Buttered Popcorn

Chapter 2: October 8, 1986

"Alright, head to the front and take over register. Molly just left and I need you to cover until closing." Blakely stated. "The schedule said I'm only working until 6 today." "It wasn't a question." he retorted. "Am I getting paid over time?" He sighed, "No, Jimmie."

"Of course," I said under my breath, pushing the last box back onto the shelf and leaving the back room to the cash register. Today was a moderately slow day at the record store, with only a handful of customers per hour. Blakely was another employee that I worked with, and thought he was hot shit because he wore a name tag that said 'Manager'.

What a big shot.

Obviously, he hated me because I didn't 'show him enough respect' and 'gave him nothing but attitude and a headache'. I'd agree, honestly.

I walked over to the store's record player and placed the needle onto a KISS vinyl, the music soon humming through the abandoned store. Returning back to behind front counter, I took out a notepad and began looking for a pen. My first instinct was to check the back room because, apparently, we had no pens in the front.

"Didn't I say to go work the front?" Blakely ordered from his spot in the metal folding chair in the back. "Take it easy, dude, I'm getting a pen." I finally spotted a box of them sitting on a storage shelf. I held up the box to him, "See? In and out, stop bitching."

While I scribbled random doodles on the paper in an attempt to pass time, the bell rang, signaling that someone walked in. "Welcome to Going Underground Records. If you need help, I'll be here." I said in a monotone voice, not bothering to look up from the paper.

"You seem excited to be working." they said sarcastically. "Eh, slow day." I grew more focused on trying to perfect one of my drawings of a hand. "Shit," I muttered, repeatedly glancing to my own hand for reference.

"Whatcha doin'?" They leaned over the counter and to get a good look at my paper. "Woah, dude, what gives?" I snatched the paper off of the table, looking to the person with furrowed eyebrows.

"Sorry- Wait, do I know you?" he asked, squinting at my face for an uncomfortably long time, starting to creep me out. He sipped obnoxiously on a foam cup from some gas station while he stared. "I dunno, maybe." I shrugged, going back to my drawing.

He did look familiar, but I didn't care enough to try and figure out where I knew him from. "I think we've met." he stated. "Alright." I said.

"Come on, do you remember me? I think if we worked together we can figure this out." "This isn't Scooby-Doo, man. Piss off." I groaned. "Hm.. is your name Emily? You look like an Emily. Or maybe a Katherine."

"Nope." "How about.. Jessie?" "Nuh uh." I continued drawing, letting him guess. If Blakely caught me being rude to a customer, he'd probably fire my ass. Not that I wanted this job, but I needed the money.

"Okay, I'm gonna throw a few names out, just stop me when I'm right. Lexi. Stacey. Amy. Amber. Heather. Stephanie. Nicole. Megan. Kim. Uh..." he paused and I thought he was going to stop. Of course, I wouldn't be left alone that easy. "Rachel. Lauren. Crystal. Angela. April. May. June. July."

I look at him with a quirked eyebrow and an unamused expression. "It's July? I got it, didn't I? I knew you'd have a weird name! I totally got it! Wow, up top." He held his open palm up to me with a huge smile.

"My name isn't July, bonehead. You were just naming months." I stated. "Oh. What is it, then? I'm sure that I've seen you around before. You've gotta give me some type of hint-" he waved his hands dramatically, knocking over his drink onto my paper. The ink began to run and soon, the paper was filled with a blur of splotches and the soda was running across the counter.

"Fuck!" I groaned, walking down the counter in search of a towel with him trailing close behind. "Oh! That's it! That's where I know you from! I spilled my drink on you a few weeks back at that strip club! You left your jacket with me, by the way. It had some weed and a few tabs of aci-"

"Shut your fucking mouth, dude," I whispered harshly, "My boss will chew my ass like gum if he hears that shit." "Oh, sorry." he flushed red. "That's where I met you, though. I never got your name."

"I never gave it to you." I retorted, finally finding a stack of a few napkins. "Well, what is it?" he persisted, following me back to the spill. "We should hang sometime."

"I'm not sure about that, dude. You'll probably spill another drink on me." I swiped the napkins across the spill. "You're funny." he chuckled. "It wasn't a joke."

"Really, though, what's your name?" I groaned, pausing my wiping and looking to him. "If I tell you will you leave me alone?" "Uh.. yeah."

"My name's Jimmie." "Like Jimmy Page?" he asked. "More like Hendrix." I answered. "Oh. Cool. Well, I'm Steven." "Like Steven Tyler?" "Like Steven Adler." "Who?"

"I'm Steven Adler." "Right." Just as I was about to block his voice out, he started talking again. "So, we're having a Halloween party at the end of the month."

"Halloween party? What are you, 15?" "22, actually." he corrected with a smile. "Anyway, if you could get me a piece of paper, I can write down the address of the place."

"See, I would, but someone unfortunately spilled their cheap drink all over it. So no, I can't get you a piece of paper." I stared at him, bored of his presence.

"Well, can I see your arm?" he asked, reaching over the counter and grabbing a pen from the box. "Uh- I guess." I made sure to avoid the wrist wrapped in a bandana and give him my right one.

"Alright. So," he dragged out the 'o', "This is my band's apartment. I wrote my number too, just in case you ever wanna give me a call." he winked. "You have a band?"

"Yeah, Guns N' Roses." he nodded, smiling. "I think that's a dumb name." I stated. "Well, I think Jimmie's a dumb name." he retorted back like a toddler, placing his hands on his hips and cocking his head a little.

"I didn't ask what you think of my name." I said. "And I didn't ask what you think of my band, yet here we are." "Whatever, dude. Do you even need anything in the store? I have other customers to tend to."

He turned around, spotting the two customers in the store and looked back to me with an unamused expression, "I'm sure you do. I'm gonna go now, but you should show. You'd definitely be the life of the party." he winked as he walked out, followed with a dramatic wave through the large glass windows.

I ran my fingers delicately over the sloppy pen writing on my arm. Just as he said, it read an address, phone number, and his name. I didn't know this guy, and I for damn sure didn't know his band, but I really didn't have any plans. He seemed nice enough, despite his obnoxious and persistent demeanor.

Maybe I will show.