I began working at Cameron’s Pharmacy when I was 15. It was one of those small all-purpose stores, located in historic Pawtuxet Village. Cameron’s had a pharmacy, a small selection of groceries, a hardware section, and a liquor license. You could get a bottle of wine, a dozen roses, lubricated condoms, a thank-you card, and a refill on your prescription of Valtrex, all in one stop. The store was ran and owned by a fat Italian-American by the name of Anthony.

Before proceeding with my story, let’s talk about Anthony. He was a big, fat Italian man in his mid-forties who would always tuck his shirt in, emphasizing his big, fat Italian stomach. You could never tell when he was angry or when he was joking because his facial expression never changed. His beady little eyes, which rested above a thin, woolly, graying beard, bore a perpetually flat affect. Rumor has it that he was arrested 5 years ago for filling the prescriptions with free medical samples rather than going through the proper channels. Anyway, he was a big, fat moron.

I was making less than minimum wage at the time, selling liquor and cigarettes to old men who smelled like liquor and cigarettes. I found Anthony intimidating, what with how he would creep up behind me or make snide remarks that may have been funny if he his face were not a sullen, dead-eyed waste land. Whenever Anthony was looming around I would get nervous and make mistakes. He would complain I was ringing people up too slowly, then he would “help” me by scanning in items and taking money. Every time he “helped” the till was always off.

It was a Sunday, I think. My family was home, enjoying someone’s birthday dinner while the Cameron’s staff was also enjoying some cake for a completely unrelated reason. I was left to man the register. The store was quiet when a police officer waltzed through the automatic sliding doors. He looked a lot like Detective Sipowicz from NYPD Blue, but with less hair, less height, and more weight. He came up to my counter and cited that Cameron’s Pharmacy was in violation of this law and that law and it will be fined. I was then told that a clerk had sold cigarettes to a 14 year old girl.

“I hope it wasn’t me,” I joked.

“It was.”

Apparently, I was caught in a sting. A DARE sting. I was caught in a sting, by DARE.

Now,  I did not sell a minor cigarettes because I was trying to earn the store more money. No. Likely it was because Anthony was berating me for not ringing people up quickly enough, so I panicked and began skipping steps. Sipowicz handed me a citation. I sat behind my counter, depressed, unsure if I will have a job tomorrow or if I will have to pay a fine with the little bit of money I had saved. To make matters worse, when Sipowicz got back into his is car, he called my mother. All he really told her was that he “had me.”

I quit my job in shame and Anthony ignored me for the rest of my life. I had a meeting with the chief of the Cranston Police, which was somewhat intimidating for a 15 year-old who had never done anything wrong, ever. The chief understood that it was an oversight on my part and that Sipowicz was a little overzealous about his big bust.

Eleven years later and Cameron’s Pharmacy still stands in Pawtuxet Village. It is now owned by Anthony’s big, fat son, who I think was also named Anthony. Rumor has it, this was to evade losing the business after being arrested. I now make a living not selling cigarettes to anyone.

End.

Last week I posted Part 1 of the Hyphenfest 2011 videos. Please enjoy the downward spiral. By the way, due to some of my more “vocal” friends, these videos might be considered not safe for work, so view them when you get home and have a beer in hand.

Rated PG13 – As the sun sets, our day begins. Energy is renewed, blood mixes with ethanol, and a bunch of nerds discuss Tron for far too long.

Songs: Something from the Tron: Legacy soundtrack, I think.

Rated R – $2.99 for six beers, what could be better? Perhaps, Shoes in 3D? The party spills outside. We reach the peak.

Rated NC17 – Does anyone even use this rating any more? Isn’t it a financial kiss of death? The spiral plummets downward.

Song: “Animal Rap (Arturo Gatti Mix)” Jedi Mind Tricks

Be sure to check the Hyphensite Vimeo channel from time to time, as I think I am going to start uploading the occasional home movie. I’ll try to keep it interesting.

A few months ago, I uploaded a poster for my annual ironic-narcissist-what-have-you birthday celebration, Hyphenfest.  Typically, I take about 1,000 incriminating photos and post them up on Facebook. However, this year I turned to video. Please enjoy two of five videos from Hyphenfest 2011.

A gathering.

Song: “Numb” by Blueprint

The request was that gifts cost no more than $10, preferably free. It is up to the creativity and ingenuity of the guest to provide a gift worthy of memory. Sadly, not all great items could fit into the video, so thank you to all who attended.

Song: “Wild Life” by Lazerbeak

Come back next week when the next set of home movies are posted!

The third, but not necessarily last installment of the Lumumba series.

I’ve never been big into mixing work and real life – whether the “work” be school, a summer job, or my current one. Despite their invitations, I only hung out with the crew from Roger Williams Park Zoo once. One summer’s evening, Tone, my Samoan supervisor, pulled up to my house in her little car. I hopped into the back seat with Lumumba, while Tone’s boyfriend, Chris, sat up front. We were going to head out to one of the many, many Italian festivals that appear in Rhode Island on a nightly basis.

Lumumba & the Hamster

Before heading out to the festivities, we stopped by Tone’s apartment. We all sat down on the couch for a moment and Tone let her tiny hamster run around on the coffee table. He scurried about while Chris rolled a blunt, which I politely declined. The little tan hamster would play with the stems and seeds left on the table. Lumumba had a little trouble sitting at first, mainly due to the hand cannon he had tucked in his jeans. He pulled a glock out and placed it on the coffee table. Tone demanded that gun not be loaded, so Lumumba dropped the clip out. I sat around like a moron the entire time.

I’m not sure if I can give this visual justice, but I will try. Chris and ‘Mumba leaned back on a plush, white couch, blowing smoke into the air. On a small, wood grain coffee table, there was a little hamster running about. He would stand on his hind legs as he nibbled on pot seeds. Then the puff ball, a little bigger than a cellphone circa 2003, was using the pistol like a jungle gym. He would crawl over the trigger, hop over the clip, and slide down the barrel.

The rest of the evening wasn’t terribly eventful, but the image of that little hamster will stick with me.