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Message-ID: <35797asstr$1016608203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Kenny Gamura" <turtlemeat69@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Beggars Can't Be... Part 2 (MF rom no sex).txt
Date: Wed, 20 Mar 2002 02:10:04 -0500
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                         Disclaimer

This is piece of fiction.  Any imagined resemblance to
people living or deceased is either the result of dementia
on the reader's part or that the reader is, in fact, a
character of this story.   It is assumed that readers of
this story have the permission of the state, mom, dad, and
pastor and are able to tell the difference between real and
make-believe.  Furthermore, the writer is fully aware that
he is bound for hell, but welcomes both praise or/and well
thought out, humourous insults on his writing skill.  Note:
he already knows he cannot spell 'warth shet'.

The events and descriptions of this story are the sole
property of Kenny N Gamera and should not be recorded,
reposted, or profited from in anyway without express
written permission of the person hiding behind that pen
name. Reposting and free archiving will be tolerated given
the writer's name and address remains attached.  Archiving
by Deja.Com and ASSTR/ASSM is assumed and encouraged.

Thank You and Good Day,
Kenny N Gamera
turtlemeat69@hotmail.com

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gamera
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gamera/Beggars_Can't_Be

                 Beggars Can't Be... Part 2
           Attack Of The Slightly Chunky Roommate
                            by
                      Kenny N Gamera

One nice thing being the assistant manager rather than say
a lowly peon (or shutter, a shit-on) is that no one cares
if you are five minutes late, provided, of course, the peon
peons haven't sold everything to their friends at half
price within that time.  Not that I had to worry about
that, because what height school cape would admit to
working at a bookstore and what college kid would waste
perfectly good beer money on even a half-priced to book.
Grad students and other book addicts need not reply.

   Heck, one can be up to six minutes late without even
Stumpy the wonder nerd noticing.  Not that it matters
because all he could do its whine to the exact same manager
who shares my extremely low opinion of the pimply-faced
pain in the ass (it is only be rumour that the guy I
replaced was fired for hiring his annoying hind end, but he
wasn't a happy camper so I think that he hired Stumpy as
revenge).  Even if I was spared the pitiful complaints of
my least favorite employee and most of the store was still
standing, I was still disappointed in myself for running
late.  Not so disappointed that I couldn't enjoy the secret
pleasure that I felt for the reason that I had for being
late.

   So I went into the store humming to myself, as I checked
the state of confusion.  Stumpy stood at a register with a
matronly looking woman and a soccer mom. Teresa and Julio,
two college students, were busily pretending to stock and
straighten the latest legal thriller by MichaelD.  A note
at the timeclock announced that Keisha was running late,
again, her bus having hit a landmine or some such thing.

   Another day at everyone's favorite mall bookstore.

   Yippee.

   I went back out to the store, thinking about my
encounter.  I was still in the hopeful stage as opposed to
the confused, doubting phase that I was not looking forward
to later in the evening.  Before I would leave work, I
would have convinced myself that 1) nothing had happened,
2) she didn't exist, 3) that the only reason she had wanted
my number was so that non-existent person could sue me for
what hadn't happened, and 4) the number in my pocket was
from Eighties rock song.

   Keep in mind that that was only where I was going to be
when the bars came down on Mr. Slot's; that at this moment
I was still in the state of mind where I wanted to start
dancing and chanting, "I got a date!  I got a date!"  Oh
yes, and maybe a "nah nah nah nah!"  Or two for Stumpy.  In
my imagination, I had even advanced to the third date.  No,
not the third date but after the third date.

   I made omelets for breakfast.

   And this was before anyone had asked anyone else out.

    such are the highs and lows of the male ego.

   Anyway back at the bookstore, I went on thinking my
pleasant thoughts and went towards the registers to find
out what Stumpy's latest grievance against his co- workers.
Passing Teresa and Julio I chanced to overhear them talking
as they "worked."

   "I tell you, she's hot."

   "Hey," replied Julio, "she's old.  At kids, too, so
she's probably all stretched out."

   Teresa let out an exacerbated sigh.  "You guys, you can
only think about what you're sticking your meat in next.
What at her, she's in her mid-thirties at most and she
still has a body I wish I could have."

   "Hi, gang," I interrupted.  I gestured with my head to
the counter.  Talking about the soccer mom?"

   "Yeah, man," said Julio.  "Teresa seems to have a thing
about her."

   "Julio, you're as bad as my husband."

   I glanced at the counter and said, "I've got to agree
with Teresa.  She's nice to look at.  Besides," I paused
for effect, "if you know one thing about single moms, you
know that they do put out."

   "And they may be disgusted enough with men to give the
other side of the field a try," added Teresa with a huge
grin.  Julio groaned and walked away to not work someplace
else.  Teresa began to straighten books for real.

   "So, how has the day been?"

   "Aren't you going to check with Stumpy?"

   I shook my head, "I'd rather know the truth before I
talk with ole doom and gloom.  Last week, I had thought
half of the back stock magazines had caught fire when it
had turned out that Sherry had only been smoking back
there."

   "Well, nothing exciting happened other than Stumpy going
to the bathroom for fifteen minutes with a copy of costume
Cosmo, again."

   "And to think that Julio thinks he's gay."

   Teresa winked at me.  "Julio's never seen the bra ads."

   Forty-five minutes later (my five minutes late plus his
ten minutes early), Julio left.  Teresa left on time, and
left me with Stumpy to divide the store between us. He got
the peak stuff (computers, sci-fi, and fantasy) and I ended
up with the rest of the store.  We, thus, settled into the
routine of the week day night at the mall: growling at each
other at the edges of our territories, ogling the jailbait
walking by the store, and waiting on the occasional
customer.

   I will take this moment to state that there are two
kinds of people: those who know the next statement to be
true and those who think that it is just a load of shit.
Time in an empty bookstore moves at a slower rate then time
in most other places.  The latter group will say that this
is, of course, in my head without realizing that this
explains away nothing.  Also they will never experience
that sense of time stopping when someone wonders why the
dog's puppies have their nose.

   I mention this not because the dog's puppies have my
nose or, for that matter, ever will (anyone who says other
wise is a damn liar), but because five days later and a
month before closing, I looked up at the huge lack of wall
that substitutes for a door at a mall store, to see Stumpy
rushing to her, yes that her whom I had better start to
call Jenny before I get myself in trouble.

   This proved that things one and two on my list above
were not true, which left time to tell if the third was
false.  I still meant to check the fourth at home against
my Tommy Tutone album (well, someone had to have bought
one).  My heart leapt almost enough to make me undepressed
and my blood boiled at the thought of that doughy horde
defiling my one true lust!

   I charged to her rescue.

   "...'elp you, ladies?" came from the lumpy pile of
refined waste of processed food by-products as I arrived,
my tie literally had flown over my left shoulder.

   "Oh, hi Kenny!"

   "Good day, Jenny," was not what I said though upon
reflection it would have been a tad more appropriate then,
"uh" which is what I did say.

   "Glad to see that you still have the gift of gab."

   "Uh," I replied but the hope that I did not share the
stunned fish look at Stumpy had on his face.

   Jenny turned to the woman I had not noticed standing
next to her.  She wore a pair of khakis-coloured shorts and
a plain white tee shirt like the one that Jenny had on.
Both, accented her tanned skin which contrasted with
Jenny's very fair complexion.  She shared Jenny's brown
hair, however, but with streaks of blond highlights.

   "I think he has to do that two or three times to warm
his vocal chords up," she was told by Jenny.

   "Uh," I added helpful.

   " Well, Jenny," asked Jenny's friend, "does he have a
name or should I just call him Mr. `Uh.'"

   "I told you about him already, but if I have to; this is
Kenny Gamera, geochemist," she stated with a spokesmodel's
wave in my direction.  "Kenny, this is Kim Wright, another
teacher at Gil Thorp."

   "Uh," I replied as I took Kim's hand.  It felt soft as
only a woman's hand could ever feel.  My hand now felt very
rough and hard looking.

   "Charmed as well," she said as we shook hands.  "I look
forward to actually speaking with you.  Hopefully sometime
today."

   "Kim is my roommate, and when she mentioned that she
wanted to get a book, I remembered that you said you worked
here.  Maybe, you can help us."

   "Uh," said I, but this time I added, "sure."

   The mental dam now broken I began to act like a
bookstore employee.  "Let's go to Stinky over here."  I
lead them over to the computer next to the cash registers.
Stumpy followed with the stunned fish look stuck on his
face.  "If we have it in stock, it'll tell us.  Otherwise,
I'm sure we could always order it for you."

   I tapped the shift key to kill the screensaver and hit
the buttons necessary to get to the search screen. "What's
the title?"

   "_Twenty-five More Things I Did to Lexi_ by Katie McN."

   "We have one copy," I read from the screen.  "It's in
our gay studies section."

   "Erp" went Stumpy as he ran away (or at least, I hoped
it was him that made that sound and not me).  The ladies
watched as he beat his retreat and chuckled.  Their smiles
matched, but Kim's rounder face with its softer curves and
her weak chin, gave it a different flavor then Jenny's more
heart shaped face with its sharper contours.

   "That scared the little nerd away, but it didn't seem to
bother that one, Jenny."

   "I don't know, I think he went `Erp.'"

   "Well, I'll get my book.  I assume that you'll be
waiting here."

   I watched as Kim strutted away.  Her butt moved like a
sack with two cats in it that just weren't getting along.
I enjoyed the view but not so much that I wasn't aware of
Jenny next to me.

   "Would you like to meet us at the Golden Calf Cafe after
you get off work tonight."

   "God, that's months from now," I said with a smile.

   "It's eight-thirty; the mall closes at nine."

   "You've never worked at a bookstore, have you?"

   "Oh," she laughed, "I see.  I forget that you try to be
funny when you actually say things.  Well, if you don't die
of old age meet us at the coffee shop.  I'll try to get
`our' table if I can."

   Kim had somehow found Stumpy and had been checked her
out.  I watched her jiggle as she came towards us.  A
glance at Jenny showed that she was doing the same.  She
glanced at me and grin with a quick upturn of her mouth. I
could hear the drool drip from Stumpy's maw.

   "Let's go, Juliet," Kim said to Jenny.  She turned to
me.  "Later, Mr. `Uh.'"

   "Uh," I said as they went through the wall-less area.








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