How to Be a Normal Person (6 page)

“There’s the snark,” Betty told her lesbian lovers (sisters?).

“But it seemed so
delayed
,” Bertha said.

“Hmm,” Bernice said.

Gus tried to salvage what he could. “And a simple hello?” he said. “What’s that even supposed to mean? What if you said hello to someone who then turned out to be worse than Hitler or Michael Bay and unleashed another holocaust or another overstuffed, CGI-heavy excuse for a film starring Shia LaBeouf. Could you
live
with that on your conscience? Because
I
couldn’t.”

“Weak sauce,” Bertha said, flipping up the collar on her pink leather jacket, looking very cool, though Gus would never say so.

“Definite weak sauce,” Betty agreed, standing at parade rest. “Possibly the weakest sauce to have ever been sauced.”

“Hmm,” Bernice said, leaning across the counter until her face was inches from Gus’s.

He didn’t flinch. Not even a little bit.

“Tell me your secrets,” Bernice whispered and reached out to touch his eyebrows.

Now he flinched.

The door to the Emporium opened.

Lottie said, “It looks like you’re all about to rumble,” as she entered the store. “Don’t do it. The bloodshed would be terrifying.”

Gus narrowed his eyes. “
You
,” he said. “I’ve got some
words
for
you
.” Because
yes
, he was about to rumble so
hard
. And there
would
be bloodshed.

“
Here
we go,” Bernice said. “Reveal to me your secrets.”

“And what words would those be?” Lottie asked. “I brought you egg salad today. No pickles or onions.”

Well, that was good. Pickles and onions were things of the devil and should never be anywhere near egg salad, so.

But that was
beside
the point. “You!” Gus said. “You had a
hipster
in your store! He—he—he
Instagrammed
me. I have never felt so violated in my—”

The door opened again.

In walked the hipster. He grinned when he saw Gus.

“Meep,” Gus squeaked.

The We Three Queens turned their heads slowly and gaped at Gus.

“That,” Bertha said, “is not a sound I would have ever expected you to make.”

Gus coughed roughly. “Yes. Well, something in my throat. Allergy season. Quite bad this year. The pollen count is high. It’s global warming.”

“I bet there’s something warming in your throat,” Bertha said, her grin a bit smug.

“Things make much more sense now,” Bernice said. “Secrets revealed.”

“Hey, Aunt Lottie,” the man said as he approached the counter. “Hope you don’t mind that I tagged along. Had to see who our neighbors were. And would you look who it is.” He hopped up onto the counter like be belonged there, like he’d done it a million times before.

“Aunt Lottie?” Gus echoed, feeling something akin to betrayal even as he resisted the urge to punch the hipster in the back of the head to get him off the counter.

“I don’t mind at all,” Lottie said rather innocently, like she wasn’t some kind of diabolical villainess whose sole reason for existing was to bring Gus pain. “The more the merrier. Ladies, this is my nephew Casey Richards. Casey, these are the We Three Queens. Oh, and from what I understand, you already know Gus over there.”

Casey Richards
. It had a
name
.

This was quite possibly the worst day of Gustavo’s life.

Okay. Maybe not the
absolute
worst, but it was close. Gus wasn’t typically prone to hyperbole, but it seemed to fit the situation. Worst. Day.
Ever
.

(Almost.)

“Whoa,” Casey said, looking the We Three Queens up and down. “You have to be the fiercest things to have ever existed. You have matching
jackets
. That’s… man, I don’t even know what that is. Your level of awesomeness literally just blew my mind. I’m speechless.
Speechless
.”

Gus thought he was speaking quite a bit for someone who claimed speechlessness, but he kept that opinion to himself and remained motionless in hopes that
Jurassic Park
had been right and that Casey was like a dinosaur and his vision was based upon movement.

“We tend to do that wherever we go,” Bertha said. “It’s kind of our thing.” She looked off into the distance as if reminiscing on all the minds she’d blown.

“And you call yourselves the We Three Queens?” Casey asked. “The fact that you exist and are standing in front of me is seriously a highlight of my life.”

Gus thought that maybe Casey’s bar was set a little low if
that
was a highlight, but he said nothing because he didn’t just blurt everything out like a commoner would.

“Why thank you, young man,” Bernice said, beaming, and Gus considered her to now be a traitor to the cause.

“We have to do a selfie,” Casey said. “All of us. I
have
to have a picture of us. Like, you have no idea.”

Gus blurted out, “Oh my god, selfies, fuck my life,” and immediately clapped his hand over his mouth and stood stock-still because they would
see
him.

“You too, Gustavo Tiberius,” Casey said, glancing back at him. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.”

And because he’d been spotted and the cat was out of the bag, Gus scowled in response and said, “I can’t do selfies. It’s against my religion.”

Casey cocked his head. “The whole Bleeding Jesus folk bongo band thing?”

“What? No. Just. Shut up. I don’t even
know
you.”

“Oh,” Casey said. “You will.”

“Don’t you threaten me!”

Casey shook his head. “There are a few things we need to discuss.”

That
didn’t sound good. “I have
nothing
to discuss with you,” Gus said.

“Uh, yeah you do,” Casey said. “How about the fact that you work at a video rental store and it’s 2014? That’s… that’s, like.
Retro
. And shit.”

“Retro and shit,” Gus said. “Wow. Is that your professional opinion? Are you going to go blog about it?”

“Snark,” Betty said. “So much snark.”

“I feel like we should have popcorn,” Bernice, said to her sister-lovers. “It’s like a play.”

“A tragic comedy,” Bertha agreed.

“Indeed,” Casey said to Gus. “Because Netflix and Redbox aren’t actual things that exist in this day and age.”

“People want brick and mortar,” Gus said. “And I give them what they want. I carry high-quality films—”

“Is that a
Sharknado
display?” Casey asked, pointing at a
Sharknado
display.

“—for the discerning public who want to come and look at a selection face to face instead of sitting in front of a computer screen to pick out healthy film choices—”

“Wow, that’s a very big
Sharknado
display,” Casey said.

“It’s supposed to be ironic!”

“Such a hipster,” Casey said, sounding fonder than anyone ever had when speaking to Gus, except for maybe Pastor Tommy. “Doing things ironically.”

Gus gaped because he doubted he’d ever been called anything more offensive in his life.

“So,” Casey said, ignoring Gus’s muttered death threats as he hopped off the counter. “Selfie. Everyone, gather around Gus and smoosh together as much as possible. We all need to fit.”

“What? No!
No
gathering around Gus and smooshing—”

Everyone gathered around Gus and smooshed together, Casey pressed against his side, their cheeks touching as he raised his phone out in front of them. It was awful, even if Casey smelled like coffee and Altoids and the faintest sweet hint of pot and—

“Perfect,” Casey said, and they all stepped away, Gus not even aware when the picture had been taken. Casey looked down at his phone and started cackling. “Oh man. Gus, your
face
. I am posting the
shit
out of this.” He started typing furiously. “Hey, followers. Making new friends. Yes, those jackets are real. Hashtag fierce. Hashtag mountain town adventures. Hashtag ironic video store FTW. Hashtag Grumpy Gus.”

“
What
?” Gus said, outraged. “I’m
not
—”

“Hashtag pink ladies. Hashtag rolling stoned smoked up the moss. Hashtag—”

“See?” Gus hissed to the We Three Queens. “He’s
Instagramming
me. Without my expressed permission. With hashtags!
I don’t even know what those are
. I’m not a fancy dinner that no one cares to look at!”

Bertha was already on her phone. “Follow us,” she said to Casey. “We’re the WeThreeQueens4Life on Instagram.”

Gus stared at her in abject horror.

“Followed,” Casey said as his phone made a musical little sound.

“Affirmative,” Betty said. “We’re following you now too.”

“Done and done,” Casey said and they all put their phones away.

“Sandwich?” Lottie asked.

IT WAS
while Casey was helping the We Three Queens pick out their daily movies (two this time, as the next day was Sunday and Gus was closed on Sundays) that Gus realized that all of this could be blamed on the inspirational calendar. Because he
had
said hello, and it had led to a
million
things happening in the last five hours, all of them difficult and wrong. Gustavo Tiberius was not a man built for things that were difficult and wrong. Everything had an order. Everything had its place. And Casey Richards was
ruining
it. He was
ruining Gus
.

“You’re staring at him,” Lottie said.

“I am not,” Gus said as he stared directly at Casey. “I’m watching to make sure he doesn’t steal anything.”

“Yeah,” Lottie said. “Heaven forbid he should steal an empty movie box. Oh no. What is the world coming to?”

“He was stoned on the job,” Gus whispered furiously.

“Did he get your order right?”

“What? Yes! It was—”

“Then what does it matter? I have no problem with it. It’s medicinal. Sort of.”

“He said he had stigmata!”

Lottie grinned. “Yeah, he isn’t always the sharpest tool in the shed when he’s baked. Doesn’t hurt anyone, though. Like an adorable little puppy.”

“It hurt me,” Gus said. “A lot. Mortally, even. And if he’s an adorable little puppy, he’s the kind that shits everywhere.”

“You think he’s adorable?” Lottie asked, arching an eyebrow.

Gus’s mind sort of went fuzzy at that. “What? No! I don’t. Just. He shouldn’t be smoking while working!”

“Because you’re so anti-weed and all,” she said, rolling her eyes. “No son of Pastor Tommy would ever have a problem with pot.”

Which. Sure. Fair point. But whatever. “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming here?”

“Because I wanted to see the look on your face when you saw him for the first time,” she said. “I was hiding in the back and watched everything. It was precious. Your face was priceless. Such feigned righteous indignation. I forgot to get video, though. I had muffins on the brain.”

“Oh my god,” Gus said. “I am evicting you from the coffee shop. Hand in your keys now. Leave town.”

“Landlord-tenant acts,” she taunted him. “I’m protected by law.”

“Who’s a landlord?” Casey asked and Gus absolutely did
not
squeak again, no matter what Casey’s smile said. And he was standing so
close
, like he had a
right
to be behind the counter.

“Gus here,” Lottie said. “He owns the building the coffee shop is in. And the video store. And the hardware store. And the convenience store. Now that I think about it, pretty much all the buildings here. Treats all the tenants real good.” She patted his arm and Gus refused to feel warm at that. He failed miserably.

Casey’s eyes widened. “Whoa. You own
everything
? Far out, man.”

“No,” Gus grumbled. “I don’t own everything. Just almost everything.” Actually, Pastor Tommy had owned almost everything. He’d bought most of the storefronts in the eighties and nineties, flipping them and lowering the rent for the business owners. When he had died, everything had gone to Gus. But Casey didn’t need to know that because Gus didn’t
know
Casey. And he didn’t want to. Not even a little bit.

“Well,” Casey said. “Still. Impressive. Hey, you eating that?” And he plucked the sandwich out of Gus’s hand and took a bite, before giving it back and grinning through a mouthful of egg salad. He started to
masticate
, even as
more
words fell out of his mouth. “Also, since I’m living the dream here, I’ve decided to sign up for a video membership so I can rent high-end movies like
Sharknado
. I even saw
Leprechaun 4: In Space
. Or, you know, the one where the murderous leprechaun
goes to space
. Lay an application on me, Grumpy Gus.”

“Get out,” Gus said, completely serious.

Casey grinned and didn’t even look remotely offended. Gus was obviously losing his touch. He would have to try harder next time. “Nah,” Casey said. “I’m good.”

“You have to be eighteen,” Gus tried. He hoped it didn’t sound like he was fishing. Because he wasn’t.

Casey squinted at him. “Man, I have a
beard
.”

Gus tried not to look at said beard and most certainly did not want to touch it. The idea alone was ridiculous and Gus would not entertain it in the slightest. “Congratulations. Maybe you’re a hairy child.”

“I’m twenty-three. And this beard took
months
to get right, dude.”

“Yes, twenty-three, dude,” Gus mocked.

“You got nothing left, Grumpy Gus. May as well give up now.”

Well, fuck. Gus decided to play his trump card. “You have to be a resident of Abby, Oregon, or the surrounding area. I can’t rent to out-of-towners. They may leave the state with my movies and I would have to call the police and fill out paperwork and there’d be wanted posters,
dude
.”

“To get your movies back,” Casey said.

“Exactly. Not saying you would, but if I make an exception for you, then I’d have to make an exception for everyone.” And Gus felt good again. Because he’d
won
.