Chapter 2: At the Peppy Pig

George was having trouble with his school-to-work transition. He had considered the military, so he took the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB) test. And failed! The modern high-tech military had no use for someone who couldn’t read the f-ing manual. Once again his limitations had thwarted him. He was embarrassed to confess to his parents what had happened.

Of course, he wasn’t truly mentally disabled. In a better school system or with competent medical care, he would be diagnosed with severe dyslexia. But George was betrayed by his good looks and healthy body. He had not seen a doctor since preschool (for vaccinations). As he struggled, he was convinced he was just stupid.

One day his luck changed. He was in the check-out line at the Peppy Pig, a convenience store. He was watching the clerk as he hesitantly applied taxes, totalled the order, and even more slowly made change. “I can do this job! Better than this guy,” he thought. George’s eye fell upon a stack of job applications and he quickly grabbed one, no, two of them.

Back home, after dinner, parents Paul and Maria Elena (Emmy) Durand helped him complete the job application to work at the Peppy Pig store. Later, they spooned together in bed. “This was not the dream job I was hoping for him,” said Emmy. “Maybe so, but you have to start somewhere. Everyone’s first job is terrible, I think,” Paul answered. “And now, my love, I’m going to do a job on you!” Her nightgown pulled up, her panties pulled aside, and soon he was fulfilling all of her requirements.

George arranged a meeting with the local manager, Daniel. Chain-smoking Daniel had few questions for him, and then spoke gruffly. “OK, here’s the job. You work the 4 p.m. to midnight shift four days a week. You get minimum wage, $7.25 per hour. After a month, if you are satisfactory, you get a bump to $9.35. No other benefits. You can only eat what you pay for. You get no more than one unpaid day off per month provided I have 24-hrs. advance notice. Otherwise, you’re out. Put on this smock. I know, it says “Juan” but I will get you a new tag in a month. Now we are going out front and I’m going to train you. My way or the highway, comprende?”

George showed up at 3:45 p.m. the next day, Friday, wearing clean clothes and “Juan’s” freshly laundered smock. Foot traffic was heavy in the store, and it seemed he only had time to greet and thank the customers, while quickly tapping the register keys and working the cash drawer.

When a $20 or $50 bill was presented, he ran the authenticator pen across Jackson’s or Grant’s face (a black mark showed on the fakes). He was surprised how often a false bill came in. Although he was supposed to confiscate the evidence and call the cops, he didn’t think the risk was worth it. So he’d just smile and say, “This one is no good,” hand it back, and wait. Usually, the customer just found a more legitimate bill and nothing more was said. A few just abandoned their orders and rushed out, leaving a pile of goods for him to return to the shelves.

George was surprised that he had not yet encountered any armed robbers. It seems that the real danger was in the early morning hours after his shift ended. The police station was just down the block, which also increased security. The store didn’t sell liquor, just beer and a little wine. And, most of the beer was inaccessible behind him, like the tobacco products, so customers had to ask him for their 18- or 24-packs of mass-produced brews.