Hello, Sincerity!

Michael and I were sitting around behind the counter during the fifteen minute period in which his morning shift overlaps with my evening shift. Michael is a funny guy. He’s also kind of an asshole. He and I were talking about the traits — physical or otherwise — he looks for in a girlfriend when a woman, in her mid-sixties, wearing a gray pea coat, rushed through the door. She stood at the counter, tapping her fingers on the formica like a finicky piano.

“Excuse me. I’m looking for a book about the Eighty Percent Church,” she said while looking over her shoulder at the bookshop.”It’s about sincerity,” she said over her shoulder.

“Huh,” Michael said.

“I sincerely doubt we have it,” I said.

“It was reviewed by the New York Times,” she said. “I want a used copy.”

Michael, sitting at the computer, did a quick google search. It just came out this week, he told her, so I doubt we’d have a used copy. For my part I checked our new inventory on the register computer, coming up without an entry for the book. I told Grey Pea Coat about another bookshop she could visit in the Haight-Ashbury.

“I’m not going that far for a book,” she said, as if referring to the Iditarod instead of a fifteen-minute walk. Yeah, I don’t blame you, I said.

After Grey Pea Coat went off to huff about the store, Michael and I resumed our discussion.

“I guess I like really pale girls with black hair — naturally black hair,” he said.

“So, basically, you like girls who look more or less like you,” I said.

“Yeah! Basically. I also like chubby girls. She should also know how to bake. Baking is very important.”

“Okay, so you want a girl who looks like you and can provide for you like your mother?”

“Yeah. Basically!”

“You know, Michael, you lazy mug, I really don’t think such an open and warm embrace of Freudian-uh-ism, or whatever, is gonna get you laid.”

“Actually, you know what? My baller status is currently at an all-time high,” Michael said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back with a self-satisfied grin. At this moment Gray Pea Coat barged to the door before stopping to scream at Michael.

“Yes! that’s great, isn’t it? That’s the whole idea: find a woman who cares for you like your mother and then dump her for a younger woman when she gets old!” ejaculated the Gray Pea Coat.

“Uh, yeah,” Michael said, looking at her. “Pretty much. But she needs to have natural black hair, be chubby and pasty, and she better bake. This last point is paramount.”

“It’s just always about you, isn’t it?”she said.

Michael paused a moment.

“Actually, right now, it seems to be entirely about you.”

Gray Pea Coat stormed off. Zasha, our senior co-worker who’s not our “boss” but is always telling us to get back to work, strolled over and asked about the commotion. Michael and I, fearing reprimand, downplayed the harshness of the exchange. Regardless, Zasha looked shocked and appalled. A few customers, standing around tables of books, pretended not to listen.

“Jesus Christ,” she said, making no effort to contain her projecting voice. “Women like that should have a plastic bag pulled over their head until they suffocate and fucking drop dead!”

Our demonic cackling rang through the store.