Post by Mark Cannon on Sept 13, 2009 14:09:55 GMT -5
The shop smells like musk and mothballs. I walk up to the folding table that I think doubles as the front desk. I ring the tiny bell and a little old lady hobbles out from the back, a needle, thread and a pair of badly torn shorts in her hands.
“How can I help you, sir?”
“Are you Olga?”
“Who else would I be?”
She gives me a deceptive smile and sits down behind the table. I’m not quite sure what to make of her.
“I need this fixed. I heard you were the best.”
I throw my military jacket on the table and reveal a large gash on the back. She picks it up and examines it.
“How’d it get torn?”
“There was already a little hole in the back and it got caught on a hook in a bar.”
“This is old.”
“When will it be done?”
“It shouldn’t take me too long. But I need to finish these shorts first. Sit down.”
Her frail voice feels like it might die at any minute. But there’s a sharpness to it that causes me to sit almost instantly. I sit there awkwardly, wondering if it’s appropriate to start a conversation. So Olga does it for me.
“Are you in the military?”
“No.”
“So what are you doing with the uniform?”
“It was my dad’s.”
“Oh?”
“He fought in Vietnam.”
“Hm. He must be very upset about the jacket.”
“He’s dead.”
“Then I guess he’s not.”
I sit back in slight shock at Olga’s apathy. No “I’m sorry” or “How’d it happen.” She’d never even looked up from her work. As if torn shirt were more important than my father’s death.
“He died of lung cancer” I say, answering a question that was never asked.
“Smoker?”
“Yeah.”
“I used to smoke two packs a day. Disgusting. The smell makes me nauseous now. Do you smoke?”
“No.”
“Good. Young good-looking boy like you shouldn’t smoke. Gives you wrinkles.”
I feel like the most uninteresting person in the world right now. And don’t know why. I don't why I’m beginning to crave acceptance from this woman I just met. She certainly doesn't have an interest in me. I take off my black, wrinkled jacket and reveal the FCW shirt I’m wearing underneath. Olga looks up for the first time.
“Do you like FCW?”
“Uh….yeah, I actually work for them.”
“Oh really?”
She looks excited for the first time.
“Do you…watch wrestling?”
“Every week. My grandson just loves it and he got me hooked.”
Well fuck me. An old Russian lady who watches FCW-
“I hate to ask, but do you think you could get me an autograph with a real FCW wrestler?”
-and she doesn’t have a clue who I am.
“Well….ya know….actually-“
“Maybe one of Jimmy Gimmick or Alexander the Great or maybe that new one, William McConnell. Now he’s a looker if I ever saw one.”
“I…guess…but-“
“Oh and Luminous Robin. Isn’t he amazing! Have you ever met him?”
“Uhh…no….probably one day thou-“
“Oh I guess not, they probably don't let you near the big names.”
“Huh?”
“I mean, you are just an intern. For all they know you might a crazy fan or a stalker.”
“I’m not an intern! I’m a wrestler! I had my fucking debut at the last Anarchy!”
My little outburst seems to have taken Olga aback for the first time. She stares at me and puts down the pants.
“I didn’t see you on the TV.”
She looks suspiciously at me, as though she’s contemplating whether or not to call the police.
“I was Lance Copeland’s tag partner? I wiped the floor with Jason Evans and The Don. I’m the soldier of FCW I’m Mark Cannon”
“Oh…I think I went to the bathroom during that match.”
Another silence.
“I could…give you my autograph if you wanted it.”
“That’s alright, Mr. Cannon. I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”
Great. To her my debut was a bathroom break. Sidenote: Need to make more of an impact to impress old Russian ladies….Sidenote: Need less weird sidenotes.
“So, soldier of FCW? Does that mean you wear your uniform in the ring?”
“Yeah.”
She finally puts aside the shorts and picks up the jacket
“No wonder it got ripped.”
“It didn't get ripped in the ring. I only wear it TO the ring I don’t fight in it. And I already told you how it got ripped.”
“The jacket must mean a lot to you. To include it in your costume.”
“That jacket is the reason I got into wrestling. It’s the reason I have a future. Before I got that jacket, I was loser with a high school diploma and a job at Denny’s. Then I just put it on one day and something clicked. I felt brave. I felt powerful.”
“And you decided to use that power to beat people up for entertainment.”
“Something like that. I needed a drastic change. And hey, what culd be more drastic than that. And I owe it all to the jacket.”
She picks up the jacket and starts mending the rip.
“Then why did you tear it?”
“What? It was accident. It got caught on-“
“A hook at a bar? Bullshit. Why did you tear your jacket, Mr. Cannon.”
She's not confrontational. She just sits back in her chair. Looking through her case for the right color thread.
“I…I didn’t”
“This an old hole. It looks like someone’s been tearing away slowly at it. Year after year. Ripping it little by little. Letting out small doses of tension, until one day-“
“Give me the fucking jacket.”
I take it back from her. She let’s go of the jacket as she was expecting it all along.
“You’re an interesting man, Mr. Cannon. Try not to destroy yourself before next week.
She gives me a smile, gets up and makes her way to the back.
"I’ll be watching.”
I back out of the store quietly and get back into my car. I look down at the jacket and at the large gash I had made. This jacket had saved my life... Stupid fucking thing.
Time to start a new tear.
END
(OOC: Feedback greatly appreciated.)
(Also, do promos posted count towards our matches? Or do they have to be in the Anarchy promos?)
“How can I help you, sir?”
“Are you Olga?”
“Who else would I be?”
She gives me a deceptive smile and sits down behind the table. I’m not quite sure what to make of her.
“I need this fixed. I heard you were the best.”
I throw my military jacket on the table and reveal a large gash on the back. She picks it up and examines it.
“How’d it get torn?”
“There was already a little hole in the back and it got caught on a hook in a bar.”
“This is old.”
“When will it be done?”
“It shouldn’t take me too long. But I need to finish these shorts first. Sit down.”
Her frail voice feels like it might die at any minute. But there’s a sharpness to it that causes me to sit almost instantly. I sit there awkwardly, wondering if it’s appropriate to start a conversation. So Olga does it for me.
“Are you in the military?”
“No.”
“So what are you doing with the uniform?”
“It was my dad’s.”
“Oh?”
“He fought in Vietnam.”
“Hm. He must be very upset about the jacket.”
“He’s dead.”
“Then I guess he’s not.”
I sit back in slight shock at Olga’s apathy. No “I’m sorry” or “How’d it happen.” She’d never even looked up from her work. As if torn shirt were more important than my father’s death.
“He died of lung cancer” I say, answering a question that was never asked.
“Smoker?”
“Yeah.”
“I used to smoke two packs a day. Disgusting. The smell makes me nauseous now. Do you smoke?”
“No.”
“Good. Young good-looking boy like you shouldn’t smoke. Gives you wrinkles.”
I feel like the most uninteresting person in the world right now. And don’t know why. I don't why I’m beginning to crave acceptance from this woman I just met. She certainly doesn't have an interest in me. I take off my black, wrinkled jacket and reveal the FCW shirt I’m wearing underneath. Olga looks up for the first time.
“Do you like FCW?”
“Uh….yeah, I actually work for them.”
“Oh really?”
She looks excited for the first time.
“Do you…watch wrestling?”
“Every week. My grandson just loves it and he got me hooked.”
Well fuck me. An old Russian lady who watches FCW-
“I hate to ask, but do you think you could get me an autograph with a real FCW wrestler?”
-and she doesn’t have a clue who I am.
“Well….ya know….actually-“
“Maybe one of Jimmy Gimmick or Alexander the Great or maybe that new one, William McConnell. Now he’s a looker if I ever saw one.”
“I…guess…but-“
“Oh and Luminous Robin. Isn’t he amazing! Have you ever met him?”
“Uhh…no….probably one day thou-“
“Oh I guess not, they probably don't let you near the big names.”
“Huh?”
“I mean, you are just an intern. For all they know you might a crazy fan or a stalker.”
“I’m not an intern! I’m a wrestler! I had my fucking debut at the last Anarchy!”
My little outburst seems to have taken Olga aback for the first time. She stares at me and puts down the pants.
“I didn’t see you on the TV.”
She looks suspiciously at me, as though she’s contemplating whether or not to call the police.
“I was Lance Copeland’s tag partner? I wiped the floor with Jason Evans and The Don. I’m the soldier of FCW I’m Mark Cannon”
“Oh…I think I went to the bathroom during that match.”
Another silence.
“I could…give you my autograph if you wanted it.”
“That’s alright, Mr. Cannon. I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”
Great. To her my debut was a bathroom break. Sidenote: Need to make more of an impact to impress old Russian ladies….Sidenote: Need less weird sidenotes.
“So, soldier of FCW? Does that mean you wear your uniform in the ring?”
“Yeah.”
She finally puts aside the shorts and picks up the jacket
“No wonder it got ripped.”
“It didn't get ripped in the ring. I only wear it TO the ring I don’t fight in it. And I already told you how it got ripped.”
“The jacket must mean a lot to you. To include it in your costume.”
“That jacket is the reason I got into wrestling. It’s the reason I have a future. Before I got that jacket, I was loser with a high school diploma and a job at Denny’s. Then I just put it on one day and something clicked. I felt brave. I felt powerful.”
“And you decided to use that power to beat people up for entertainment.”
“Something like that. I needed a drastic change. And hey, what culd be more drastic than that. And I owe it all to the jacket.”
She picks up the jacket and starts mending the rip.
“Then why did you tear it?”
“What? It was accident. It got caught on-“
“A hook at a bar? Bullshit. Why did you tear your jacket, Mr. Cannon.”
She's not confrontational. She just sits back in her chair. Looking through her case for the right color thread.
“I…I didn’t”
“This an old hole. It looks like someone’s been tearing away slowly at it. Year after year. Ripping it little by little. Letting out small doses of tension, until one day-“
“Give me the fucking jacket.”
I take it back from her. She let’s go of the jacket as she was expecting it all along.
“You’re an interesting man, Mr. Cannon. Try not to destroy yourself before next week.
She gives me a smile, gets up and makes her way to the back.
"I’ll be watching.”
I back out of the store quietly and get back into my car. I look down at the jacket and at the large gash I had made. This jacket had saved my life... Stupid fucking thing.
Time to start a new tear.
END
(OOC: Feedback greatly appreciated.)
(Also, do promos posted count towards our matches? Or do they have to be in the Anarchy promos?)
