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She is a big woman. Her massive belly hangs over her belt and her chubby fingers are always hitting the "s" key when she types "a" and the "5" when she taps "4." Her breath holds the oddly familiar scent of stale Cheetos and warm Pepsi. She is loud and abrupt, pounding her fat hands on the counter when she wants to emphasize a point.
"These are the rules!" she'll say. "Rules!
She hacks and chokes her way through the day, the remnants of a long ago infection forcing her to run to the drink cooler.
"I'd kill for a glass of ice water," she says, her rubbery lips hugging the rim of the soda can.
But there's no ice in the video store, only a freezer half full of mildly cool soda pops
and a rack of slowly melting chocolate bars. Expired bags of popcorn hang from a clip strip to
the right of the candy and a lone bag of Sour Patch Kids flanks the bars on the left.
The store is empty, save for the big woman behind the counter. She sits in a chair, sturdy metal, tapping numbers into her calculator, muttering "damn" under her breath when her clumsy fingers hit the wrong keys.
The door chimes and a woman with two small children enters and hurries to the counter. She is clearly in a hurry, yet the fat woman only nods in her direction and continues working on the calculator.
"Be with you in a minute," she says without looking up as the woman impatiently drums her fingers on the counter. Eventually she ambles over to the counter, resting heavy forearms on the dark blue Formica.
"How can I help you?" she asks, looking not at the woman, but at the flashing monitor in front of her. The time flashes 12:12, over and over.
"Yes, hi," the woman says, her lipsticked mouth attempting and failing a sincere smile.
"We just needed to turn these videos in."
She places two tapes on the counter. The case of one is chewed and the printed title on the paper insert is no longer readable.
The fat lady nudges the chewed case with an index finger. "What's this?" she says.
The woman laughs. "Oh that," she says, rubbing her son's hair. "Jack here was playing puppy and got a little bit carried away." Her fingernails rest lightly on the larger woman's shoulder. "You know how kids are," she says, then laughs again.
"No," the fat lady says even though she has a picture of her two youngest grandchildren pinned up in her cubbyhole. "I don't."
The woman at the counter laughs again, nervously. "Well," she says, with a smile that looks more like a grimace. "Go ahead and get these checked in for us." She slides the videos across the counter.
"No problem," the fat lady says, drawing out the words slowly. Then she smiles.
She scans the videos and, just as the other woman has managed to gather up her children and is placing the palm of her manicured hand on the glass of the door marked exit, she says, "There's a $9.70 balance on your account."
The woman scratches the tip of her nose with a pointy nail and looks confused. "But those were due today," she sputters. "I brought those back on time."
"Sorry," the fat lady says, still staring at the monitor in front of her. "All videos are due back by noon."
The woman at the door glances at her slinky gold watch. "It's 12:15," she says.
"Yes," the woman behind the counter says, tapping the monitor with a pudgy finger. "It is. There's a $9.70 balance on your account."
"This is ridiculous!" the other woman says, her well-powdered face beginning to flush. "You can't do this!"
"Ma'am I'm sorry," the fat woman says, although she doesn't mean it. "The videos must be turned in by noon. That's the rule." She finishes with an insincere smile, full lips pressed tightly together.
The woman at the door is angry. "Jack! Katy!" she yells to her children, even though they are standing right next to her. "We are leaving and we are never renting from this store again!" She grabs each child by the hand and marches through the door.
Just before the door closes, in a voice loud enough for the other woman to hear, the fat lady says, "That's right. You can't rent from this store again until these fines are paid."
As she sits back down at her calculator, she hears the angry scream of tires on pavement and smiles to herself. People must learn to follow the rules, she thinks.
She is busy tap-tap-tapping at her calculator when the door swings open and two men in baggy pants who look to be in their early twenties saunter in. They head for the video game section and the fat lady peers around a stack of files as they make their selection. She's not going to let these punks steal anything from her store!
The men pick out a couple of games and, pants sagging dangerously low, make their way to the counter. "Yo!" one calls to her when she makes no effort to get up from her chair. "You gonna check us out or what?"
"Yeh," his friend chimes in.
The fat lady doesn't answer but slowly rises from her chair and makes her way to the register. She picks up one of the games and checks the label, M for mature. "I'm going to need to see some ID," she says.
"What?" the first punk laughs. "I don't need no ID to rent a game."
His friend snorts.
"This game is rated M," the fat woman says. "That means you have to be 17 to rent it. I'll need to see some ID."
"That's whack," the more outspoken of the two says. "I'm twenty-two and I don't need no ID to rent no game."
When the fat woman does not respond, he continues.
"Look I didn't bring my ID with me. Why don't you just pull up my account and check it. I rent here all the time."
The fat woman gives him her best phony smile. "I'm sorry," she says. "The rules say you must have an ID to rent an M-rated game."
The first punk slams his fist onto the counter. "Bitch!" he says, pointing a finger right at the fat lady's face. The second punk lowers his eyebrows at her and then the two stomp out of the store, leaving a single muddy boot print on the tile.
The fat lady lowers herself back into the chair in front of the calculator. Young punks have no respect for rules she tells herself.
She has just finished her lunch, a bean burrito and two bags of Doritos, when the door chimes and an elderly woman walks in.
After a few minutes, the woman returns to the front of the store with a DVD. She waits at the sign that says Please Wait Here even though there is no line. The fat woman rushes over to the counter.
"I'll get you right here," she calls and taps the monitor in front of her.
The elderly woman hands her a membership card and she scans it to retrieve the account. The fat woman's brow furrows and she taps her lips thoughtfully. "What's your name?" she says finally, narrowing her eyes at the elderly customer.
"Dora McLeaven," the woman responds.
"Mmm, hmmm." The fat lady is thinking. Finally, she says "I'm sorry Mrs. McLeaven. Edward does not have you listed on this account. I'm afraid I can't rent to you today."
The older woman smiles. "That's okay, dear," she says. "I'm Edward's wife. He doesn't care if I rent."
"Ma'am," the fat woman responds, and this time her voice is harsh and deep. "I cannot rent to you. I can only rent to Edward on this account."
The other woman is becoming upset.
"Can't you call him?" she asks and now there is a noticeable quiver in her voice.
"No ma'am!" the fat woman bellows. "That is against the rules!" She is starting to get angry.
"Oh," says the older woman, "Okay." The fat woman notices without sympathy that the other lady's hands are shaking as she gathers up her purse. "Thank you," she mutters as she stumbles out the door.
The fat lady watches her go and frowns slightly. Old people are always trying to sneak around the rules, she thinks.
She is rearranging the sodas in the cooler when the door opens and Bob walks in. Bob is a regular customer who always follows the rules.
"Hi, Bob!" she calls.
"Hello there," he says as he heads for the row of action movies.
Suddenly the fat woman is not feeling so well. Her head spins and she sways on her feet. There is a sudden tearing pain in her heart and she clutches at her chest.
"Bob," she calls weakly as she collapses to the floor. "Help me."
Bob looks at the woman on the floor and at the phone on the counter. "You know the rules," he says. "That phone's for employee use only."
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