Eshtine

fiction: one bad movie pt 2

Shanti was rinsing out mugs and stacking them in such a way that they appeared ready to crash-land at any instant. They never fell, of course, for balance was her talent. Jo, who worked the dinner shift with her, only had to breathe wrong and she'd drop a full tray of vegan sandwiches. Shanti was playing up her sadist side tonight, or perhaps just wanted to be Ms. Goody-Goody to the boss. Jo didn't know which and didn't care; she wasn't going to engage in a game she'd lose. She deliberately took one dinner out at a time to the customers. As anyone could have predicted, as she was carrying the last plate to table seven, she tripped on a dust mote and dropped it. Jo sighed and fixed another portobello pocket pita.
There was a commotion at the door of the coffeehouse. Two men were trying to go through it at the same time. Jo knew Cactus but not the other, but since Cactus was bringing him in, knew that would change soon. He seemed to delight in getting strays into the fold.
"Shanti, Jo, meet Blondie. Blondie, what would you like to drink? Tip Jo well when she brings it out to you, right? I'm going to greet the rest of the literary society." Then Cactus was gone, and Blondie--black-haired, dark-eyed--tipped his fedora at Jo and requested some hot chocolate.
The waitress didn't trip on her way to Media Vita's far corner, a spot monopolized by the 'zine writers for the last several months. She had been studying the way Blondie moved--he had a slinking sort of walk, like a cat--and determined this was what she would do, and she would never trip again. Jo set down the hot cocoa, Cactus' cappucino, and the communal loaf of pumpkin bread on the rough wooden table. Cactus was making a pronouncement.
"It is the best movie ever."
Natasha was rolling her eyes. "You say that every week."
"It's true every week. This was the best movie ever for this week. Jo, did you see this movie?"
"Sorry?" She glanced around her, still unused to a customer treating her like an actual person instead of a faceless member of the servant class.
"This movie 'Empire Records," it's incredible. You have to rent it."
"I may have seen the previews..." Shanti was glaring at her. She excused herself to get the rest of the order.
When she returned with Anna's ginger tea, Natasha's chai, and the Fox's pastries sampler, she was surprised to find the conversation still on the movie. Cactus still had the floor--also unusual.
"But, no, I never said the movie made sense. I have said word boo about plot or plausibility. And the dialogue is so full of surreal non sequitors--actually, that was my clue into its genius. The movie is Zen in its purposelessness, it is French existentialist cinema set at a slacker's paradise record store. Go on, watch this movie and tell me it's not a glorious fable, a meditation on the absurdities of the universe! And every second scene, everyone breaks into song or starts dancing for no reason! What more can you ask for from your film viewing experience?"
A crash rang out from the front of the coffeehouse. One of Shanti's mugs had surrendered to the precariousness of its position. Jo smiled. She liked Wednesdays.