                               Disclaimer

   This is piece of fiction. I Any imagined resemblance to
people living or deceased is either the result of dementia on
the reader's part or that the reader is, in fact, a character
of this story.   It is assumed that readers of this story
have the permission of the state, mom, dad, and pastor and
are able to tell the difference between real and make-
believe.  Furthermore, the writer is fully aware that he is
bound for hell, but welcomes both praise or/and well thought
out, humourous insults on his writing skill.  Note: he
already knows he cannot spell 'warth shet'.

   The events and descriptions of this story are the sole
property of Kenny N Gamera and should not be recorded,
reposted, or profited from in anyway without express written
permission of the person hiding behind that pen name.
Reposting and free archiving will be tolerated given the
writer's name and address remains attached.  Archiving by
Deja.Com and ASSTR/ASSM is assumed and encouraged.

Thank You and Good Day,
Kenny N Gamera
turtlemeat69@hotmail.com

                   Attack Of The Slightly Chunky Roommate
                                     by
                               Kenny N Gamera

   One nice thing being the assistant manager rather than
say a lowly peon (or shutter, a shit-on) is that no one
cares if you are five minutes late, provided, of course,
the peon peons haven't sold everything to their friends
at half price within that time.  Not that I had to worry
about that, because what height school cape would admit
to working at a bookstore and what college kid would
waste perfectly good beer money on even a half-priced to
book.  Grad students and other book addicts need not
reply.

   Heck, one can be up to six minutes late without even
Stumpy the wonder nerd noticing.  Not that it
matters because all he could do its whine to the exact
same manager who shares my extremely low opinion of the
pimply-faced pain in the ass (it is only be rumour that
the guy I replaced was fired for hiring his annoying hind
end, but he wasn't a happy camper so I think that he
hired Stumpy as revenge).  Even if I was spared the
pitiful complaints of my least favorite employee and most
of the store was still standing, I was still disappointed
in myself for running late.  Not so disappointed that I
couldn't enjoy the secret pleasure that I felt for the
reason that I had for being late.

   So I went into the store humming to myself, as I
checked the state of confusion.  Stumpy stood at a
register with a matronly looking woman and a soccer mom.
Teresa and Julio, two college students, were busily
pretending to stock and straighten the latest legal
thriller by MichaelD.  A note at the timeclock announced
that Keisha was running late, again, her bus having hit a
landmine or some such thing.

   Another day at everyone's favorite mall bookstore.

   Yippee.

   I went back out to the store, thinking about my
encounter.  I was still in the hopeful stage as opposed
to the confused, doubting phase that I was not looking
forward to later in the evening.  Before I would leave
work, I would have convinced myself that 1) nothing had
happened, 2) she didn't exist, 3) that the only reason
she had wanted my number was so that non-existent person
could sue me for what hadn't happened, and 4) the number
in my pocket was from Eighties rock song.

   Keep in mind that that was only where I was going to
be when the bars came down on Mr. Slot's; that at this
moment I was still in the state of mind where I wanted to
start dancing and chanting, "I got a date!  I got a
date!"  Oh yes, and maybe a "nah nah nah nah!"  Or two
for Stumpy.  In my imagination, I had even advanced to
the third date.  No, not the third date but after the
third date.

   I made omelets for breakfast.

   And this was before anyone had asked anyone else out.

    such are the highs and lows of the male ego.

   Anyway back at the bookstore, I went on thinking my
pleasant thoughts and went towards the registers to find
out what Stumpy's latest grievance against his co-
workers.  Passing Teresa and Julio I chanced to overhear
them talking as they "worked."

   "I tell you, she's hot."

   "Hey," replied Julio, "she's old.  At kids, too, so
she's probably all stretched out."

   Teresa let out an exacerbated sigh.  "You guys, you
can only think about what you're sticking your meat in
next.  What at her, she's in her mid-thirties at most and
she still has a body I wish I could have."

   "Hi, gang," I interrupted.  I gestured with my head to
the counter.  Talking about the soccer mom?"

   "Yeah, man," said Julio.  "Teresa seems to have a
thing about her."

   "Julio, you're as bad as my husband."

   I glanced at the counter and said, "I've got to agree
with Teresa.  She's nice to look at.  Besides," I paused
for effect, "if you know one thing about single moms, you
know that they do put out."

   "And they may be disgusted enough with men to give the
other side of the field a try," added Teresa with a huge
grin.  Julio groaned and walked away to not work
someplace else.  Teresa began to straighten books for
real.

   "So, how has the day been?"

   "Aren't you going to check with Stumpy?"

   I shook my head, "I'd rather know the truth before I
talk with ole doom and gloom.  Last week, I had thought
half of the back stock magazines had caught fire when it
had turned out that Sherry had only been smoking back
there."

   "Well, nothing exciting happened other than Stumpy
going to the bathroom for fifteen minutes with a copy of
costume Cosmo, again."

   "And to think that Julio thinks he's gay."

   Teresa winked at me.  "Julio's never seen the bra
ads."

   Forty-five minutes later (my five minutes late plus
his ten minutes early), Julio left.  Teresa left on time,
and left me with Stumpy to divide the store between us.
He got the peak stuff (computers, sci-fi, and fantasy)
and I ended up with the rest of the store.  We, thus,
settled into the routine of the week day night at the
mall: growling at each other at the edges of our
territories, ogling the jailbait walking by the store,
and waiting on the occasional customer.

   I will take this moment to state that there are two
kinds of people: those who know the next statement to be
true and those who think that it is just a load of shit.
Time in an empty bookstore moves at a slower rate then
time in most other places.  The latter group will say
that this is, of course, in my head without realizing
that this explains away nothing.  Also they will never
experience that sense of time stopping when someone
wonders why the dog's puppies have their nose.

   I mention this not because the dog's puppies have my
nose or, for that matter, ever will (anyone who says
other wise is a damn liar), but because five days later
and a month before closing, I looked up at the huge lack
of wall that substitutes for a door at a mall store, to
see Stumpy rushing to her, yes that her whom I had better
start to call Jenny before I get myself in trouble.

   This proved that things one and two on my list above
were not true, which left time to tell if the third was
false.  I still meant to check the fourth at home against
my Tommy Tutone album (well, someone had to have bought
one).  My heart leapt almost enough to make me
undepressed and my blood boiled at the thought of that
doughy horde defiling my one true lust!

   I charged to her rescue.

   "...'elp you, ladies?" came from the lumpy pile of
refined waste of processed food by-products as I arrived,
my tie literally had flown over my left shoulder.

   "Oh, hi Kenny!"

   "Good day, Jenny," was not what I said though upon
reflection it would have been a tad more appropriate
then, "uh" which is what I did say.

   "Glad to see that you still have the gift of gab."

   "Uh," I replied but the hope that I did not share the
stunned fish look at Stumpy had on his face.

   Jenny turned to the woman I had not noticed standing
next to her.  She wore a pair of khakis-coloured shorts
and a plain white tee shirt like the one that Jenny had
on.  Both, accented her tanned skin which contrasted with
Jenny's very fair complexion.  She shared Jenny's brown
hair, however, but with streaks of blond highlights.

   "I think he has to do that two or three times to warm
his vocal chords up," she was told by Jenny.

   "Uh," I added helpful.

   " Well, Jenny," asked Jenny's friend, "does he have a
name or should I just call him Mr. `Uh.'"

   "I told you about him already, but if I have to; this
is Kenny Gamera, geochemist," she stated with a
spokesmodel's wave in my direction.  "Kenny, this is Kim
Wright, another teacher at Gil Thorp."

   "Uh," I replied as I took Kim's hand.  It felt soft as
only a woman's hand could ever feel.  My hand now felt
very rough and hard looking.

   "Charmed as well," she said as we shook hands.  "I
look forward to actually speaking with you.  Hopefully
sometime today."

   "Kim is my roommate, and when she mentioned that she
wanted to get a book, I remembered that you said you
worked here.  Maybe, you can help us."

   "Uh," said I, but this time I added, "sure."

   The mental dam now broken I began to act like a
bookstore employee.  "Let's go to Stinky over here."  I
lead them over to the computer next to the cash
registers.  Stumpy followed with the stunned fish look
stuck on his face.  "If we have it in stock, it'll tell
us.  Otherwise, I'm sure we could always order it for
you."

   I tapped the shift key to kill the screensaver and hit
the buttons necessary to get to the search screen.
"What's the title?"

   "_Twenty-five More Things I Did to Lexi_ by Katie
McN."

   "We have one copy," I read from the screen.  "It's in
our gay studies section."

   "Erp" went Stumpy as he ran away (or at least, I hoped
it was him that made that sound and not me).  The ladies
watched as he beat his retreat and chuckled.  Their
smiles matched, but Kim's rounder face with its softer
curves and her weak chin, gave it a different flavor then
Jenny's more heart shaped face with its sharper contours.

   "That scared the little nerd away, but it didn't seem
to bother that one, Jenny."

   "I don't know, I think he went `Erp.'"

   "Well, I'll get my book.  I assume that you'll be
waiting here."

   I watched as Kim strutted away.  Her butt moved like
a sack with two cats in it that just weren't getting
along.  I enjoyed the view but not so much that I wasn't
aware of Jenny next to me.

   "Would you like to meet us at the Golden Calf Cafe
after you get off work tonight."

   "God, that's months from now," I said with a smile.

   "It's eight-thirty; the mall closes at nine."

   "You've never worked at a bookstore, have you?"

   "Oh," she laughed, "I see.  I forget that you try to
be funny when you actually say things.  Well, if you
don't die of old age meet us at the coffee shop.  I'll
try to get `our' table if I can."

   Kim had somehow found Stumpy and had been checked her
out.  I watched her jiggle as she came towards us.  A
glance at Jenny showed that she was doing the same.  She
glanced at me and grin with a quick upturn of her mouth.
I could hear the drool drip from Stumpy's maw.

   "Let's go, Juliet," Kim said to Jenny.  She turned to
me.  "Later, Mr. `Uh.'"

   "Uh," I said as they went through the wall-less area.

