Blue Wolfe and Friends presents: Camp Here and There.
Episode Sixty Four: Sounds of a Haunted Human
ADAM
[CLICK] Hellloooooo~! Why, hello there. Sydney! Well, not Sydney. Lovely little tape recorder that I… ahem, acquired. Such a quaint plastic thing, hoo hoo. Oh I bet this is just how Sydney would do it, hee hee.
I am on my way to the “gas station” to get, and I quote, “snacks.” Considering Mavis completely blundered the simple errand. It is my duty now, begrudgingly. More Butterfingers! And perhaps a sort of sugary iced beverage, erm, what is it called… a slush? Slushing? Slushy? Yes! That is it! I would like a slushy!
Ah that ol’ ball and chain “heaven eleven.” Like a dominant mistress stepping on your chest while you’re tied to a headboard with a bank statement in your mouth. A whip-cracking, leather-clad economic crisis who’ll make you beg for a safe word before she takes the last twenty from your wallet. Ha! I am but a slave to your whims, my gasoline guzzling queen… but who can resist the delectability of a little crunchy delight… some peanuts and pretzels, and perhaps a cashew if we’re feeling bold… and, of course, of utmost importance, urgency, and pertinence, my big red slushy. 🙂
I am bringing the tape recorder for company, as I… possess certain feelings for my charge whom I have been permanently separated from. Though “permanent” is no doubt a hopeful delusion. Heh. But, regardless of the future in which he comes back to me, there is only now. And now is destitute. A bit lonesome, even. I just… wish it weren’t the case…
[LONG SILENCE]
But a slushy!!! Of the bright candy red variety! Oh that should get my spiritual car revved!
I have dressed for the occasion: snug jeans, a large lettermen jacket, and my latest and greatest acquisition, a baseball hat embroidered with an enormous, screaming cucumber. Incognito. All-American. I believe the cucumber design is tailored for those who “whiff marijane.” Though I cannot possibly imagine what a cucumber has to do with my cervidae nurse and her adopted pet.
The clothes are… fun! They are fun! They are what you expect of a demon of my stature, or maybe not, but I’ve glued plastic horns to the baseball cap!
Ah, Heaven Eleven approaches. I squint at the sodium lights of the parking lot and bare my teeth in delight, flashing my canines for the benefit of the station’s exterior security camera.
If the digital serpent reviews the footage tonight, I want it to gnaw on this image like a dog with a marrow bone: the demon Adam, in sport-casual, braving the oil-caked world for a hit of wondrous sucrose. [SLURP]
Ah, it’s the old kind of gas station, not one of those post-ironic self-aware franchises, but the authentic deathtrap, with hand-lettered signs, flickering aisle bulbs, and the faint underlying rot of an old mop. I could live here. I think I could make a fortune.
Oh! The heaven of neon. The vacuum shriek of the door sensor, the artificial chill of forced air. I take a moment to pose near the lottery ticket display, one hand in pocket, one hand running through my immaculate hair. I scan for witnesses. The cashier is not watching. He is viewing his phone at the counter, illuminated in blue. Two teenagers are viewing the various snack aisles. Otherwise, it is only me, and thus all pleasure is mine to savor.
The air is thick with the scent of wet gum wrappers and ambient malaise, but I press on. These are simply the trappings of modern commerce. My quarry awaits. The highest finery.
I slide through the sliding doors, slip past the two ratty high-schoolers debating the merits of grape versus lemon-lime in the universal hierarchy of congealed beverages, and march straight to the machine itself…
I approach, rolling my neck, already tasting the chemmy sweetness on the back of my tongue.
Out of order.
Hm. Hmmmm. There is an “Out of Order” sign strapped to its birth canal like some sort of chastity belt.
This will not do.
I consider the dilemma. There are two levers: Blue and Red. The blue is “Arctic Burst,” but the red is “Cherry Revenge.” The red is my passion, blood, the red is my right. But the red is… [CHOKING UP] broken…
I try the lever anyway. Nothing comes out but a wet, slushy cough, and a tremble from the heart of the machine.
No… No. No. No, this is not justice.
It’s for a moment that I’m standing there, languishing in the raw, reptilian agony of slushy denial. The sensation is [HE BREATHES DEEPLY IN] electric. I’ve never felt disappointment like this, and it’s how I know that I am terribly, beautifully alive.
Time for action!!
Step one: Remove the offending sign. Like the amputation of a necrotizing limb, swift and lacking sentimentality. I ball it up, shoot it underhand into the pyramid of off-brand cheese puffs. Nothing but net!
I approach the man behind the counter, the only other important living thing within this mount of temptation.
And he has the look of a man who hates, and has never not hated. It oozes through the cracks in his jaw. He’s mid-50s, patches of missing beard, and stains on his shirt in mysterious and forlorn liquids…
[WALKING]
[AHEM] Excuse me. Excuse me, sir! Your “chill-&-thrill” beverage dispenser is out of commission for Cherry Revenge, I am told. Can you solve this for me?
EARL
No.
ADAM
Why, I never! Well, this will not do.
EARL
Why are you talking to a tape recorder?
ADAM
Excuse me! I am talking to my charge on the “tele-phone!” This is Sydney!
EARL
That is not a phone.
ADAM
[HUFF] I beg your minor indulgence. If I do not return to the camp with a vessel of cherry viscosity, I will murder my assistant in cold blood and without impunity, and it will be your fault. There are only two outcomes here: your triumph, or your agony.
EARL
… Soda or energy drink? There’s ice in the soda machine.
ADAM
Is this… customer service? Is this the famed charming American hospitality?
You misunderstand, sir! I am not, how you say, from around here. My people have a condition. We need the— the crunch. The flavor sensation that fractures tooth and bone alike, suffused with the forbidden taste of artificial cherry. If I fail in my errand, a chain reaction of doom will follow.
The counterman appears immune to doom.
EARL
I’m on break.
ADAM
[GRUNT OF FRUSTRATION] You could let me fix it, you know. I am preternaturally gifted at mechanical things. One could say, even, fated!
EARL
Not allowed. Insurance.
ADAM
So this is how the great dreams of civilization die…
But if the machine is not fixed, you lose valuable revenue. You risk the integrity of your—…
I scan for a name tag—
Earl. You risk the integrity of your position in the snack-based economy.
He runs a hand over his stubble.
EARL
The world keeps turning.
ADAM
Defeated? No. Never. I am made of sterner stuff. I shove my hands in my letterman’s jacket, pat the inside for loose change, and prepare for subterfuge.
Step two: persuade with action. I loiter by the rack of discounted cellophane-bagged treats, rattling through the options like a dog among pepperoni sticks. Like a feral dance: up, down, left, right, sample, sniff, discard. I make eye contact with the camera, give it a little wink. Sydney would appreciate that. In fact, Sydney, this is for you.
I select a “Super Hotdog,” a foodstuff so conceptually beleaguered it must be eaten purely for the experience of abjection. I pair it with a blue raspberry ring pop and three tiny, tinfoil-wrapped nut clusters, and arrange them like altar offerings on the counter.
[WALKING]
[SCAN NOISE]
EARL
$5.18…
[SILENCE]
ADAM
Is this the part where you ask, ‘Will there be anything else?’”
[SILENCE]
ADAM
He does not, but I supply my own answer. “Will there be anything else?” Ah, yes. The restoration of the slushy machine, please, if it is not too much to ask.
[SILENCE]
EARL
$5.18.
ADAM
I slide over six dollars, coins only, savoring the inconvenience. He glowers at me. Heehee.
[SHUFFLING]
I crack the ring pop open and mount it on my pinky finger, brandishing the sticky gemstone at the entire store. For you, my love! May this ring symbolize our union and also, our collective disdain for the limitations of man and machine. I will bring you a slushy, even if it means setting fire to the world around us and extracting it raw with my own bare hands!
EARL
[TIRED SNIFF] I’m closing up in five.
ADAM
A man of conviction… Savior of the night shift. But you cannot stop me!
Challenge accepted. I skirt around the counter under the pretense of checking the batteries, but in reality, I am aiming for the door to the back room. Earl blocks my passage, arm outstretched.
EARL
No customers past the counter.
ADAM
Sure. But what if I worked here now? I am wearing team colors. I could be the mascot!
EARL
Not hiring.
ADAM
I could unionize.
[SILENCE]
ADAM
I retire to the candy aisle, regroup. I whisper a few choice words at the slushy machine, maybe if I can frighten it back to life. The machine stays silent, locked in the deep freeze of corporate rot.
But then! Epiphany! I spot the “Out of Order” placard, my earlier victim I balled into a crumpled corpse, now nestled on a different machine: the hot dog roller.
I see Earl’s game. I see his moves before he makes them. A test of will, a duel of signage. I wait for him to busy himself with the nightly lottery report, then move in, shifting the placard to the automated coffee spout instead. He notices immediately, resets it, then stares at me with an acidic glare.
Fine. If it is war, it is war.
I filch a stack of complimentary napkins and use them to craft a series of increasingly desperate “Slushy machine repaired, free samples for all!” notes, which I stick to the front window in full view of passing motorists. Earl rips down the first two, ignores the third, and finally, in retaliation, disables the sullen yellow light above the beverage island, plunging the area into a dark, submarine blue.
It is beautiful, actually…
I pivot, snatch a bag of “Spicy Cajun Corn Nuggets” from the impulse rack, and begin reading the ingredients…
“Corn. Vegetable oil. Maltodextrin, which is just a fancy word for processed sugar. Yeast extract, yum! Glue. Wood glue, to be precise. Oh, and ‘spices’ in all caps, mysterious… Wait, is there actual fire in here? ‘Contains: Soy, fire, possible traces of wood shavings.’ Incredible~!
The other two customers in the store, who were previously thinking of buying these Nuggets of Corn, shimmy away uncomfortably! [LAUGH]
That leaves only me, Earl, and the haunting, inescapable stench of disappointment!
I decide to try another strategy. Distract and seize. I tiptoe to the end of the counter, where the plexiglass barrier leaves a six-inch gap, and I slide my arm through!
EARL
Hey! Cut that out!
ADAM
I just want to look!
He shoves my arm back swiftly. I am forced to withdraw.
…
You should do what I ask because I am so… charming, and… persuasive, if you allow me to be~ 🙂
EARL
You’re neither.
ADAM
Grrr. The next ten minutes are a ballet of tiny hostilities. I “accidentally” move the “Out of Order” sign again instead to the pretzel machine. Earl moves it back. I try to engage him in conversation about the Yankees; [DISDAINFUL] he roots for Cleveland.
[CLINK]
I drop a can of Green Horse Monster Energy Drink…
I demand to see the store’s insurance policy! In case of personal injury, you understand.
EARL
I will call the cops, dude.
ADAM
You wouldn’t dare.
And then he pulls out the phone…
[DISDAINFUL] Heroic.
By the fifth round of this, I am dutifully sweating from the exertion of creative mischief. Though, I come up with my strongest ploy yet!
[MARCHING TO THE COUNTER]
You! I will pay you $1,000 US dollars in exact change if you fix the slushy machine immediately.
EARL
You don’t have a thousand dollars.
ADAM
[CRINKLING] I produce a Ziploc bag just bursting with silver coins.
EARL
No way.
ADAM
Count it.
[SHUFFLING]
He begins to, out of morbid curiosity, and then gives up. Instead, he rings up my supposed new purchase: A single packet of grape Laffy Taffy—the worst kind—and enters it for $999.99 at the register.
…
… What!?
EARL
That’s the price.
ADAM
[GROAN OF DEFEAT] I pay, of course. Sydney would want me to pay…
And because it is extremely funny, I make him count all the quarters.
At three minutes to closing, I make one last stand. I collect a random “limited edition” soda from the refrigerated tomb, shake it with the force of some centrifugal nightmare creature, and stride to the counter.
[MARCHING]
Is the slushy machine fixed yet, Earl? If that is your real name.
EARL
No.
ADAM
Step three: I raise the soda, crack it open, and, subtle as a hand grenade, slam it downward. [CRASH] The can detonates. A carbonated geyser erupts, showering the counter, Earl, and myself in a glowing wash of blue, mysterious, artificial dampness. Earl does not flinch. A true professional.
[MANIACAL GIGGLING]
I take a bow!
[THROUGH GIGGLES] Thank you for your excellent service, good sir!
He wipes his face, just once, then, without a word, trots to the slushy machine.
[SHUFFLING NOISES]
He opens a panel, flicks a switch. Then the compressor gurgles, coughs, emits a deep and hopeful whir. Slowly, like an arthritic glacier, the barrel of the red fluid begins to turn.
It is not fast, but it is turning. And there is hope in this world yet… if only for a moment.
EARL
… It wasn’t broken.
ADAM
Earl returns to the counter, dripping with synthetic neon, and resumes scrolling his phone.
[WALKING TENTATIVELY]
I step lightly to the machine, take up one of the disposable cups, and pour a slushy so red it nearly violates the Geneva Convention.
[SLURRRRP]
The taste is heavenly. The best thing I have ever drank, and I’ve drank the blood of God!
[DOOR LEAVE]
I leave the store sticky, radiant, ringing the digital bell above the door for good measure. Outside, I find a bench and make myself comfortable against the warm electric glow. The slushy leaves a stain on my lips, like the mark of a long-lost lover…
Sydney, you would have loved this. You will love this. I will bring you the next one, wherever you are.
And that Earl… Oh, I have witnessed true cruelty tonight, Sydney. Veracious and unimaginable cruelty. Humans are monsters, Sydney!
But I forgive them, every time.
Because it works out, doesn’t it? Because there is much, much worse.
Never give up.
[CLICK]
Today’s episode of Camp Here & There was written and directed by Blue Wolfe.
The role of Up and Adam was performed by Dio Garner.
The role of Earl was performed by Benny Silver.
With original music composed by Will Wood and produced by Jonathon Maisto.
Additional music composed by Kyle Gabler, and Another You.
Dialogue editing by Emily Safko
Audio engineering by The Leo!
Sound design by Blue Wolfe and Another You.
And a special thanks to Patrons for making this possible!
Special thanks to Ackknife, Lily_ofthevalley, and Rigormortism.
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Thank you for listening to Camp Here & There! And remember: My favorite gas station snack is turkey breast!