The following scene may well have taken place. Up to a point.
SOUND EFFECT: That cool chung-chung
from Law & Order
Exterior establishing shot of a high street in a town. It is
evening. THE OCELOT hustles across the road to a row of shops, takeaways and
beauty salons, heading towards a convenience store. For legal purposes, the
name of this establishment has been changed to CHEEP BEER.
Interior of the store. Aisles and high shelves packed with
drinks, newspapers and basic foodstuffs. The door opens silently, bereft of the
clichéd tinging bell. THE OCELOT walks in, intent on purchasing a pint
(actually two litres, but hey) of milk, and fails to note the lack of a clichéd
tinging bell at the time. It will be another fourteen hours until the lack of a
tinging bell enters THE OCELOT’s consciousness, halfway through writing the
entire shopping incident up in the style of a self-referential script. At this
future point THE OCELOT will spend far too long discussing the lack of a bell as
well as the meta-textual nature of this now-overlong paragraph, and will then
attempt to bring the narrative back on track with a creative flourish.
SOUND EFFECT: Ting
The shop is empty. THE OCELOT walks over to the corner of
the shop where the cold things are kept. This area is quite possibly known as a
chiller cabinet or sub-thermal presentment zone. THE OCELOT cares not for such
petty titles. Milk is required. Milk for life-giving tea with which to
accompany a custard cream or twelve and an episode or three of non-threatening
rom-crim Castle. THE OCELOT pauses,
milk carton in hand, and mentally trademarks the term rom-crim for later use.
Thence to the till by way of the Frosties. A small indulgence perhaps, but you
should give yourself a present every day, as Special Agent Dale Cooper once
wisely pronounced.
Cut to the till. Of the three cash registers, only one is
manned. Womanned. Occupied. Helmed? A young female, hobgoblin orange in hue,
eyebrows black as a coalmine at midnight, stands here, swaying slightly in an
imagined breeze. THE OCELOT sees her hands twitch almost imperceptibly, as if
deprived their customary smart phone app. Perhaps it involves plump birds
hurtling through the air, perhaps the never-ending alignment of coloured jewels
or a simple word-game. Whatever. The HOBGOBLIN GIRL has transported her
consciousness to some other plane, leaving her body to run on auto-pilot until
closing time.
As is customary, THE OCELOT makes a ghastly attempt at a
smile, in a dreadful mockery of human interaction. The ensuing twitching rictus
is reminiscent of Jeremy Brett at his Holmesiest. The HOBGOBLIN GIRL behind the
till seems not to have noticed, and continues staring out to one side, over THE
OCELOT’s shoulder. At some distant vista perhaps, or the family bags of
Doritos. THE OCELOT considers croaking out a salutatory Hello or perhaps really
going for it and plonking the milk carton assertively down on the counter. But
no, we are not savages. The girl will acknowledge the customer’s presence momentarily.
The moment momentarily passes. The HOBGOBLIN GIRL fails to
acknowledge, like a rogue nuclear sub or dumb beast of the field. THE OCELOT feels
both foolish and annoyed. What occurs here? Is the girl special? Is there a
tiny wee person on the floor ahead in the queue that THE OCELOT has failed to
notice? Have we entered a twilight zone where one of us is a ghost but hasn’t
realised it yet (spoiler: this happens in a film. I won’t say which one, but it
does star Bruce Willis and Haley Joel Osment).
OFF-SCREEN DIALOGUE: Mutter mutter grunt
SOUND EFFECT: Shuffling feet
THE OCELOT’s head whirls, following the girl’s line of
sight. Now we can see that the muttering and grunting, in tandem with the foot
shuffling, have a common origin. The bristled head of a young male can be seen
several aisles over, browsing the drinks. THE OCELOT then remembers that there
was an open shopping bag on the counter. A head-whirling moment back to the
till confirms this. The bag is half stuffed with goods. In a final-act montage
of revelation, THE OCELOT replays all the vital clues, putting the whole damn
story together: the pre-occupied attendant, the guy wandering around, the
unfinished business on the counter.
Some bastard’s left his shopping on the till and is still
looking around.
SOUND EFFECT (inside THE OCELOT’s head): Jarring chords
Now it makes sense. This BROWSER, this self-serving clod,
meandering hither and yon in front of the lagers (just pick one, you lackwit),
this jowly excuse for an alpha male, is so secure in his domain, his cut-price boozy
hunting ground, that he thinks he can just plonk down his tatty Bag For severely-foreshortened-due-to-liver-damage
Life while he debates the relative merits of (insert brands of cheap beer here
once researched) and (ditto).
And he expects the rest of the world to just bally well blooming
well cool our heels while he lopes around like a fat old lion choosing which
dismembered antelope to shove his snout into? Charming, really lovely. The
HOBGOBLIN GIRL is no help here whatsoever. She is complicit in his selfish
territoriality. Perhaps she knows him, perhaps she has submitted to his rank
musk like a compliant doe, perhaps this so-called conblinkingvenience store upholds
some antiquated droit de shoppeur tradition
that an outsider like THE OCELOT is unaware of.
The BROWSER returns to the till, mooching in front of THE
OCELOT to conclude his purchases, six-pack in hand. THE OCELOT, in a show of
bravado, does not back off the required distance to allow him easy access to
the counter, thus making the following cramped thirty seconds ever so slightly
confrontational. The BROWSER continues, seemingly unconscious of this bold challenge
to his masculinity. He and the HOBGOBLIN GIRL converse in quick pidgin barks
unfamiliar to THE OCELOT’s refined ears. He shuffles off to stage left. Now
finally, finally, THE OCELOT may exchange money for milk and Frosties, and
takes a step forward.
BROWSER: I’ll have these an’ all.
The BROWSER has come round again, grabbing something else
from a nearby shelf. Perhaps some Warburton’s crumpets nearing their sell-by
date. As if to have the last word, he has returned to scent-mark the counter a
second time, determined to claim it as his. He places said items down before THE
OCELOT can conclude matters with the HOBGOBLIN GIRL; the final insult.
JUMPCUT: THE OCELOT’s eyes, narrowing
SOUNDTRACK: Club fight scene from Blade
Something snaps within THE OCELOT. Like D-FENS in Falling Down, this shall not be endured.
Violence ensues. Frosted flakes fall, like tears in the rain.
FADE
And that’s exactly how it happened. Up to a point.
