave me a hell of
a fright as I turned around.

“
Umm, David” she said. “Could you…” and shit I was half
expecting her to say “
come with me into
the office
…
you’re
BUSTED!
” but it was nothing more than a
sheepish look on her face as she said, “…please not throw the linen
around while the CEOs are here. We don’t own it so we are obliged
to look after it, and it would be good if my bosses saw us doing
that.”

I smiled and
said “sure, okay” and we had a laugh as she turned away and went
back to the office.

I left work
with a grin on my face as the prison over the road continued to
stare at me. I tried to ignore it, but I knew that it had its eyes
on me, waiting for that false move that would land me inside as one
more of its growing number of inmates.

* * *

Lucas had
begun working for money again. The volunteer work dried out and he
was in dire need for an income so got a job at Southland Pastries,
a factory that manufactured pastries and sauces that would
eventually get shipped overseas – little of it actually ending up
in Southland itself, a good chunk being trucked off to various New
Zealand sights in the North Island. He told me about the amount of
waste that went on at that place, with pastries and finished
products being dumped because they weren’t ‘cut’ properly, or had
the wrong sauce on them. When he told me that the bin that
everything got dumped in was left open, and most of the food was
left there without any damage to it – “I mean, you could
practically get away with stealing the food at night if no one is
watching, and at night no one is anyway” – I suggested another
night-time mission.

Lucas lived in
a house with a woman who had a four year old daughter. She was
married but the husband had left because neither of them could
stand each other anymore. There was a loft attached above the
garage, but Lucas had taken one of the inside rooms because he said
it was about one hundred dollars cheaper than the loft.

“
So the wife has retained ownership of the house?” I asked as
he put some sketches down on the kitchen table.

“
Nah, the husband bought it with his own money but decided to
let the wife and kid continue living here for free if she didn’t
ask for half the money when he sells it, which, of course, she is
entitled to regardless. She also has the perk of keeping my rent
money for herself while the loft pays part of the
powerbill.”

“
Sounds like she’s got the best part of the deal.”

“
Well, that’s debatable. The place is worth well over half a
million.”