| l o c a l |
|
Deli-rium
by Aaron Shon
Chapter 1 -- Base Camp
My last precious moments of freedom. A quick supply run to
fuel up at Bodo's and I'm ready to take on the beast. I can
only imagine the riches and fame awaiting me if I survive
this grisly ordeal.
Chapter 2 -- Arrival
2:06 p.m. An uneventful walk down to the Corner. Thronging
masses -- many even unwashed -- flood the area.
Littlejohn's itself is a seedy den of hot neon and cold
roast beef. One thought keeps pushing its way to the fore:
why not go home and make up the fucking article?
Fortunately, four years of Goebbels-intensity honor
propaganda leaves me convinced I must remain. I dedicate
the next half hour of this article to the Honor System.
2:15 p.m. Glance at watch. Watch moving very slowly,
apparently to spite me. Bastard.
3:01 p.m. My, how time flies. Manager shouts hopefully,
"O.K., who wants to sweep up?" No one answers.
4:17 p.m. Mouth starting to water at sight of "Extra Thick"
sandwich board. Not a good sign. This obviously throws a
kink into the key component of my plan: DO NOT EAT ANYTHING
HERE.
4:24 p.m. Air growing thicker, denser, more mud-like by the
minute. Fumes from baked fries beginning to get to me. Staff
begins discussing imminent arrival of Tom DeLuca; becomes
befuddled and disturbingly irate during attempts to
pronounce the word "hypnotism": "Hypnamatism? Hypnotatism?
Hemoglobin? Helsinki?"
4:37 p.m. Recent string of overweight, swarthy men wearing
shorts a couple of sizes too small leaves me wondering if
Charlottesville's gene pool couldn't use a bit more
chlorine. Crowds of first-year chicks stream through in
small packs. Very convincing blonde hair, ladies. Reminded
of salmon during spawning season.
5:35 p.m. Winner, 1998 Minnesota Ms. WASP U.S.A. finishes
her tirade about why her sandwich is made incorrectly,
cleverly couching her complaint as a moral argument against
the evils of mayo: "This is wrong. It's got," she shudders,
"mayonnaise on it. I ordered this without mayonnaise!"
Promptly begins chatting with friend (first runner-up, 1998
Minnesota Ms. WASP U.S.A.), no doubt planning to give Daddy
a stern talking-to about sending her to this hellhole loser
of a school. "It's awful ... I mean ... mayonnaise! Can't
you do something, Daddy?"
5:44 p.m. Column of Rugby Row Types sashays into the deli,
encountering aforementioned WASPs. Much gum-smacking. Much
checking-out. "The fish swim upstream against a mighty
current, the female depositing her eggs for later
insemination by the male ..."
6:21 p.m. Find myself wondering if it's possible to become
allergic to khaki. On an unrelated note, an elderly woman
enters the rear of the deli. I do not see her again. "Five
Easy Pieces up!"
6:44 p.m. Pair of female joggers enters. One begins to
criticize the decor: "What, is Littlejohn's tryin' to be
classy this year?" she snickers. Exchange between the two
drops back to weighty discussion of class schedules and
brands of bottled water. Canned soundtrack begins
delightful rendition of "Raspberry Beret."
7:00 p.m. Riot Grrrl walks in with shaved head, bright blue
pony tail, miniskirt, filmy black leg stockings, D.A.R.E.
T-shirt -- "To Keep Kids Off Drugs" -- and accompanying
Vortex O' Irony. Quickly purchases a drink and leaves to
make mischief.
7:02 p.m. Elderly blue-collar gentleman wades into the
fray. Appears to survive surrounding displays of frat
bravado and "New York" pseudo-attitude unscathed. I am
amazed.
7:07 p.m. Cop car rolls by. First sighting of the evening.
Lost member of Red Hot Chili Peppers struts in with
Hawaiian shirt open, displaying abdominal sun tattoo. Looks
as though attempting to scream, "Awesome party, dude. Ladies
welcome!" Ends up whimpering, "Three inches is
normal, baby. There's nothing wrong with three inches."
Chapter 3 -- Hoos Afraid of Pork Byproducts?
8:28 p.m. I decide to take the plunge and order me some
baked fries. Instantly, they intrigue me: they're baked,
but they're fries ... but ... they're baked ... Almost
simultaneously, the first cop of the evening arrives in the
restaurant proper. Sightings for the evening: 2. Girl at
counter finally acknowledges my presence after my being in
the restaurant for six and a half hours: "Finally got
hungry, huh?"
8:49 p.m. Another cop car drives by, pausing with obvious
longing as it clears the deli. Sightings thus far: 3.
8:55 p.m. I am accosted by a group of apparent U.Va. grads
who, based on the fact that I am reading on a Friday,
conclude that I must be a "Fiiiirssst yearrr!" I nod
politely as the leader, "Tanya," clumsily introduces
herself as a U.Va. alumna now definitely drunk off her ass.
I can only hope my future will be as bright. Another quick
tip, kids -- nothing enhances your social standing like
studying late into the night on the Corner with a hefty set
of GRE review books and German textbooks.
9:07 p.m. Another Charlottesville foot officer dashes by,
stealing a furtive glance at a tempting row of oatmeal
muffins before racing off to fight crime in
Charlottesville's most notorious criminal district: the
Corner. Sightings for the evening: 4.
10:04 p.m. The biggest stud the century has ever known
walks into the deli. Confidently swaggering with his
Oakleys around his neck, he circles the room like a mighty
raptor swooping in on his prey. Uhhhh ... dude ... just a
bit of advice ... better XYZ before attempting to get down
with OPP ...
10:31 p.m. Drunk line outside has grown to a grand total of
4. Slow night.
11:15 p.m. Call from the back for an unusual order: "Why
don't you suck my dick?" Wonder if fries come with that.
12:15 a.m. Cop quickly ducks into the gulag-cum-subway
decor of the bathroom; emerges with shirt rumpled and
untucked. The city's finest, using a public lavatory to
garner extra experience with the Club. Friend stops by;
large, imposing member of the staff (hereafter referred to
as "Binky") attempts to kick my friend out of his seat.
Hilarious hijinks ensue as "Binky" reveals "I'm just
fuckin' witcha."
12:25 a.m. "Biff," another hardworking member of the staff,
silences the crowd with a mighty bellow: "Slap another
pickle on there!"
12:27 a.m. "Biff" reminds careless student: "Don't sit on
that wall! All you first-year people, I've got to remind
you: we don't sit on that wall."
1:01 a.m. Altercation between "Biff" and another, quite
cantankerous member of the staff, "Chester," ends with
"Chester" threatening to throw "Biff" into a chokehold.
Value of police presence becomes obvious as cop nervously
shifts from one foot to the other, beseeching the crowd for
some kind of assistance.
2:06 a.m. Halfway point. Seriously considering chewing off
my own arm rather than take chances with another
Littlejohn's Special.
Chapter 4 -- It's All Downhill From Here
2:10 a.m. Cop glances anxiously about as several loud voice
suggest the collective deli "raise the roof."
2:25 a.m. Large suitcase of a woman passes by me, mimicking
squeezing her own nipples and announcing
"Blink-blink-blink-blink ..." to the couple ahead of her.
They appear nonplussed. I begin to seriously question my
perceptual faculties.
2:56 a.m. Interesting encounter with a girl named Kelly
from Penn Laird, VA. She insists that I "send her" a "copy"
of the "article." Not exactly sure what she means.
3:07 a.m. "Biff" screams, "Move! Move! Move! Move!" Line
MOVES.
3:22 a.m. Pair of drunken khaki-wearers inform one another,
apparently for my benefit, "Oh God! I have a test tomorrow!
Oh God!" It's all right, fellas -- just remember that
however your tests turn out, you'll always have that long,
meaningful glance I saw the two of you share immediately
afterward. (Ever wonder why no one wants to fuck with the
press?)
Time: Who gives a rat's ass? Muzak system plays the doleful
strains of "Hotel California." I grin the leering grin of
the insane. A young woman approaches and asks for a piece
of paper and to borrow my pen, then quickly backs away
after handing them back. I grudgingly accept my de facto
title as "Ted Kaczynski of the Deli World."
Time: All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy All work
and no play makes Jack a dull boy Heated argument between a
man and woman in line ends when "Biff" tells them to "take
it outside." Cop looks on, fuming in a very skilled and
practiced manner.
3:59 a.m. Cop gets in food line.
4:03 a.m. "Binky" recommends that Paper Girl "get the hell
home and go to bed."
4:18 a.m. "Biff" drops by to remind me, "This ain't no damn
library!" Moments later, "Binky" informs me it's O.K. to
"read as much as you want, man ..." Goes on to engage a
couple of frat stragglers on how "we gonna clean this bitch
up good ..."
4:34 a.m. "Squeaky," another member of the staff, drops by
and checks out my log. "This has been a pretty slow night,"
he tells me. "No fights, no people fuckin' in the bathroom
..." Whither the Hoos of yesteryear?
4:49 a.m. Frat boy of questionable sobriety charms the
pants off the only three women in the place with his
signature line: "So, girls, what are your names?" They try
desperately to restrain themselves from fighting over him.
5:01 a.m. Argument continues between "Biff" and "Chester."
Frathole deems it necessary to yell, "Fight! Fight! Fight!"
at an annoyingly loud volume. Wonder what he does for
encores. Current guess? Shithead impersonations.
6:28 a.m. "Squeaky" announces he "doesn't give a rat's ass
what any student thinks" of him. I dutifully record this
striking introspective insight.
Chapter 5 -- "The Horror ..."
7:09 a.m. Light. Light gooooood.
8:25 a.m. Paranoia setting in. It's about damn time.
9:38 a.m. Look, people. I just want out. Now. No more
amusing anecdotes, no cute little quotes. Homicidal rage is
imminent!
10:46 a.m. I apologize for that last remark. The table made
me say it.
11:12 a.m. Tall blonde woman walks in, asks for ice. Gets a
free cup of the stuff and walks back outside, where she and
a crew of attendant males (drones?) begin gleefully
chucking the ice cubes at an upper level apartment.
11:45 a.m. Tourist season opens. The four-parent,
single-first-year, multiple-younger-siblings group arrives
with a full complement of fanny packs and proceeds to
consume with locust-like voraciousness. "Gimme another one
of those big SweetTarts! I decided I like them!"
1:31 p.m. The time for slumber draws near. All who stand in
my way shall perish.
2:04 p.m. I have achieved "Littlejohn's Nirvana." I am one
with the table, the meat slicer, the oven, the chalkboards,
the stuff stuck under the seats. Catharsis -- I am
overwhelmed by a sense of well-being and peace. I stretch
out my consciousness, waiting for 2:06. I draw a deep breath
and begin ...
2:05 p.m. ... Screw it. I'm goin' home.
|
back to Decweb main |
