#I’m mulling over the others while as I do the retail thing tonight | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

libraford · 4 years ago

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The short version: We had a serial thief at the flower shop. She’s retired recently and I think that due to Covid she really means it this time.

The long version? hoooo boy, here we go.

This story, and others, are viewable on Tablo

There are rules and there are rules.

In dealing with shoplifting in retail, there are rules on how one engages with a thief. The handbook, if there were one, would consist of a single word.

Don't.

Don't pursue, don't interrogate, don't accuse. Let them take the merchandise, let them get away. Let them return the Cricut machine for an equivalent amount on a gift card to be exchanged once again for drugs.

Let them.

There is no handbook on how to handle Flower Thieves. Prior to working in a flower shop, I never thought that this was a problem.

Life is surprising.

I'm sure some of you have figured that out by now.

The Flower Thief is notorious, and she has a system. There are days when you simply know that she's going to be in.

"Break the heads off the flowers before you throw them away," Grandpa will say. "She's going to be here tonight, I think."

And sure enough, she would be. At 6:45, a quarter til we close- the Thief would announce her arrival. Loudly.

"Heeeeey, baaaaaaby!"

The very first time I encountered the Flower Thief, she came in through the back door.

"Oh Hiiiii, Darlin'- ain't seen your face around here: you must be NEW! I'm Wren, you know- like the bird? Well, Kyle and I have an agreement that I come and work for y'all sometimes. You should take out this trash, it stinks to high heaven. Anyways, nice talkin' to ya, see ya later."

I may only be a little bit psychic, but I've spent enough time around liars to know insincerity when I see it. Kyle, at the time, was the manager of our store and I have it on record that he's tried to throw her out of the building once or twice.

While I was taking out the trash, her pile of purchase became so tall it towered over her. I watched Clark massively undercharge her for the sake of getting her to go away.

She has a pattern.

She comes in during the design classes because she knows that when there's twenty people in the store, there's not enough people to watch her and make sure she's not stealing. "There's a class today," she asks as if it's not literally every Tuesday. "Don't worry I know you all wanna get out of here on time."

The Flower Thief announces her presence in a grand way and then makes her way to the back to grab a trash bag or an empty box and then proceeds to bury any spare parts she finds in the cooler in the trash bag, hiding them under the things that she's actually buying.

After that, she checks the garbage cans for things we might have thrown away that will last another three days and stuffs them underneath her other ill-gotten goods.

Just when you think she's finished, she'll go through her pile of flowers and say: "You know what? I don't need this eucalyptus." And she'll go back into the cooler with it, stuff it in her purse, and walk back to the register.

And when she's all done being sneaky, she asks one of us to come ring her out.

This is the part that no one wants to do. Because ringing out the Flower Thief means haggling with the Flower Thief.

"Oh baaby, you know I don't pay those prices."

"Oh baaaby, I only pay $19 for roses."

"Oh baaaaaaaaaby, those carnations were on special."

She'll talk you down to under $100 with a sob story:

"Oh baaaaby, you know I'm donating this spray to the family. It's for that woman you know- you know the one. She got herself murdered a couple nights ago? Two children and she was pregnant too! Pregnant! Can you believe it? Who murders someone with child? What's the world coming to? So I need a good discount to make sure we treat this family right because they got a looooong road ahead of them."

"Oh baaaaaaby, you know this one's for that car crash over on Cleveland Avenue? I hear he was taking care of his dying father himself, so it's such a shame for him to go first like that."

"Oh baaaaaaaaaaaaaaby, this is for that little boy that shot himself, isn't that sad?"

Thank you, Sister Mary Loquacious.

And you nod because you don't want to come off as an uncaring sociopath. And while you're nodding and adjusting the price for her sad, sad consequence and mulling over how good she is for donating to these people in their time of need, she steals some greens from the trash can and sticks them in her bag.

She hands you crisp $100 bills. You check them and she makes jokes about how she printed them this morning. They're legit. Counterfeiting isn't why she went to prison.

What she went to prison for was drug trafficking.

"Do you need some help," you ask, trying to be a good citizen.

"Oh no, I got it," she insists. "I'll make it in two trips. I'm stronger than I look!"

And don't you dare get caught looking to see what she put in the bag or she will give you one hell of a lecture.

By the time all of this has passed, the class will be over and there will two minutes left in the work day. She's spent thirty-seven minutes in the store. Your register is unbalanced because now you don't have enough small bills to balance it and only have one $100 bill to get you through tomorrow.

And that's why there are rules.

On occasion, a new person will break the rules not knowing that there's rules. One such occasion was when Clair decided to be helpful.

"You know what? I don't need this eucalyptus," Wren said.

"Oh! I'll put it back for you," Clair suggested. And before Wren could protest, it was out of Wren's hands and nowhere near her purse.

It was mentioned to Sage, who only worked for us one summer, that Wren had failed to pay for something and she immediately chased her out into the street.

Wren drives very fast.

If you cross her too many times, she'll make sure you never forget it. One day, she stomped her way in through the front door, angry.

"You ain't treated me better than a damn THIEF," screamed the Flower Thief.

Grandpa, who was helping Blue make a wedding bouquet at the time, departed from the desk. "Beg pardon?"

"A thief! You been treating me like a thief ever since they made you manager and I'm sick of it! I see you bringing in your henchmen, following me in the cooler, chasing me down the street. Treat me with some damn respect."

Words were exchanged. They were not kind. We thought we'd seen the end of her.

But she was back one week later, doing the same damn thing.

So now there are rules.

If you make something and there's an excess of flowers left over from the pack, you have to make something out of the leftovers or she'll pick through them and stuff them in her bag.

If you cannot make something out of them, you must throw them out.

If you throw them out, you must break the heads off first.

The trash cans must be emptied every night before 5:00.

We do not keep trash bags in plain sight.

Break down all empty boxes, or she will use them in place of trash bags.

Do not leave any food or drink where she can find it.

Do not leave any half-used rolls of floral tape where she can find it.

Do not let her know anything about you- lest she use it against you.

If you speak of a Thief, you summon a Thief- speak quietly, and never her name or you invite trouble.

The basic rules one makes when dealing with pests. Or fairy-folk.

There are rules and there are rules and there are rules.

If you want to keep a pest away, you make these sorts of rules. But if you want to get rid of a pest indefinitely, you have to remove their food source. And Wren's food source was her discount.

You start exercising your right to say 'no' to a customer in small ways.

She saw a bunch of carnations in the trash and said:

"Oh baby, these are still good! I'll take them off your hands for you!"

"They've been sitting without water for hours."

"They're still good!"

"They were out in the sun."

"Oh baby, I've been working with flowers for 40 years and I know that these will still be fine for a couple of days!" She picks a bunch of them out of the trash and shoves it in my face. "See, it's still stiff- it's still good!"

"Okay," I said. And before I could stop myself: "Full price."

Her eyes just about popped out of her skull. If it were just a little bit colder, I would have been able to see steam coming out of her ears.

We stared at each other for about a minute, waiting for the other to flinch. She took the bunch away from my face and threw them back into the trash. While she was in the cooler, I took the liberty of snapping the heads off of them and burying them further into the garbage.

And so began a war between the flower shop and the Flower Thief.

She came in: every single night. And each night, she got me.

Again.

"Oh no, baby! These carns are supposed to be 39 cents a stem. I can bring up the email."

"Sure." She brings up the email. "I see that they are 39 cents but... this was for Saturday."

"Yea, and I bought those carns on Saturday and you charged me full price!"

"Saturday."

"Yeah."

"You didn't buy these on Saturday. You bought them Friday."

"Well I didn't know that they'd be on sale, so I need them for that price because I didn't know they'd be on sale."

"The sales are one-day only. I can't adjust a sale from Friday to reflect Saturday's sale... on Sunday."

She made a noise that reminds me somewhat of a cement mixer.

And again.

"I got a bad banner last time, can you print me a new one?" She shows me the banner in question. It's white. The 't' and the 'h' in 'mother' ran together.

"Sure."

"Okay, I need it to say 'Beloved Mother' and I want it in pink."

"Sure."

I print it. I ring her up $5.

"Oh baaaaaaby, no, that one should be free."

"Grandpa said- banners start at $5."

"Oh, but you sold me a bad one last time."

"We haven't sold you a banner in three weeks. How long have y'all had that body sitting in your cooler?"

She grumbled, and paid.

And again.

"I swear you been workin' every night this week! You must be tired," she said, nerves plain in her voice. "When do you get a day off?"

"When the work is done."

"That ain't what I'm askin'. When's your next day off, baby?"

"I stop working when the work is done, Wren."

She narrows her eyes, which is a fun change from them bugging out of her skull like a fruit fly. "You don't ever get any days off?"

"When the work stops, I rest."

And again.

"I'll be in and out, I know y'all want to get out of here on time," she said- announcing her presence to the entire class. She piled her stuff across the register counter and Grandpa began ringing her up.

"Oh baby..."

"No. We're doing away with the discounts."

There are twenty people in the workshop for the class and Grandpa doesn't want to make a scene. She pulls her into the back, and I choose to make my instructions louder to mask the sound of them yelling.

"So you're going to take your hypericum berries and you're going to cut the stem to about ten inches-"

"How can you do this to me?"

"And you're going to slowly fill the vase with these berries to kind of set the shape of the arrangement."

"After all these years and this is how you treat me?"

"Fun fact- you might know hypericum berries as their more common name: St John's Wort! St. John's Wort has been used as a medication for depression prior to modern medicine." You see- I, too, have taken notes from the Chattering Order.

"You can't do this to me," Wren said, stamping her feet like a toddler.

"But I wouldn't recommend eating them. However, they do smell somewhat like baked brown sugar."

Stamp, stamp, stamp.

Wren threw herself into the cooler and began putting a bulk of her flowers back.

"This is robbery," I heard her say to Grandpa at the register.

"Is it now?"

And again.

She came in and immediately reached for a half-empty box of oasis bricks (the green sponge material that we use to hold flowers.) She said few words to me, few at all. She talked to Carrie about how she was going out to the country for awhile, to take care of her nephew's property. She needed to stock up. And oh- don't worry about it, she knows what she's doing. She's part of The Family.

She is in no manner of speaking, a member of The Family that owns this shop. Not even a third cousin.

I saw her beeline for a rose I'd set in the trash. I picked it up, opened my mouth, and bit the head off of it. She stood in the middle of the workshop, absolutely stunned.

Rose petals have the vague texture of arugula, by the way. Slightly sweeter, though. Tough to swallow in one go.

She ran back into the cooler and didn't talk to me.

I began taking down numbers.

27 bricks of oasis. One pack of roses. Ten calla lilies. 1/2 pack of assorted greens.

I punched the numbers in to the register. As if sensing something was amiss, she emerged from the cooler.

"$54? What do I have that's $54?"

"The oasis. They're $2 each."

"Oh no baaaaaby, they're $1."

"I can text Grandpa and ask her."

"... that won't be necessary. Why are you charging me $22.50 for roses? You know my prices by now!"

"22.50 is the price for a pack of roses."

"22.50 is everybody prices."

"Welcome to 'everybody.'"

"I ain't paid a price increase in 7 years!"

"The price of milk went up, Wren. So does everything else."

She was seeing red, I knew it. There's a vein in her forehead that pops out when she's angry and it's the same shape as the river that runs through my home town. She sized me up, as if wondering if she could take me.

I'm 256 pounds of 4H beef, and I have a knife. Try me.

"I'm gonna call Kyle on this."

"Do it." A lifetime of retail has made me immune to 'I'd like to speak to the manager.'

She grumbled and put things back. Carrie offered to watch her, I held up my hand.

"Can you do something for me on these carns? They're the last pack in there and they're lookin' kinda ratty."

"9.50."

"9.50's the regular price."

"Regular price is $14."

"No it ain't."

"Is today. You're taking our last pack and we need those for funerals."

She put them back.

She gave me a credit card. It seemed fake, but it ran. Every time I see here, she's got a different card. Did she print this one this morning, too? At least she stopped trying to sell me on Bitcoin. As you can see, it made her incredibly wealthy.

She gathered her things and left. "Guess I'm getting the rest of my flowers from KROGER!"

There are things you want to say. Like... I hope they enjoy your company just as much as we do. Or: Haven't graced them with your presence in awhile, huh? But at the time, it was better just to watch her leave with her minuscule bunch of flowers. I get a choice in where I loan my voice.

Not here.

Is it over? Nah. She'll be back for another round. But one day she'll finally retire in the way that she's always threatened to. And then? Then it can be as over as it ever will be.

It is shocking to come from a history of retail, where you're not allowed to even hint at the idea of a customer being wrong, where you have to override every single price change to get the scores up, where you have to just let them steal your things and pull the wool over your eyes...

... to flat-out telling someone 'no.'

"No."

It's such a great word.

There are rules and there are rules.

And there are thieves that the rules are made for.

And there are words like 'no.'

And all those things are magic in very human ways.

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emotionalgirl101 · 6 years ago

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Question | Stray Kids

Words: 2,137

Genre: college au, angst, fluff

Pairing: SKZ x reader

Summary: Your best friend, Minho, had been refusing to introduce you to his other group of best friends for months now, with no explanation as to why. One night after getting drunk after work together, he gave in to your pleas. Oops.

Warning: Contains mature content (such as coarse language, violent themes, etc).

A/N: I got the 20 notes, so let’s see how this goes. First fic in a long time. Pls hit up my inbox/asks to give feedback. If you guys like it, it’ll become a series. First chapter has Minho only, but I hope to bring the other boys into it soon. PLEASE GIVE FEEDBACK!

Question Masterlist

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You swear, if one more snobby lady asked you to bargain down on the price of that brand new lace top, you were actually going to throw a something at somebody. By no means was working in retail the worst job you could have, but after dealing with haggling customers, who can more than afford these prices, you wanted to throw hands. You wouldn’t, though. Partially as it was unprofessional, and you desperately needed to keep this job, but also because you were lazy and had some form of a moral compass.

After finally shooing the last customer out of the door 5 minutes after you were due to be closing, you counted the tills, killed the lights and left, after double checking the locks.

You could use a drink. A strong one, and wasn’t it convenient that your bartender buddy happened to be working tonight a few blocks down the road

Without a care in the world, you threw open the door and settled into the closest bar stool with a huff. The smiling idiot that turned around to greet you didn’t even think twice about your demeanour, emulated from the scowl upon you face. A preciously innocent 'hi' left his mouth.

You knew Minho was taunting you. That’s because he knew you were just here to vent about how shit work was today. He was just trying not to laugh his head off at what had now become a routine, ever since he told you where he worked. Something you’d never know if you hadn’t been paired with the boy in a compulsory uni class all those months ago.

“You’re lucky I like you” you grumbled, letting your bag fall under your stool with a thud and a shot of vodka simultaneously appearing in front of you. You quirked your eyebrow at the guy across the bar from you, a smirk on his face and a hand towel draped over his right shoulder. “On the house” he smiled, then continued cleaning up behind the bar. taking the shot, raising it slightly in a cheers to the raven haired bartender, and throwing it down your throat. You willingly let the burn set in. you didn’t drink often, but when you did, you drank often. With Minho behind the bar, it was sure to be one of those nights.

You clumsily slammed the shot glass back onto the table and looked up at the older kid. He was now leaning back against the opposite side of the bar, arms folded, looking your way. The black muscle tee showed off his arms, and his messy black hair giving off a heavier aura of boyish charm. You had no clue how this guy became your best friend.

Not only was it unlikely, if it weren’t for the circumstances, that you’d naturally become close, but the age difference made it strange that you had been in the same class at all. After explaining the fact he had multiple gap years before attending uni, it clicked. You were both grateful that you’d wandered into each other’s paths.

“What time do you clock off?” you asked pointedly, as your best friend went ahead and poured you another shot, this time joining you for some peach soju. “10. early shift tonight.” he shrugged nonchalantly.

You looked up at the clock, slightly above his head to the left. “20 minutes. Not bad.” you nod. Glasses clinked and were soon empty.

“Wish it was sooner. Hot chick came in before and asked for my number. Stupid manager forced me away before I could accept it. By the time I got back, she was gone.” his recount the events from earlier in the night were followed by a sigh. He looked down at his hands, spinning the glass in his fingers, still leaning towards you from across the bar. Out of nowhere, he quickly leaned back and upright, “Probably for the best, though. Have to beat the boys in a chicken and beer competition tonight, anyway. Can’t break tradition.” he beamed.

“It’s things like these that keep me up at night.” you sighed heavily, shaking your head cheekily at his behaviour.

He looked confused, eyebrows hiding in his tussled hair, and arms folded once again in question. “The fact that an eating competition with your roommates, that you could do literally any other night, was a decent reason to blow off the possibility of going on a date.” you shook your head once more, chuckling at his antics when he acted as if he couldn’t see a problem with the statement. “So?”

“So," you continued, trying to hide the smirk playing on your lips, "You always talk about wanting to get back into the dating game, but not being able to actively go out and look for it. The golden opportunity was literally right in front of you, and you’d still choose chicken and beer?” Looking at him, amused, you could practically see the cogs turning in Minho's head.

He stood up straight, shrugged. “Yeah”, then turned back to clean the glasses on the bench behind him. At this point, you weren’t surprised anymore, but at least he couldn’t blame you for not pointing out the error of his ways.

The boy in front of you looked up at the clock above. “I’m done.” he tactlessly announced, removing his apron and chucking it haphazardly on the bar. After grabbing another bottle of soju, he made his way over to your side of the bar, sitting across from you.

You smiled contently as he showed off the grape flavoured liquor in his clasp, like a game show host with his comical grin, and poured your drinks. He took the cap off the bottle then and twisted the loose end, ready to play a round of your flicking competition. He flicked hard and swiftly towards the ground, the twisted tail of the cap putting up no resistance to the movement.

“So," you began, as you took the soju lid from his grasp. Minho looked at you as if you were a child denying you ate the last cookie. "Since they're all home tonight... Can I finally meet the boys?” the question rolling off your tongue so innocently, eyes still trained on the bottle lid as you flicked it. You looked up at him with a cheeky smile, as you handed it over to him for his go. “Nuh-uh” he responded without hesitation, once again more focused on delivering a powerful hit.

"Seriously? Why the hell not?" You got defensive at his ridiculousness, and it was showing. Without lifting his gaze, he shrugged. "Someone is bound to get hurt. So, how about you don't meet them and nobody does. Everybody wins." He looked up from the cap in hand with a smug grin. The spiral end was only a flick or two away from breaking. You weren't happy, arms folded and staring right into his soul, courage and charisma bubbling up as the alcohol was slowly kicking in.

"Excuse me? You're so convinced that I'll hurt them that you haven't considered it's the last thing I'd ever want to do." You huffed. You snatched the cap off the boy. If you couldn't get your way, at least you could win this stupid drinking game.

You lined up your fingers towards the top of the spiral's end. Your flick had strength behind it, but your strategic placement meant there wasn't a huge effect. The end was still attached to the cap, but no where near as secure. Pleased, you went to hand it back to Minho, only then noticing the look on his face. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, trying to suppress a smirk from taking over his face, but the glint in his eye couldn't hide his amusement from you.

"What?" You said sharply, attempting to fold your arms, but looking awkward in the process. The end of the cap poked into your skin as you hooked your hand around your opposite arm. You tried to play it off, but no way did Minho miss it, and the thought of hiding his amusement was long forgotten. He giggled at you, especially more so when you tried not to do the same. You hit him playfully, and waited for him to speak his mind.

"Nothing, it's just..." He looked but up at you with an adoring smile. "You immediately assumed you'd be the one to hurt them. You didn't even consider that I was worrying about you, dummy." He wrapped his arm around you, as you smiled softly back. He was the best big brother figure you could ask for.

"I think I can handle myself, thank you very much." You teased the boy after the tender moment passed. He retracted his arm and leant back in feigned shock, hand on his chest, mouth and eyes wide. "You sure are sassy aren't you?"

Your shared laughter rang out in the empty bar, replying to the boy as you poured the next round of shots. "What I lack in height, I make up for in attitude." You shot him a wink as you both downed the soju. You were starting to feel a slight buzz by now. "Seriously, though. It's sweet to worry about me, but how can you be certain it'll end badly? Why not just give it a shot?"

He didn't seem uncomfortable under your inquisitive gaze. Rather, he didn't seem to notice. He just stared at the glass on the bench top, pushing it between his fingers while he was mulling it all over. After a while, he sighed and tilted his head up slightly towards me, looking like a shy little boy. There's no doubt this kid was charming, flaunting his looks as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"What would you do if I say no?" There was no hint of teasing in his voice. It was just a straight forward question. "Easy. Just sit here and drink away my sorrows about not meeting your friends 'til 3am." He snickered and you just smiled.

"You can't just stay here." Minho laughed at you, eyes creasing into crescents. "Why the hell not? You've dragged me into this hellhole, but you can't make me leave!" You both continued to double over in laughter at the absurdity of the whole situation. That one simple question took such a barely philosophical discussion.

"I'll just get them to ban you. I work here remember?" taunting you with a raise of his eyebrows. You retorted with a roll of your eyes after a snicker. "Please. You can't get rid of me that easily. Besides, isn't it illegal or something to kick me out without a decent reason? That's unfair dismissal or something-or-rather."

He was almost crying at his point, clutching his stomach from the pain of laughing so much. You were struggling to breathe, too. "Y/n, that only applies when you get fired from a job for no reason." You had a Minho-like moment of realisation, with an 'oh' trailing behind it from your lips. Then you were both back at it laughing.

"Yeah, I'm cutting you off. Sober Y/n wouldn't have said that... Probably." You playfully hit him again as you both climbed off the stools, making your way to the door. Minho had grabbed your bag while you slightly stumbled on ahead. The drinking game and half empty soju bottle long gone from your thoughts by this point in the night.

You stopped abruptly, spinning around and barely keeping your balance in the process. "Wait." He quirked an eyebrow at you, waiting for you to continue. "You never answered. Yes or no to me meeting the boys. Tonight. Like, now." You were serious but neutral, making Minho smirk at your drunk mannerism. He looked at you, "One last question. How are you getting home tonight?"

You answered without hesitation. "Public transport. Parking is way too expensive, plus I'm drunk, so." He nodded. "Okay, yeah, that's out of the question at this time of night. You're coming back to mine."

You nodded, turned around, and heading to the door once again. Then it hit you. You spun back around immediately, with no almost slips, which surprised you both. "I GET TO MEET THE BOYS!" You squealed and flung yourself at the older boy, and he let out a laugh.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get going before I change my mind." You smiled, turning back around. You marched through the door with Minho in toe, heading towards his apartment. At least, you thought so.

"Uh, Y/n..." He sounded unsure but you could see the smirk on his face when you span around. "My apartment's this way." He lazily gestured in the opposite direction in which you had been walking.

"I knew that."

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mangled-dreams · 7 years ago

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A Man with a Van

This is a second story for @destinggirl. She requested #14 of the first prompt list; “What are we doing this time?” “Want to see what kind of trouble we can get into?” “Oh, God, we’re going to die aren’t we?” “It’s Tuesday, I know how to restrain myself.” This one is a friendly Mark and reader with guest appearance from Ethan.

Man with a Van.

Sitting on your brother’s couch you wait for your movie to start back up. Commercials are the bane of your existence at this point in time. Due to…unexpected turns of event you’ve found yourself stranded in California for the better part of December. It’s not really something you’re complaining about, but you really had been expecting to see your cousin for her wedding instead of being left to watch your brother’s house while he goes to Japan.

You’re glad that your brother is able to take such an exotic trip, but you hadn’t exactly volunteered for babysitting duty. Thankfully your recent endeavor into the employment realm proved to be fruitless. At least, that’s what you’ve been telling anyone that asks. It’s less humiliating then saying you got fired from three retails stores in four months back home.

With a heavy sigh you stare at the remote just out of your reach then the TV again. Do you dare attempt to reach over and grab the remote? Or do you simply watch the cartoon movies currently play its opening scene. Decisions. Decisions.

After a few minutes you decide to grab the remote, turn off the TV, and take a shower. It’s about time you left the house and interacted with other human beings. You’ve been to your bother’s place a few times, watching the house on occasion, so it’s not like you don’t know the area.

It’s just interacting with people.

“Okay, Theo, I’m heading out.” You call to your brother’s Persian cat. He doesn’t even lift his head at his name and you take your leave. The cat doesn’t hate you, but he doesn’t like you either. Which, in you honest opinion, is okay.

Walking around in the bright sun light you take the sunglasses you’d bought before your brother left and slip them on. Somehow it feels off having to wear sunglasses in the dead of winter. You take in the manicured lawns and blossoming colorful flowers. It’s rather peaceful and you decide to put your ear bud headphones in and play a little bit of music to accompany you.

You walk for a few songs, pausing when cars drive down the street before deciding to turn around. As you spin around you literally crash into another person. You both tumble to the ground, trying to make sense of what just happened.

“Oh God, are you okay?” you ask quick to scramble off the young man beneath you. You barely get a glimpse before brushing yourself off, but he looks familiar.

“Yeah, are you? Sorry, I was running after my dog. She got loose.” He responds looking around for said dog. You glance around too.

“Your dog? I didn’t see a dog around here. Are you sure…” You pause when you spot a wagging pale yellow tail just behind the man. Sticking your index finger and thumb into your mouth, you form a circle and whistle loudly, watching the dog’s head perk up. She looks at you a moment before running full speed to you and her owner.

“Wow, that’s impressive.” He tells you grabbing ahold of his dog’s collar and slips the leash on.

“Thanks, back home we have a dog going deaf. I’m the only one that can whistle loud enough to get him to come in.” you say taking a good look at the dog and owner. He is quite attractive, short dark down hair, dark brown eyes, and pale olive skin you wonder if he’s seen sunlight much. And he wears glasses! Oh how you have a weakness against guys with glasses.

“Again, very impressive.” He tells you smiling at you. You can’t help feeling perplexed by his features. Even his voice is familiar to you.

“Do I know you from somewhere? I fee like we’ve meet before.” You say feeling like a sleazy guy trying to pick up someone in a bar. “I’m not trying to hit on you, I just… ah. You look really familiar and it’s bothering me because I don’t know where I’ve seen you from.” You quickly explain feeling even more like an idiot.

He laughs at you, his tone relaying his amusement at your actions more than being rude. “It’s okay. I actually get that a lot, but you’re housesitting for Billy and Thomas, aren’t you?” he asks earning a suspicious look from you.

“Y-yes… how did you know?” you ask deciding to be a little more tightlipped. It’s not that you don’t trust him, but even a baby face like his can hide insidious intentions.

“They told me. When I go out of town they watch Chica for me so I don’t have to put her in a daycare.” He says smiling cheerfully. “They asked that I stop by from time to time to check in on you. You’re Y/n, Billy’s younger sister, right?” he asks and your guards relax a little.

“Oh, wait! Billy said there was someone that would stop by to make sure I didn’t die.” You say feeling a little more at ease. He laughs with you.

“I’m Mark; I live down the street a few houses.” Mark introduces himself, holding out his hand to you. You smile and take it, shaking it twice before letting it drop. You don’t know why it’s so bothering, but you know you’ve seen him somewhere before.

“Have we met before? You really do look oddly familiar.” You push. “How long have you been living around this area?” you follow up with.

“I don’t think we’ve met before, but I’ve been here about a year. I’ve seen your photos in your brother’s house, but I don’t think we’ve met face to face before. Not to sound conceded, but do you watch YouTube?” he responds. You shrug.

“I don’t not watch it. I just mainly use it for music and learning to crochet and things. Are you a YouTuber?” You ask raising a brow at Mark.

“Yeah, my user name is Markiplier. I do a lot of Let’s Play and some comedy sketches.” Mark tells you. Chic whines at his side before pushing her nose against your hand. You smile at her and give her a few good scratches behind her ears.

“Cool. I hear you can make a good living doing that. Pretty successful I take it?” you ask idly petting Chica at your side.

“I like to think so. I have a kind of sketch comedy tour set up. We’re going around the states before going international for a few months.” You raise your brows at him and nod your head impressed by his success.

“Wow, that’s amazing. Are you happy?” You ask. It’s normal question for you to ask people that are quite successful in their profession. There’s no point in doing something if you’re not the least bit happy with your success.

“It’s a little stressful at time, but yeah, I’m happy. We start the tour shortly after New Year.” Mark tells you.

You nod still quite impressed at what he’s accomplished. You’d remembered hearing a few friends, and younger cousins, talk about YouTube stars they enjoyed. “You’re not much older than me, are you? What? Like twenty-eight?” You ask. Chica pulls away and walks back over to Mark for attention. You frown at the golden hair pooch. “I thought we had a connection!” You moan at Chica. She looks at you with her big brown eyes. “Oh, you wound me Chica.” You mutter looking away from the beauty.

Mark laughs at your antics. “Yeah, a round twenty-eight.” Mark pauses for a moment. “A-are you doing anything tonight? For dinner I mean.” Mark asks almost nervously.

You shrug. “I’m not the best cook, so I thought I’d pop down the Mc D’s or something and get some grease to fill my stomach.” You eye him. “Why do you ask?”

It’s Mark’s turn to shrug his shoulders. “I’m supposed to meet a few friends for dinner, and since your relatively new to the area I thought I’d see if you want to go with me.” Mark asks. You mull over the proposal. It would be nice to see where else you can get too for food.

“What kind of food?” You ask agreeing in your own way to go to dinner together. Mark smiles at you.

“It’s really delicious,” Mark reassures you with a smile you feel instantly drawn too.

“I thought you said it was going to be delicious, not repulsive.” You groan as your meal is place in front of you. You knew you should have turned around and left once it became clear this was a… how should you put it, fan service place. The décor is quite enjoyable.

Comic book pages are pasted to the tops of wooden tables with glass covering them for protection. Large life size cutout of various comic, cartoon, and anime characters line the walls tastefully. It’s like a nerd’s version of heaven… your version of heaven, you correct yourself.

However the food before you does not reflect that heaven.

“It’s good, just give it a try.” Mark tells you encouragingly. You give him a skeptical look and glance down at your food. It’s a stew you’d always thought would be pretty delicious, but looking at it now… You’re glad you have a steel stomach.

“I felt the same way when I first got that. The WestFall stew is quite delicious. It just looks a little hard to stomach.” Mark’s friend Ethan tells you. You give him the same skeptical look before picking up your spoon and give the bowl a stir.

You glance at Mark, he’s already digging into some kind of fried shrimp dish and whisper, “If I get sick from this I’m going to egg your house.”

Mark nearly chokes on his shrimp, laughing when he should be swallowing. You panic for a moment before he coughs, takes a drink of his water, and tells you, “That’s fair.”

“Whoa, don’t kill of the leading man before his big tour.” Alex, another friend of Mark chuckles from across the table.

“So, who all joins Mark in his endeavors?” You ask scooping a small spoon full of soup, carrots, meat, and what looks like mushroom spores. God this better not kill you.

“That would be just about all of us.” Ethan says as you force yourself to eat what is sitting in your spoon. You munch hesitantly as Ethan continues on. “Originally we had a few others planning to go, but they had to bail last minute. Tyler and I will be doing a few sketches with Mark and a few others like Wade and Bob. We all have our own little spot lights but the majority of the tour will be all of us just being jackasses.”

Okay, so the stew isn’t that bad. The mushroom spore things are quite delicious. Taking another spoonful, this time quite a bit larger you listen to the conversation flow around you. You interject and add but for the most part it feels nice to relax and enjoy some good—if not disturbing looking food.

This is the most peace you’ve known in quite a while.

It’s knocking at 6 o’clock in the morning that disturbs your slumber. You curse whoever is knocking on your door knowing what time it is. Granted you’d been waking up at a more socially appropriate time.

Dragging yourself down the stairs you pass a few mirrors and ignore your appearance and throw open the door less than pleased to see Mark’s smiling face on the other side. “I will kill you if this is not an emergency.” You growl at him and notice Ethan behind him with a camera pointed at you. “What are you two doing?” You groan kind of wishing you’d stopped to at least fix your hair…or even to put pants on.

“Put pants on! We’re taking a trip!” Mark tells you in a tone that sounds slightly crazy. You glare at him then to Ethan.

“What? I don’t want to go on a trip with you, Mark, or you… Seriously, what is going on?” you ask ready to slam the door on Mark and Ethan.

“Did you not remember you were going to do a video with me today?” Mark asks breaking character. You frown.

“No?” you respond as a conversation for three days ago finally connects everything. “Wait…you never said we’d be starting at 6 in the fucking morning! God, why didn’t you call or something to see if I was awake?” You ask glaring at Mark again. He’s smiling the dorky smile that makes you want to be his friend all over again.

“This would have made the video a bit more genuine.” Ethan pipes up. “But really, you should get some pants on. People are walking their dogs out here.” He adds smirking at you. You glare at him and close the door loudly.

“Are you saying no?” Mark shouts through the door.

“No, I’m getting clothes on!” you shout back and hurry up the stairs to your bed room. It only takes you a few minutes to change and get your morning routine taken care of, but you draw it out a little longer just to make the pair wait. Grabbing a yogurt cup and some granola you head out the door to find the pair talking on the front porch.

“Wait! Ethan get back in your spot. Okay, Y/n close the door and open after I say, “huh? Guess they’re not coming.” Got it?” Mark directs as you roll your eyes and close your door on him again. You can’t help your smile and wait for Mark to mutter his lines.

You’re giggling by the time he’s finally in character and have to compose yourself as he says lines. You spare a few seconds to eat your mixture of strawberry yogurt and vanilla crumbled granola cereal. Letting your spoon simply hang out of your mouth you open the door to a slightly surprised Mark before he starts to laugh.

“What?” You ask taking the spoon out of your mouth. “You didn’t give me time to eat my breakfast.” You offer innocently.

Mark quickly composes himself and quickly takes off pass Ethan. He shouts for you to follow and after exchanging worried glances with the camera and follow after Mark. You’ve never filmed anything before, so this is going to be interesting.

Mark laughs manically in the driver’s seat and you look back at Ethan and the camera then to Mark again. You have your lines to say and thankfully you’re not doing too bad.

“Mark… Ah, what are we doing this time?” You ask a little hesitantly even as you want to laugh your ass off at the look on his face.

“Want to see what kind of trouble we can get into?” Mark asks with a look in his eyes that’s a bit too convincing.

You look at the road a head of you, there is a green screen before you and the lovely white van is on a small platform that will simulate that it’s moving. Even with the van on idle you don’t quite trust Mark in this moment. “Oh, god, we’re going to die aren’t we?” you ask looking back to Ethan and his camera again. He shakes the camera to simulate confusion.

“It’s a Tuesday, I know how to restrain myself.” Mark responds and you give him a wide eyed look.

“Is Saturday!” you shout as he presses on the gas. The van’s engine reeves in your ears.

“My point exactly!” Mark shouts. Holding his pose a few more seconds before he breaks character and laughs. You and Ethan laugh along with him. You have no idea how that’s all going to fit together but it was really fun to do.

“Mark, you are really selling the crazy guy very well.” Ethan remarks from the back seat. You nod in agreement. Mark smiles and looks at the pair of you in turn.

“You guys did great. I have a few more shots to make but this was fun. Y/n, I’ll take you back home and get in touch with you in a few hours. Ethan and I are going to go through the video and see if there is anything else we need from you. Thanks for your help, by the way.” Mark says.

Everyone exits the van and the tech that helped you set up helps break everything down and gets the van on the pavement again. You’d already taped everything that Mark needed from you at various other locations. This had been the last scene he’d needed you for.

Marks texts you later and says he doesn’t need you for any reshoots and will forward a sneak peek to you once their done with the editing. You tell him you’ll look for the email and go make yourself dinner. If you had plans to stay in Cali, you’d definitely like to do more sketches with Mark and Ethan. It was quite a lot of fun and the process itself was fascinating.

Maybe you need a change of scenery and start a new chapter in your life. You’ll talk to Mark tomorrow about that. For right now you want food.

#platonic #mark fischbach #making a vid #in a van #reader insert #ethan nestor #funny #goofy mark #mark's van #weirdo in a van-o

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tebbyclinic11 · 6 years ago

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Haley.Henry Is Pouring the Most Interesting Wine i...

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Haley.Henry Is Pouring the Most Interesting Wine i...

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In Boston, a city known for its oyster bars and Red Sox and, let’s face it, a lot of big-box bars with big-screen TVs, there lies one of the most charming natural wine bars—that also happens to be championing female winemakers. Haley Fortier, 40, opened up Haley.Henry two years ago, and she still works the door of her bar this cool summer evening. Tonight, she’s got a Bowie-esque coif and a purple blazer fit for Prince. From inside, the mumble rap melodies of Famous Dex and Tyler the Creator welcome me, along with the promise of funky, weird wines I can’t find anywhere else in the city.

The 680-square-foot space feels intimate and chill, like hanging out at your artist friend’s Bushwick apartment. There’s a small counter and a couple induction burners for cooking and an upstairs loft for wine storage. Fortier only features small-batch wines, a.k.a. made in fewer than 5,000 cases at a time. (To better understand this figure, an estimated 415,000 cases of David Beckham favorite, Whispering Angel Rosé, were produced in 2016.)

Photo by Jon Pack

The woman behind the bar, Haley Fortier

Before getting into wine, Fortier was many other things. She was a records-shattering high school soccer player, a winter sports photographer, and a corrections officer at the Boston city jail. But after breaking up fights and keeping an eye on high-profile inmates for six years, she decided to go into restaurants. “I’m a people person,” Fortier tells me with a shrug and a smile.

She was a server at Chart House on Boston’s Long Wharf, a national steakhouse chain, then worked her way up over four years to help manage the restaurant’s wine tastings. In 2008, she joined the opening team at Sportello, chef Barbara Lynch’s pasta-powered restaurant. Under the guidance of Cat Silirie, Sportello’s executive wine director, Fortier immersed herself in the world of Italian wine and was first introduced to natural wine via a memorable bottle made by Arianna Occhipinti, a groundbreaking winemaker in Vittoria, Sicily. She became obsessed.

“I like big, bold, dirty wines,” Fortier says, with a laugh. She read everything Alice Feiring, a respected, yet controversial wine writer and advocate of natural wine, wrote (The Dirty Guide to Wine, Naked Wine). Almost four years ago, she first hatched the idea for Haley.Henry, named after herself and the son her dad never had (a family inside joke, since he has five daughters). It would be a haven for natural wines, made mostly by women, and tinned fish, somewhat of an obsession of hers after a trip to Portugal. So Fortier cashed in her savings, and with longtime Sportello customers who’d chipped in as investors, she turned an old cupcake shop in retail-crammed Downtown Crossing into Haley.Henry. She blindly emailed a favorite tinned fish producer, Da Morgada, and ended up becoming a distributor in the U.S.

Photo by Jon Pack

Precious tins of fish

When I visited recently, I tried a wine that stopped me in my tracks: the 2017 Old Westminster Winery pét-nat from Maryland. “Yes, Maryland!” my mind-reading server said as I pointed to the menu. It was tiny-bubbled and almost creamy, the perfect thing to sip while snacking on a few salty sardines and griddled tuna belly sandwich.

This past summer, Fortier did the the whole building-your-own-bar process over again for her newest wine bar, Nathálie, which just opened in Fenway. It’s double the size of Haley.Henry and features even more female winemakers, closer to 50 percent of the wine list. That’s intentional for Fortier, who has been mulling over ways to make her industry more inclusive of people like her: female, gay, experienced, ambitious.

“We’ve been having this conversation about equality for a long time now, and a part of me feels as though the more we talk about it without action, the more we keep ourselves pinned down,” she says. “Why wouldn’t we make it normal to focus on female winemakers? The more we do, the more realistic it becomes. Five years from now, my hope is that we aren’t still talking about the inequality of the sexes. It’s nonsense.”

Photo by Jon Pack

Busy as usual at Haley.Henry

The sometimes unusual, or unexpected wines can be an uphill battle for some customers, but Fortier and her team draw them out of their comfort zone by being engaging and as helpful as they can.

“We’ve had a lot of customers come in who aren’t familiar with natural wines, or they think wine is precious or pretentious,” she says. “So we just talk to them. What a novel concept! But by the end of it, we’ve gotten them to at least appreciate what we’re doing, found something they like, or,��—she kids—“opened their eyes to a variety of wines that they absolutely hate.”

But so far, it seems like people are starting to geek out on these natural wines, much like Fortier did years ago.

“We didn’t have any natural wine bars before in Boston, and we need it because you can get classic wines anywhere,” Fortier continues. “So when our customers come in, don’t look at the wine list, and ask for something interesting, we know we’re doing something right.”

Pairs well with natural wine:

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