MOJO and The Jones-ezz (see below)

So to put a bookend on this little triptych of the 7-11.

During that long night a man walked across the parking lot, no shoes, a bandage wrapped around his head. His clothes, oddly, were not dirty or worn. Actually they looked expensive and his eyes were clear with the kind of whites that I admire. He had big eyes and was small and wiry. Being at the time almost obsessed with Miles Davis, I thought for a moment the he was Miles himself, on some mysterious sojourn (you know research, incognito, on the D.L.). He walked up to the glass front looked inside but did not come in to the 7-11. He stood there for a long minute surveying the scene through the glass. But not really meeting my eyes.

I walked out and said "yo nice evening" or something like that. He looked up at me kind of startled, and said in a real cool kind of whispery voice "You work in there? This neighborhood is fucked man you gonna get your ass shot."

I said that I was pretty much thinking the same thing. He said he was hungry. Without a second thought I told him that he could go into the store and pick out whatever he wanted. I followed him in kind of worried that he would go nuts, you know take huge arms full of stuff, but I had committed and was going to see it through.

In a very discerning manner and with no shoes he kind of delicately and slowly walked through the store. He picked out a cheeseburger, the kind you nuke, a chocolate milk, a bag of chips and an ice cream bar. He then went outside sat with his back against the glass and started to eat his picnic.

I went out and sat next to him, looking out at the parking lot.

We stayed quiet for a long time. Then he told me I was pretty cool.

And you know I was kind of. It has worn off since. He then said real raspy like "you know you got some Mojo my man." I could not have felt more proud.

But I honestly I didn't know exactly what mojo meant. I knew it was good. So I asked.

He said " You got your average Joe, right? But then you got a Joe who got MO."

I tried not to look like a grinning idiot. Man I'm a Joe with MO I thought.

He was eating his ice cream bar and adjusting the bandage on his head, I couldn't see any wound and the bandage was clean actually very clean. And he said looking at the Dove Bar " I got a Jones for these bars."

So it being "Teach the Cracker English day" I asked him what having a 'Jones' meant. I had heard the idiom of course but I had by then to realized the the etymology of seemingly tossed off phrases can be very interesting, illuminating even.

He looked at me askance and kind of smiled for the first time and said " You know when you keepin up with the Jones'- gotta get that thing or those clothes or that car- you know to look good and shit. Well that means you gotta Jones for that shit you after. It's obsession really."

So this Mojo boy ain't never keepin up with the Jones'. At least I have tried all these years to keep obsession at bay. My man showed showed me some shit that night.

Got to have a Jones for this
a Jones for that
but keepin up with the Jones' boy
just ain't where it's at.

Boz Scaggs

7-11 after Midnight (see post below for preamble)

Very little time passed before the neighborhood started streaming into the store. Kids, a lot of kids out at 12:30 am moving in groups and craving candy. I really didn't know the price of anything not marked and was guessing prices to the point of starting to actually worry that I might be out of line here at the 7-11.

Refusing to accept that this was over my head (and how could I have ever lived with that conclusion) I bore down and started getting good at it. Jaunty even. A petite blond with nice features and long hair came in placed a candy bar on the counter, grinned at me and then opened her mouth widely. A small butterfly flew out - it was only 1:00 am.

After a couple of rushes, during which my change giving skills were questioned (I just capitulated and gave them whatever amount they felt they deserved) I experienced a lull. Whew!

It was strange how when activity halted and the store emptied - a real existential loneliness would almost instantly descend. Perhaps it was the buzzing fluorescent bulbs whose almost x-ray intensity set all shadows into a high hard-edge relief and made all the colored objects look foreign and strange. Never did figure out why that feeling came on so quickly in there.

A professionally dressed woman walked in at about 2:00 am or so. By now I was feeling almost confident and competent. She asked for a 'hot pretzel'. I had noticed that there was a delicious looking pretzel being warmed buy two spot light bulbs in a case setting up on top of the slushy machine.

Obligingly, I climbed up on the counter and reached across to the pretzel case. While standing on the counter looking down I noted to the professional looking customer that these pretzels must not be too popular because the tight fitting top to the case was very dusty.


After some effort I pried the top off the case, lifted the golden brown pretzel off its little hooks put it on a napkin and handed it to her. She stood there looking at it for just a brief moment then proceeded to the microwave. She nuked it for a minute, removed it, put it back on the napkin then walked back to me. I was watching her and waiting behind the counter in my smock and paper hat.

There was lime-green smoke coming off the pretzel. She asked me, the obvious expert "is that OK?". I said with as much authority as possible "Yeah, that's the pretzel." She paid my made up price (85 cents) and went on her way.

The shift tumbled down through the rest of the dark night for what seemed a really long time. Eight hours to a kid is tough. Then to my great joy I saw the sky start to lighten. A bird was heard singing. And my manager returned to the 7-11.

He asked if it had gone OK. Wanting to impress him I said yeah showed him the log of what I had eaten (I'd actually given my food away but that is another story) and asked him .." What's up with those pretzels?" As I asked him I naturally looked up at the now empty pretzel case.

He followed my glance and said "......?".

He looks up again at the case and said, kind of alarmed now;

"Man you sold that shit? Man that was the display pretzel --- MAN that shit been VARNISHED, the pretzels are in the freezer." He looked really worried and asked me a few more questions- I told him about the green smoke, and he kind of anxiously of let it go. He was quiet for a while then gently said,

"Come in early tonight I'll show you how some shit works man. See you later." Nice guy.

I sold the fucking display pretzel for 85 cents.

Next: how I learned about MOJO, by giving out a free burger.

7-11 in the Ghetto

When I was a kid. I was hired to work at a 7-11 for a summer job. Oddly I had to take a lie detector test before they would hire me. Dude started off asking me if I had ever stolen from an employer "No" I said kind of proud. Is your name Pynch'sB" "Yes" (this is going to be easy!).

Have you ever used marijuana? "Yes" ( Ummm?)
Have you ever used amphetamines? "Yes" (whaaa?)
Have you ever used LSD? Yes (is this one of those flashbacks they keep talking about?)
Psilocybin (I kid you not)
Downers ,PCP ,Soapers, Hashish, Opium..
Glue ...

Yes Yes Yes Yes for gods sake yes. I didn't really want to work at 7-11 anyway let me go.

And then the last drug question.

Have you ever used Heroin? "No". My pride returned and I kind of swelled up. (whada do ya think i am A JUNKIE sucka?)


Anyway I left happy that I would not be hired. My mom had set up the interview as I was on like my 5th job that summer having purposely fucked up the others and was blissfully out of work and hoping to stay that way.

They called just a couple of hours later and said i was hired and that i should report to [redacted]
@ midnight that night for the 12 to 8 am shift. It was in the ghetto and known as a very get your ass beat, cut shot etc. neighborhood.

Fucked again.

I left the bucolic burbs at 11:15 and drove across town down the dim streets to my new place of employment. I was greeted by my Hispanic manager who started the training with "We been robbed a lot just give them the money in the drawer." And big smile "they point the gun, they don't want to shoot you man, they just want the money."

He gave me a paper hat to wear. And a 7-11 smock. A smock.

He quickly showed me the register, I didn't get it but nodded anyway, the safe into which I was supposed to put all receipts over $50, told me that I was supposed to write in a log whatever I ate or drank. And split.

Alone at the helm. Fluorescent light buzzing paper hat on, looking out the glass front at a spastic sodium vapor street light blinking in the parking lot...

more about that night later....