Gillman stuck his head out the drive-thru window. The line for Dutch Bros coffee was eight cars deep. He let out a sigh.
Mr. Wand, the store manager’s idea to put Gillman on drive-thru had generally been successful. Customer complaints were down, drinks were coming out less soggy, and the per capita flies had plummeted.
A white SUV pulled to the window.
“That’ll be $18.63,” Gillman said.
“Whoa, you’re that Gill fella everybody’s been talking about!” the customer said, handing off their credit card.
Gillman grabbed it with a moist hand, the customer wrinkled their nose.
“Yes, that’s me. Do you want a receipt?”
“Hot dog. What’s your story? How come there aren’t any more of you?”
“How come there are so many of you?”
“Hmm.” The man looked skyward. “Good question.” Then drove off.
“Gillman,” Samantha said. “You ever notice my name and your name both have ‘man’ in it? Gill-man and Sa-man-tha.”
“Ribbiting.”
Samantha cracked a smile. “Is that more swamp humor? You kill me.” She poured foam on a latte. “We still on for the movie tonight?”
“Eh, I’m feeling less motivated. What’s playing again?”
“Shipley’s Last Voyage. It’s supposed to be really good.”
“I don’t know. Seems emotional.”
“And? There’s nothing wrong with that. We all have emotions.”
Mr. Wand approached carrying two syrup containers. “Gill, smell these. Both expired, but how long do they really have?”
Gillman made a phlegmy inhale over the bottles. “Three more weeks on the Peach Bellini, but the Razz Matazz is more like Raz-Ma-Rancid.”
Mr. Wand handed the raspberry flavoring to Samantha. “Here, just mix it with some Strawberry Lemon Drop. I’ll order a fresh jug next week.”
*****
Later they sat in the cramped cream-colored break room for lunch.
A bug flew out of Gillman’s sandwich. He snatched it out of the air. “Juicy.”
Samantha pretended not to notice. “What do you have there? Mostly flies? Or different kinds?”
Gillman spoke through chews. “Anything really.” His lips smacked, bugs in his teeth. “Mosquitoes are my favorite, but we’ve all seen what’s happened to the price of those.”
“Right. Insectflation.”
Gillman lowered his sandwich. “Exactly.”
“So, are we still on for tonight? Shipley’s Last Voyage?” Samantha shifted into her best movie trailer voice. “Shipley’s got a gruff exterior. But there’s one gentle mille-feuille of a woman who could smooth his sharp edges.”
“I guess.”
Samantha bounced in her chair. “Good. Because I also told Mr. Wand he could come.”
“I’m out.”
“Oh come on. I’ll tell him he’s got to buy you a bucket of mosquitoes.”
Gillman ran his tongue over his teeth. “Fresh or dead?”
“Fresh.”
Gillman picked up his sandwich. “What time?”
*****
It was just past 9:30, the movie let out. Gillman sat at the curb, waiting for Mr. Wand to pull the car around. His eyes were puffy.
“You alright, Gill?” Samantha asked, sitting down next to him.
He sniffled. “Fine. It’s my amphibious biology. I can’t… theaters. Humidity… How? Tell me how Shipley still sets sail after all that?”
Samantha put her arm around him. Her jacket now streaked with goo. “The call for adventure can do powerful things to a man.”
A red Toyota pulled up. Mr. Wand rolled the window down. “Who’s up for Applebee’s? Boneless wings. America’s favorite.”
“I’d rather be on the boat with Shipley.”
“Me too,” Samantha said. “But Wand’s buying.”
Gillman stood. “Fine.”
They moved toward the car.
“Hey, Samantha,” Gillman said. “You think Shipley makes it?”
“Well, it is called Shipley’s Last Voyage.”
“Maybe he retires.”
They got in the back seat.
Mr. Wand turned around. “Anybody got the app? Says we get $5 off if we pre-book a table.”
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See you soon,
—Ricky C.
Photo by Nicolas Nieves-Quiroz on Unsplash
I love Gill.
Aww, bless his amphibian heart.