D.P.

This is another essay I wrote for my writing class.
It's supposed to be a descriptive essay about a place,
which should explain the title of this post.
I don't like it much, but it's okay.
I just figured I'd post it anyway.
It's supposed to be about a place,
very descriptive and stuff.
Yeah.

You know, I just read a couple words from it,
and I didn't like them.
Baaaaah.


A Lifetime of Temporary Relief

Sunlight poured in through the windows of the store. The windows were so large that they took up almost the entirety of the storefront forming a glass wall, and the lack of clouds on a cold winter day would cause sunlight to drench the front half of the room. Standing in the light felt like a hot shower that sprayed with enough force that it could you off balance if you were unwary. In the light, the blue carpeting almost looked white, and the areas untouched by the sun in turn looked black. Other spots of the carpet turned red as the sunlight passed through the writing on the windows. They projected words on the ground that read CD Warehouse. Still, despite the warmth the sunlight brought, the rest of the store was cold. Not the kind of cold you feel outside during winter, but a more artificial cold, like that of an office building, regulated and stifling but still comfortable.

The front door was green except for a small block of unpainted wood between the handle and the doorframe. The block was a repair we had made after the store was burglarized. When we arrived at the store that morning, the door had been kicked in, which burst apart the wood under the handle. Despite the burglars’ violent entrance, nothing had actually been taken from the store; the cash register had been opened, but there was no money in the register, as we hadn’t made any sales all week.

I was sitting on the couch beside the counter, which was actually the backseat of a minivan. Paul (my close friend as well as my boss) had taken it out of his van for Ipp (my closer friend as wells as my co-worker) and I to sit on. It was made of blue-green velour, more so green than blue. It was old, at least twenty or so years, and had grown soft with age, so it was deceivingly comfortable. It had a thick, musty smell, and it mixed with every other scent we brought into it. Incense would linger for weeks after it was burned, and sesame chicken would still smell strong enough to make you hungry long after its consumption. We were drinking Blenheim, a type of ginger ale you could only find at the supermarket next door. It was made with real ginger, and would burn your throat on the way down.

A pair of customers entered the store, and the three of us looked up to see who it was. Walking through the door was an elderly couple, probably in their late sixties or early seventies. The woman was wearing a mumu and thick gold rimmed glasses and was looking blankly around. Her husband had matching glasses and a gut that stretched his old t-shirt over the front of his jeans. He approached the counter with a bit of a smirk and said, “I can’t help but get offended when a store doesn’t decorate for Christmas.”

I was taken aback by this. How could anyone say something so incredulous, and to strangers no less? How could he assume we all held the same views as him, and then criticize us for not showing it? I was opening my mouth to tell him off, when Paul answered, “Oh I’m sorry sir. I’ve really been meaning to get a Christmas tree, but we’ve been so busy we haven’t had the time to go out and get one.”

~

After the customers had gone I needed to use the toilet. I walked to rear of the store and stepped out the back door. The back room was cold, almost bitterly so. It was so cold I could see my breath. This was because the heater didn’t reach this room, and there weren’t any windows to allow in sunlight.

I stepped over piles of CD’s, posters & records to get to the bathroom door, and when I opened it I was accosted by a foul odor. The room smelled thickly of ammonia, so my eyes and nostrils burned as I went inside. I held my breath as I stepped in to find the source of the stench. When I switched on the light I saw the cause; someone had forgotten to flush the toilet before Christmas, so their urine was left to stagnate for nearly a week.

I held my breath and emptied my bladder, then quickly left the room. As I returned to the storefront, I saw Paul had opened another bottle of Blenheim and had consumed a fair amount of it. His face looked grim, almost like he had a foul taste in his mouth. I thought about asking what was wrong, but I doubted it was anything important.

After an hour or so of sparse conversation, Paul turned to me and said, “Hey man, I’ve got some bad news.”

“Oh yeah?” I replied. His tone implied what he had to say was important, but I was having trouble taking him seriously. “What’s up?” I asked.

He waited for a moment, and I became concerned.. I put down the record I had been looking at. I knew he was serious now. “We’re gonna have to close the store. We haven’t been making enough money to pay the lease, so we’re going to have to shut down.”

This hit me hard. I could feel a pressure in my chest, like a bomb slowly exploding. The sun beat down hard through the windows. The store felt hot, so I took off my coat.