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Tsutomu, Part 2: Sowing the Seeds of Love

I ran into Tsutomu again, this time at the 7-Eleven at Olympic & Barrington in West L.A. It was about 1:51 a.m. the night before Labor Day. I pulled into the parking lot in my sleek pure white Integra, a 1993 model, casually admiring its reflection in the darkened glass of the closed shops adjoining 7-Eleven.

I was there to pick up a Pure Protein bar, some cashews and a Diet Mountain Dew, my usual late night snack, and I noticed Tsutomu picking up two six-packs of Asahi. "Oh, hey, you," he said, "what's up, guy?"

"Hey, bud. Looks like you're having a party."

"Oh, yeah, it's a party all right. Me and the national beer of Japan right here. Huh, huh..."

My sleek black cell phone rang and I answered it – I think I heard a jealous slurping sound from Tsutomu's direction. It was just a wrong number, but I acted like I knew the person and had business with them. "Yeah, I like it. Yeah, let's go for it. Later." I hung up, neatly shoving the antenna back in. When I looked back over at Tsutomu, he was looking at me kind of squinty and wiping his lip.

As the cashier, a 40-ish fellow named Kavoohr, eyed us approaching, I mentioned, "I noticed that job posting of yours is still up."

"It's hard to find a good WebTV paralegal these days... dude... what was your name? Oh, yeah, Ken. I remember you – you wanted to be 'creative' with it. Get real, man," he said as he piled his Asahis on the counter.

Tsutomu paid for his beer and Kavoohr scanned and rang up my cashews and protein bar and Dew. 7-Eleven was running a Simpsons promotion. They had pictures of Homer and Marge on the hot dog machine, Bart and Lisa on the front door; but my favorite was a sticker of Krusty on the counter saying, "I heartily endorse this product and/or event."

"Ha!" I laughed loudly. Kavoohr snapped his head up so fast I thought he might snap a vertebra, but he just looked at me kind of squinty. I carefully gave him my five dollars and took the change.

"You got your hair cut," Tsutomu mentioned as we walked outside. A gull flew overhead. "I'm not sure I like that," he said squintily. He reached into his paper bag and pulled out an Asahi, cracking it open. Taking a sip, he said, "I mean, what's your fucking problem, man. Grow your hair long. Be a rebel. Be a dot commer like me." He drank and belched.

"I'm sorry," came Kavoohr's voice as he poked his head through the door, "you cannot drink that here. City code. Thank you, you must go." He ducked back into the store. We moved down the sidewalk a little, on the other side of the pay phones, to be out of the direct line of sight.

"I don't know, chief," I responded to Tsutomu, "you're not really a dot commer, are you? I mean you work for Microsoft. They're an old company. Desktop operating systems, that's all they do. Office productivity software. What did they ever do worth a damn in the dot com scene?"

He swilled some more Asahi and wiped his lip. "Web-fuckin'-TV, that's what." .Net. Everybody's gonna run Excel on their WebTV, you wait and see." Belch.

"Hmmm ... isn't it true that Microsoft hires people like you just to pretend that they're dot com hip? Isn't that why they set up offices in places like Santa Monica?"

"Bull shit, man." He finished off his first Asahi, crumpled the can and tossed it in the trash. He reached into the bag and cracked open another one.

"You want some nuts with that?" I twisted the lid off my Dew. He swilled beer.

"Hey!" He swung his hand around and pointed at me, and gyrated a little. "I'm startin' to feel the buzz, man." He looked at his Asahi. "That sweet stuff."

"Yeah, it won't feel too sweet tomorrow." Around the corner from us in the alley, a dog – a terrier – was peeing.

"I don't care, man, it's a holiday."

"You mean you don't have to go to your pretend job? What do you do there anyway, besides interview WebTV paralegals?"

"Hey. I'm a Staffing Facilitator."

I cackled like a hyena, my voice traveling down Olympic and echoing off the Public Storage building.

He grinned a little as he headed down towards his beer and said quietly, "Fuck you, man."

I stopped laughing suddenly and gave him a look that could have been serious, could have been humorous. Hard to tell. In the corner of my eye I thought I saw Kavoohr's head come into view and then go back out. The street was quiet. I looked at my watch, it was 2:01. I glanced into the store at the big red digital clock over the beer section, it glowed 1:59.

I ate some cashews and took a swig of Dew. He said, contemplatively, "You know, you might think Staffing Facilitator is bullshit, but you know... bullshit makes the world go 'round, dumb shit." He took a long swill, satisfied with his "shit-shit" wordplay. "If you don't believe that... I mean... I've got a job. A career, man. What do you have?"

"Mmm..." I said, glancing lazily at my car parked over by Peppers and almost thinking about what he'd said. I like to park on that side of the lot at night because the reflection in the dark windows is better.

"What, your car?" He looked at it, remembering it from the interview 6 months ago. "Still in the same old clunker, huh? Check mine out." He pointed at his car, right next to us. A silver 1994 Integra. "See?" he said, wagging his finger at me kind of drunkenly, "You work hard, you get a job at Microsoft, you can upgrade your RIDE, dude."

He ambled into the parking lot over towards the rear of his car and I followed. We were between the two cars and forgot about Kavoohr for the moment. Tsutomu said, "Check out these wheels, dude. This sucker is LOW."

I was unimpressed but didn't show it any more than I usually do, which isn't much. Which is to say, my unimpressed look isn't impressive, in any sense, so it's hard to tell if I'm really unimpressed or not.

He looked at me kind of squinty.

"Man," he said, "you're thirty-something, driving around in a seven-year-old car, you don't have a real job ..." He finished off his second Asahi and offered a large belch. He looked around for a place to trash the can and decided on the ground. Reached into the bag for number 3. "I mean," crack, "what the fuck, dude? Where's your life? Look at me. Every day I've got challenging staffing facilitating work – work I can tell dates about – then I drive home in my silver ride, and at home, my sweet silver Asahi is there waiting for me, like a loving wife." The gull flew over and squawked. "What do you do, sit around and watch TV? That's what you look like. You're such a sucker. You don't know what you're missing."

A girl in a red BMW convertible drove into the parking lot and parked close to the 7-Eleven door. She was twenty-something, thin and dark-haired, with an almost exotic look. She noticed us when she got out of her car. I smiled politely, but she looked uncomfortable because Tsutomu was staring open-mouthed at her, like he'd never seen an attractive woman before.

I noticed him, turned to smile again at her, then when she was inside, I backhanded Tsutomu on the arm disapprovingly, causing him to spill a little bit of beer.

"Aw, goddamn it, man! That's a crime!" He got down on the ground and tried to lick up the beer he'd spilled on the asphalt. He wasn't getting much from licking, so he stared sucking. I watched him, sipping my Dew.

He finally gave up and stood up again, getting another beer out of the bag. Crack. "Man, she was hot, dude..." He flicked his tongue at the can tab, adjusted himself and took a big swill of beer.

The girl came out of the store. She glanced at us, seemed to smile a little, and got back in her car.

I was admiring her taillights and casually noticed that she just drove across the street to Ralphs. Tsutomu squeezed his crotch, stuck his tongue out and made a slurping sound. "Whoa, man, I'm gonna have to pee pretty soon."

He drank and looked over at my car again. "Your ride isn't that bad, dude. You want to sell it? I know a guy that can put a big fat tailpipe on it, and make it sound like it's farting all the time." Belch.

I felt Tsutomu was getting drunk now. "Hm, no, I think there's enough of those. Mine is different, more balanced. Elegant. You know, part of being creative is knowing when you shouldn't mess around with something anymore."

"Aw, God! That is so lame! Creative-shmative. What have you done that's creative?" He drank. The gull landed on the roof of the 7-Eleven.

"Well, I left it alone. It speaks for itself. I put pictures of it on my website."

"Oh, my god! Are you kidding? That is so SEXY!" He took a long swill of beer, tilting his head back, closing his eyes and groaning loudly as he rubbed his crotch. "Mmm! Mmm! Mmm!!" The dog from the alley appeared at the end of the sidewalk and stared up at Tsutomu. A car drove by. When he'd finished off beer no. 4, he asked, "Can you do that for me? Please? I don't know how to make a website."

Before I could answer, he said, "You are my captain." He hurled his empty carelessly in the direction of Jacopo's and started towards me while reaching in his bag.

We heard some sort of foreign radio music all of the sudden, then realized Kavoohr was coming out of the 7-Eleven with a mop, looking angry. He pointed at Tsutomu. "I told you you cannot drink that here! City code! Thank you, I must enforce the 7-Eleven rules and regulations!" Tsutomu looked drunkenly scared, and started stumbling back to the sidewalk. He tripped and fell face-first a few feet from the dog, who was watching curiously. Tsutomu tried to get up, raising his butt.

Behind him, Kavoohr lifted the mop in the air, handle end towards the front, and shouted, "You think you are sexy? I will show you sexy! You do not fuck with 7-Eleven!" He jammed the mop handle violently in the area of Tsutomu's anus. Tsutomu yelped in pain as Kavoohr, in a frenzy, repeatedly jammed him with the mop, saying "Please do not open chili container! Caution, floor is wet! Lotto sales are closed!"

Tsutomu yelped, "Don't DISS me, man! I work for Micro-f-OW!! -soft!" Kavoohr responded, "I do not care about personal computer operating systems! I do not get online much, and I am not a member of generation d." Jam! Yelp.

I had an appointment at Ralphs. I finished off my cashews and put the bag neatly in the trash can, then after a last glance over at the scene of the punishment, got into my balanced and elegant car. I figured I ought to buy some celery and sparkling water. Yeah, she would probably admire my healthy purchases.

I was across the street as fast as four cylinders can take a man.

Later, Bianca – the girl – and I drove back to 7-Eleven in two cars and found the dog, who had gotten drunk from licking up one of Tsutomu's spilled beers. She wanted to adopt him so she put him in the convertible. Tsutomu was gone.

She strapped the dog into the passenger seat, where he lay spread out on his back gazing up at the stars.

When I woke up the next morning, I made some of the gourmet coffee that Bianca had bought at Ralphs. I didn't know how strong she would like it. I like mine moderately strong. I used to like it stronger, but lately, moderately is fine.

As the aroma filled the kitchen air, I thought some about what Tsutomu had said about bullshit making the world go around. There was certainly some truth to that. Everybody knows that, to some extent or another. I supposed Tsutomu would soon be waking up with a headache... and an assache...