Most valuable customer

Things just aren’t going well for me right now, I thought, as I brushed the half-filled whiskey glass across my forehead. The ice in it helped. One gulp… two gulps… three, before I finally had the courage to glance once more at the inventory of my stock. Great, I thought. Drunk as a fish, my vision blurred, speech slurred, and I still couldn’t believe it.

 “I might have to close down shoon, Twitchy,” I sniffed, shaking my head at the numbers. My sales clerk eyed me worriedly behind thick spectacles. It was obvious he hated the nickname I gave him, but he really didn’t give it much thought at the time, and neither did I. A thin, pale easygoing man in his 40s, Twitchy had cheeks marked by acne scars so deep it reminded me of the potholes along the main highway.

“Ay nako!” he scolded. “Wag ka nga ganyan! These things happen… They’re bound to pick up din kahit pano.”

“Yeah?” I said blankly without taking my eyes off the sheet. “You really think show?”

“Well… they can’t get any worse…”

Twitchy’s tone lacked conviction, but I hoped he was right all along. Dad’d kill me if he found out about this. Y’see, I haven’t really been on his good side for a number of years. Not only had I suckered him into investing a chunk of his money into my hardware/construction business, I promised to have doubled that investment in six months (the ego, the ego). Of course, when you’ve been a city dweller all your life, it is a bit hard going straight to country living, ain’t it?

 Ever since I decided to hang up my dismal career as a news journalist and musician, I was left with little perspective, and virtually no longer had a conceivable need to even get up in the mornings. But my intuitive notions told me otherwise; and, for lack of any better options, I hastily put up a hardware store in the sleepy town of Rosario, Batangas, where it sold, among other things, common wire nails and brass doorknobs. And, to be perfectly honest, didn’t sell very many of those.

It was a bit scary watching my entire savings fly away to pay for the delivery truck I bought, but the insistent prodding from my more well-off friends and relatives gave me back that damn superfluous confidence I had lost following my unfortunate cut-off from modern society.

As I perched beneath the backdrop of the pale, moonlit sky I was hit with memories of simpler times: when birds ate berries to their hearts’ content without farmers threatening to bury them alive. And I also thanked God for this very loyal customer, for whom, without her patronage, would have already sent me to ruin and forced me to sell the business to the cheap, thwarting Chinese guy next door.

Any run-of-the-mill entrepreneur would tell you that the single biggest important thing in trade is the consumer, and, like a chameleon leeching its colors to the nearest insect, I damn made sure my most valuable customer wouldn’t have any complaints about my dedication to her superficial satisfaction — even when she called me one Sunday morning on my way to Manila for a rare and much-needed break from the shop.

An emergency, she had said, and it couldn’t wait another minute. Panic-stricken, I bade goodbye to the friend I hitched a ride with and rushed to the other side of the street, all to make that long fateful trip back to Batangas. It was a frizzy moment of insanity, with my behind still asleep, the stress about my customer and the realization that I’ve never actually ridden a bus in my life. Oh, I can write about that now, but it had always been the most awkward of my many shortcomings as a human being.

My heart started beating like a jackhammer as I shuffled to my seat. For some reason, I chose one near the back row; and from the moment I laid eyes on him I knew he was trouble. He looked nuts to me, this crazy monkey, but he did calm my suspicions a little until we neared the border of Lipa City when he let out a blood-curdling scream and attacked a lady with a bolo knife. Shocked, I could only stare in awe as these two guys from behind charged forward and tried to grab the weapon away from the lunatic. I thought I was about to faint, but the other passengers, amazingly — amazingly — ignored the commotion. And for a second, I thought, do scenes like these often occur on buses?

The lady behind me said no, and when I noticed the nut squirming out of the headlocks of those two guys, I lurched forward as well, and grabbed hold of his legs. It was pure instinct and he just kept kicking and screaming but I held on to him for dear life until we got the lady to a clinic and dropped the loony off with the police. I rushed down as well and took a cab the rest of the way.

When I finally reached Rosario, it felt as if Atlas himself had asked me to take his place under the planet for a minute. I felt like collapsing and then I saw my best customer causing all sorts of problems with Twitchy. And I realized there was still hell to pay. I pleaded my case with her but she was clearly in no mood for any excuses.

“Never mind all that,” she said, waving a finger at my face. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m not paying for these paints. These are dark blue and I wanted semi-dark blue. Remember?”

“B-but they’re practically the same! Please…” I cried.

“I told you already… I’m not paying! Just put these things in my car. I’ve no choice but to use them narin.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the failing business, the shitty bus ride or the loveliness in her tone that did it, but either way, it made me snap.

“Who the hell do ya think you are?! Jesus Christ!” I exploded. “What the hell do you think I’m running here ba? A-a charity?” I cringed in disgust.

“Wow,” she snapped and eyed me coolly with folded arms. “Is that the way you talk to your most valuable customer?”

I thought about it long and hard before answering.

“I-I guess not,” I babbled, and suddenly wished my mum had been somebody else. “I’m sorry…”

“I’m sorry what?”

“I’m sorry, Mom,”

“’Mom?’ In the workplace I prefer to be called…”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” I said quickly.

“Ayan. That’s better,” she smiled. “O sige. Get a move on. I haven’t got all day, y’know.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I gritted my teeth and loaded the unpaid-for buckets of paint into her car with such ferocity I thought my ears would fall off. As I watched her car speed away towards the main road, I reached for the whiskey bottle and poured myself a stiff drink. And like I said a while ago, it took several gulps before I had the courage to glance once more at the numbers in my stock.

I turned to my sales clerk. He could see my eyes were watery. And the day had just been a little too intense for me. “I might have to close down shoon, Twitchy.”

* * *

Email: estabillo_rt@yahoo.com.