15.
Grod still seemed to be reluctant about going shopping, but we stood at the entrance of the electronics store just the same. "Welcome to Good Buy," the blue-shirted sales professional said as we walked through the sliding door.
"All right," Grod said, "Go get what you need. I'm going to go look at some stuff." He walked briskly toward the back of the store, staring intently at the ground the entire time. For a moment I watched bemused as employees from all directions made their way towards him to teach him of his hitherto unknown electronic needs, but he seemed to be just a step ahead of each of them. I waited until he disappeared, then headed to the laptops.
The laptop that I had left in Chicago was one my brother had given me several years earlier, when he bought a new one to use at his job after college. It was very old, certainly obselete. I'd never had enough money to replace it, but that problem seemed to be taken care of for now. I got the impression that Grod, whoever he was, was somehow very rich, but also very careless with his money. To me, the main point of this was that of all the dazzling new laptop computers lining the aisle, I was pretty much duty-bound to buy the most expensive one.
"How are we doing today," called a scrawny, blond haired college kid before I could start looking.
"Ok, I guess," I said trying to avoid conversation.
"Anything I can help you with?" he said over-jovially
"What's your most expensive laptop," I asked bluntly.
"What do you want to do with it," he asked. "You look like a photographer. You want to do photo-editing?"
"Just sell me your most expensive laptop," I repeated.
"...or do you want the full-out gaming setup? To impress your drinking buddies?"
Slightly annoyed, I raised my voice. "No, just give me whichever one costs the most."
"Why?" The kid looked confused.
"Well, if it's the most expensive, it has to be the best, right?"
As we talked, I noticed that somewhere on the other side of the store, a loud rhythmic thumping noise had begun and was getting louder and louder.
"Well, I guess if you want the most expensive one, that would be the Mobashi Mirage 5000 over there." The kid had to raise his voice now to be heard over the noise.
"I'll take it."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"Ok, I'll get it for you, meet me over at the service counter," he said, now yelling to be heard.
I waited for a moment once I got to the desk, but then I just had to see what was going on.
I walked a few steps so that I could see down an aisle. A crowd had gathered around the stereo test room and Grod was standing in the center, facing the controls. I could see his hands fiddling with the knobs, adjusting levels and changing the tone to make it better (louder), but all I could hear was a screaming spectrum of treble and a constant thudding of bass that instilled circular ripples on the clear plexiglass walls surrounding him. His hair billowed arrogantly in the waves of sound blasting right in his face as a couple sales associates pounded on the glass, and another was fiddling unsuccessfully with the lock on the door. Apparently the door couldn't be opened, and the salespeople began to point and shout at each other. I pushed through the crowd.
The music stopped for a minute, and the salesmen began to pound on the glass again, but Grod ignored them. He pushed a button somewhere and another song started flooding the air with noise and vibrating the floor under my feet. I walked up to one of the walls and pounded a few times, but I knew it was useless. I walked back toward the counter and decided to wait him out.
A couple more minutes of confusion passed before the music stopped. Grod turned around, attention set on the floor, and exited the small chamber. One of the managers made a move toward Grod but a short, sharp glare from Grod made her think better. The crowd and other patrons observed in silence as he approached me. He pointed to the computer and asked me quietly, "That yours?" I nodded, prompting him to remove a wad of hundred dollar bills and throw it on the counter. "Let's go," he said.
The associate behind the counter stayed still as we departed. Only on my last look did I catch him cautiously poking the wad of bills with his index finger.
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"All right," Grod said, "Go get what you need. I'm going to go look at some stuff." He walked briskly toward the back of the store, staring intently at the ground the entire time. For a moment I watched bemused as employees from all directions made their way towards him to teach him of his hitherto unknown electronic needs, but he seemed to be just a step ahead of each of them. I waited until he disappeared, then headed to the laptops.
The laptop that I had left in Chicago was one my brother had given me several years earlier, when he bought a new one to use at his job after college. It was very old, certainly obselete. I'd never had enough money to replace it, but that problem seemed to be taken care of for now. I got the impression that Grod, whoever he was, was somehow very rich, but also very careless with his money. To me, the main point of this was that of all the dazzling new laptop computers lining the aisle, I was pretty much duty-bound to buy the most expensive one.
"How are we doing today," called a scrawny, blond haired college kid before I could start looking.
"Ok, I guess," I said trying to avoid conversation.
"Anything I can help you with?" he said over-jovially
"What's your most expensive laptop," I asked bluntly.
"What do you want to do with it," he asked. "You look like a photographer. You want to do photo-editing?"
"Just sell me your most expensive laptop," I repeated.
"...or do you want the full-out gaming setup? To impress your drinking buddies?"
Slightly annoyed, I raised my voice. "No, just give me whichever one costs the most."
"Why?" The kid looked confused.
"Well, if it's the most expensive, it has to be the best, right?"
As we talked, I noticed that somewhere on the other side of the store, a loud rhythmic thumping noise had begun and was getting louder and louder.
"Well, I guess if you want the most expensive one, that would be the Mobashi Mirage 5000 over there." The kid had to raise his voice now to be heard over the noise.
"I'll take it."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"Ok, I'll get it for you, meet me over at the service counter," he said, now yelling to be heard.
I waited for a moment once I got to the desk, but then I just had to see what was going on.
I walked a few steps so that I could see down an aisle. A crowd had gathered around the stereo test room and Grod was standing in the center, facing the controls. I could see his hands fiddling with the knobs, adjusting levels and changing the tone to make it better (louder), but all I could hear was a screaming spectrum of treble and a constant thudding of bass that instilled circular ripples on the clear plexiglass walls surrounding him. His hair billowed arrogantly in the waves of sound blasting right in his face as a couple sales associates pounded on the glass, and another was fiddling unsuccessfully with the lock on the door. Apparently the door couldn't be opened, and the salespeople began to point and shout at each other. I pushed through the crowd.
The music stopped for a minute, and the salesmen began to pound on the glass again, but Grod ignored them. He pushed a button somewhere and another song started flooding the air with noise and vibrating the floor under my feet. I walked up to one of the walls and pounded a few times, but I knew it was useless. I walked back toward the counter and decided to wait him out.
A couple more minutes of confusion passed before the music stopped. Grod turned around, attention set on the floor, and exited the small chamber. One of the managers made a move toward Grod but a short, sharp glare from Grod made her think better. The crowd and other patrons observed in silence as he approached me. He pointed to the computer and asked me quietly, "That yours?" I nodded, prompting him to remove a wad of hundred dollar bills and throw it on the counter. "Let's go," he said.
The associate behind the counter stayed still as we departed. Only on my last look did I catch him cautiously poking the wad of bills with his index finger.
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© 2006 Ian Blake & Marshall Scott
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