Post by Deleted on Mar 15, 2013 0:53:56 GMT -6
The pain radiated through his body, as he planted his feet on the floor and sat up from his bed. It was only 7:00 am. A time that normally eluded Davey, in fact, he hadn’t been up this early in as long as he could remember. Today was no ordinary day for Davey Dynamo. He had officially retired from the wrestling world just two days ago, after his protégé, Austen Impact tore his ACL in training. Davey had taken a pretty nasty shot himself in Impact’s last match, and two days later the residual effects were still wearing on him.
“I’m not as young or spry as I once was,” Davey thought to himself as he struggled to force himself to his feet. He shuffled to the bathroom for his ritualistic morning evacuation, and a shower. He turned on the water, and steam began flowing from the shower in Davey’s small loft apartment. As he stepped into the shower, he felt his muscles creak and his bones pop as he stepped in, letting the hot water lap over his body. The heat felt good, easing his muscles, and relaxing his body.
“When did I get so damn old,” Davey questioned out loud, running his hands through his now graying Mohawk. “What am I going to do?”
Davey knew he didn’t have any real training other than making a mess of things and wrestling, but there had to be something out there that could pay enough for him to maintain his modest lifestyle. He still had plenty of money in a savings account, but he knew he couldn’t maintain a Seattle loft off that for too long. Eventually he was going to have to find work. Davey grabbed the newspaper and started thumbing through them.
GROCERY BAGGER WANTED, one read. Davey bypassed it, knowing that wasn’t on his radar. He continued to thumb through them, “College education required, High School Diploma or equivalent, Drivers license required, I’m fucked. I am thoroughly underqualified to do anything.”
Davey made his way back up to the grocery bagger opening.
“Grocery Bagger Wanted immediately. Competitive pay in a growing grocery store. Apply within.”
“Well, it’s something for now.” Davey muttered, and walked out the door towards the local grocery store. On the way he could only think about how ridiculous it was that he was going from being a top draw in the wrestling world to bagging groceries. It’s the epitome of a reverse Kurt Warner.
The grocery store was a small corner store with only about 4 aisles and a dairy section. Davey walks in, and smiles at the lady behind the checkout counter.
“Hi, I’d like to apply for the grocery bagger job.” Davey politely said smiling at her. The look she shot back was one of no shock, as if to say, “You throw away your life and look where it gets you.” Davey thought about replying but realized it was at least partially true. She handed him a sheet of paper and pointed to a table in the corner of the front of the building. Davey walks over there, and sits down looking at the paper. It all seemed very common sense like. Name, Address, Social, all the typical business that would be required to give someone a paycheck. Davey filled it all out and handed it back to the lady behind the counter.
“I’ll make sure to get this in to the manager right away,” she said sarcastically while blatantly rolling her eyes.
“Thanks, that’s awfully Christian of you,” Davey replies back, equally sarcastic, walking out.
“STOP!” Davey hears a holler as he’s stepping out.
Davey snaps around to see a chubby guy in a tight white dress shirt with a red and blue striped tie choking his turkey neck.
“Did you just apply for the bagging job?”
“Uh…Yes.” Davey responds confused.
“It’s yours.” He responded excitedly.
“Um…did you even look at my application?”
“I don’t need to, you are the first person to apply in 6 months.” He exclaimed ecstatically.
“Is it really that bad here?” Davey asked, concerned as to what he got into.
“Can you start right away tomorrow?” The manager asked.
Davey looked at him confused, but shrugged it off. “Yeah, I guess I can.”
“Good, be here tomorrow in a white dress shirt, black dress pants, and a tie.”
Davey stammered for a moment knowing he didn’t own any of that, but smiled anyway, “Alright, see you tomorrow.” Davey walked out of the store, and down to a nearby clothing shop. It dealt mostly in vintage and secondhand clothes but Davey didn’t want to spend a lot of money on a job that paid him so little.
“Welcome to Past and Present clothing, what are you looking for?” The blonde teller behind the counter asked. Davey was instantly enamored with the woman. She had a septum piercing, tattoos on her neck, and was wearing a Social Distortion T-Shirt. Davey knew this was a girl he could get down with.
“Yeah, well, I don’t know. I have this stupid job thing tomorrow at the Grocery down the road, and I need some black pants a white shirt and tie. I don’t know, I’ve never really worn that kind of shit.”
“You’re in luck. Dress clothes are my specialty,” she said, blowing a bubble with her gum.
The girl and Davey walk down the aisle to the dress clothes, and Davey pauses.
“I…uh…I like the shirt. Social D is great shit.” Davey says pointing at the shirt.
“Huh?” She grunted confused.
“The shirt, I like Social Distortion too.”
“Oh, this, yeah it was my exes, he hates that I have it.”
“So what do you listen to then?” Davey asks, worried now.
“Mainly Lady Gaga, and LMFAO. I love that stuff.”
Davey’s face turns a bright red as he fills with rage. She turns to walk not even noticing him.
“YOU WHAT?” Davey screamed, spit flying everywhere.
“What?” She said confused turning towards Davey.
Davey didn’t even miss a beat. He ran forward, and thrusted his shoulder into her midsection. If one were to slow it down you would see her neck snap from front to back to front again, and then bounce off the concrete sealed floor. She lay on the ground moaning for a few moments, and Davey took that time to rip the Social Distortion T-Shirt off her. He put it on himself and saw her there, tits hanging out like massive pillows. He looked around and smiled. He put his face slowly down there, and motor boated her. He pulled his head up and giggled before going to the back of the store, pulling off a rack of clothes his size, and walking out the front with them.
Davey got home, and laid out his winnings. Two full suits, one 1980s plaid wool suit, and one looks like a donated Armani that someone handed over for some act of charity. Four dress shirts, three white one pink. 5 ties, two skinny ties, one broad black tie, and two brown ties with light blue submarines on them that Davey thought were totally kick ass, and 5 pairs of black pants. He also managed to squeeze a couple pairs of jeans five tshirts, and the wicked Social D shirt. Davey looked over his collection and nodded in approval. Davey thought to himself about putting the clothes away but then remembered he didn’t have a closet, so he just left them sit on his couch. He then went into the bedroom, plopped on his mattress on the floor, and lay down.
Davey woke up the next day fully refreshed after a huge sleep. He grabbed his pants and shirt, decided on one of the brown submarines, and started for the store. He walked in wearing his pants and tie, and a pair of crusty Chuck Taylor’s. The manager looked at him, paused a moment, and then shrugged it off, and took Davey to his work station.
This is Shanice, she’s going to show you what to do. Davey was standing next to a very husky African American lady with your stereotypical fingernails that could double as letter openers.
“Hi, Dave is it, your first day baby?” She asked Davey, laying on the heavy cream.
“It’s Davey, and please don’t call me baby.” Davey respectfully requested.
“Oh fine sugar. Be a stick in the mud then. Say Dave, can you get me some of the cleaning stuff off the shelf over there?”
“Look, it’s Davey D-A-V-E-Y, and don’t call me sugar or baby or any of your stupid pet names. Call me Davey, and we’ll get along perfectly.”
“Jeez child what has crawled up your ass?”
“Listen here Precious, just because you at your children, plus all the fried chicken, does not make me your sugar, your child or your baby. I am simply Davey. That’s Davey spelt D-A-V-E-Y. If you cannot handle that then please feel free to go fuck yourself.”
“Well aren’t we just hostile then. I better tell Mr. Ingram about that.”
“Go right a fucking head.”
Just as Davey was finishing, in walked two police officers, followed by the stupid bitch from the store. She pointed at Davey, and he knew full well what they were after. Davey grabbed a nearby shopping cart, picked it up, and hurled it towards the officers, slowing them down and tripping them up. Shanice tried to trip him, but wound up tripping herself and falling on the floor. Davey could hear her groaning as he ran out the freezer doors into the loading area. He jumped down, and climbed into the back of a truck. The truck was filled with fresh vegetables, things Davey refused to put in his mouth. Davey didn’t put a lot in his mouth that wasn’t chemically engineered in some way, alcohol, weed, and sometimes a Vagina, but never fresh fruit or vegetables.
Davey road the truck for what seemed like hours. Finally it stopped and he heard the door open. Davey thought this would be a funny trick so he ran out of the truck yelling, home eh, I’m home eh, hockey eh, and pretending to be Canadian. He runs for about a mile, and stops at a rest stop. Davey thought it strange a truck stop and a rest stop within a mile of each other. Poor planning, but who was he to judge. He jumped into a truck without knowing where it was going.
Davey looked at the map laid out in front of him. He was standing smack dab in Ohio.
“Wow, that was like a two hour drive, were we in some form a montage? A road trip montage on a map? I feel like Benny Hill was playing.”
Davey walked into the building, walked towards the bathrooms, and peed in the sink. An old man walks in staring at him for a moment, until Davey looks over his shoulder.
“Like what you see old man? Twenty Five Cash, it’s yours for 15 minutes. I’m not a judge, as long as you pay I’m game to play.” Davey blows a kiss at the man, and he scoffs and shuffles out of the bathroom.
Davey finishes up and jiggles. He starts towards the door, and is suddenly confronted by two security officers.
“Gentlemen, nice outfits, I almost thought you were real cops for a moment.”
“You just vandalized a government owned building.” One of the officers proclaimed.
“Oh the government owns these? I always wondered, I didn’t figure it would be profitable, must be a government thing.”
“You’re under arrest,” The officer says.
Davey laughs in his face, “HA, what are you going to arrest me with? Bungee cords? Zip Ties?”
“Well, we can’t really arrest you, but we can hold you here.”
“You’ve got to catch me first.” Davey ran towards a door, and the guard dove to try to catch him, but missed falling on his face. The other guard tripped over him, and Davey made it out the door. Davey sat on a bench waiting for the guards giggling as the Benny Hill song was playing in his head. Davey popped a pill and started laughing hysterically, as he was running around bobbing his head and dancing and laughing to Benny Hill blaring in his head. Finally the guards gave up and Davey ran down the exit ramp towards the highway. He didn’t get too far before the police caught him and dragged him down.
Davey sat in the backseat of a squad car laughing and smiling still hearing Benny Hill. Finally he was brought in to the station, and put in a holding cell. The officer on the other side was reading a newspaper. On the back was an Ad showing New Edge Wrestling on it, and showed it as live in Cincinnati.
“Well fuck me up the asshole. Jesse Styles, some how you find a way to drag me back,” Davey thought, looking at the paper through the cell. “Excuse me officers?”
“Whattaya want?” one hollers back.
“Can I make my phone call now?”
“Make it quick.”
They walked Davey out of the cell and to a small room with a single phone in it. Davey looks down at the keypad and smiles, proud he remembers Jesse’s number.
“Seven Seven Three, Three Two Eight, Three Four Two Five,” the phone rings, and Jesse picks up.
“Jesse Styles,” Jesse answers.
“JESSE old pal how the fuck are ya?” Davey responds informally.
“Who is this?” Jesse asks, confused.
“This is your buddy, your old pal, ya know, the guy that would fuck your sister just to make you smell my finger?”
“That could really be anybody.”
“But it’s me, Jesse, Davey.”
“Oh fuck, how the hell did you get my number?”
“Jesse it was easy, you have the Chicago area code, 773, and then the last seven are eat dick. You didn’t notice that? I thought it was on purpose.”
“FUCK YOU DAVEY WHAT DO YOU WANT?”
“I need a favor,” Davey says matter of factly.
“With the way you’re acting you don’t deserve shit.”
“Remember how I hung up my boots?” Davey asks.
“Yeah, you cost me lots of money, merch, ratings, you screwed me over.”
“Well, you can bring it all out of storage because I’ll perform a two month farewell show just for you.”
“Fine, what’s your favor?”
“Well, you can come to Dayton and bail me out of Jail.”
“Jesus Christ Davey, what are you doing in Jail?”
“Well, I pissed in a sink at a rest area, I knocked out some bitch in a clothing store but to be fair she deserved it. She was wearing a Social D shirt, and she didn’t even know who Social D were. You’d do it.”
“NO, I wouldn’t because trivial shit doesn’t matter to me. How the fuck old are you?”
“I’m 42 years old mother fucker, why?”
“Start acting like it. It was cute when you were 19 and 20 but you’re a grown ass man.”
“Oh Jesse how your anger turns me on. I knew you cared.”
“I’ll be down there in about 2 hours, and when I get you, you’re hopping a plane to Seattle, getting your shit, and coming right back.”
“Oh hey Jesse?”
“What the fuck do you want?”
“I’m going to need an advance of about 30,000 dollars.”
“What the fuck for?”
“Well, my fines, and fees, new gear, the ticket, the car, the…”
“Fuck you Davey, alright, Fuck you.”
“Hey Jesse, I’m just trying to give you the best possible product buddy.”
“We are not buddies.”
Davey lays back in his cot, and begins to relax. He drifts off for a bit, and is woken up by the sound of keys clinging and clanging. They open up the holding cell and ask Davey to step out. There’s Jesse Styles standing at the front counter filling out the bail information. Davey walks out and stands in front of the admin desk. They start handing him his things, and smiles. He looks over at Jesse, and smiles. “Sorry was my first day at work. I don’t normally dress like this.”
“I’m aware.” Jesse finishes out the paperwork and they go out to Jesse’s car.
“Wow, nice digs man, being the boss really pays doesn’t it.”
“Yeah it does.”
The two drive in silence for quite a while, finally Jesse breaks the silence.
“I’ve got a plan for you, ya know?”
“Is that right? You know how I do with plans right?”
“You’re going to follow this one or your ass is back in jail. They won’t cash it until your two months is up, and I can cancel the check at any time, so you wanna hear my plan?”
“Fine tell me your fucking bright idea skippy. I’m so eager to please you.”
“Well captain sarcastic, you’re going to compete for the Youngblood Title.” Jesse smirks.
“You do realize I’m 42 fucking years old, I’ve been in the industry for longer than most of those kids have been alive.”
“Then you’ll have no problem teaching them respect and knocking them down a peg. These kids are all too hot headed and immature to be able to handle themselves lives and behave professionally, and as much as it pains me to say this, you’re one of the most professional in ring performers I know.”
“Wow Jesse, I’m tearing up.”
“Fuck you.” Jesse takes Davey to a shop in downtown Cincinnati. The shop is filled with wrestling trunks and boots and all sorts of shit. Davey walks in and looks around.
“Can we help you?”
“Davey drops down a blank check signed by Jesse Styles, and says, I need your most expensive trunks and boots, maybe a mask if you can figure a way to squeak my hawk through it too.”
“I don’t do expensive, I do personalized. I’m contracted to New Edge, Jesse pays me a commission based on what my designs show and how the ratings are for the match. I don’t accept personal money.”
“That son of a bitch,” Davey murmured under his breath, “Fine, give me your best Jean Trunks, with some denim rips in them, a knee brace for both knees, knee pads, elbow braces and pads, knee stabilizers, wrist wrap, like 4 cases, and a pair of high shin boots Black, Lime Green, and Purple, and I need them by Ignite.”
“Fine Mr.Davey, Fine by me, do you need anything else?”
“Yeah, two things, a leather jacket, and a car.”
“Rental car is two blocks down, I have a leather jacket designed for a performer who didn’t last if you like.” The man shows Davey the jacket and Davey loves it. He slips it on, and thanks the man before leaving.
Davey gets his car, your typical rental sedan, climbs behind the wheel, and drives to the arena to scope the talent. He thumbs through a few backstage tapings, and pauses on a face that looks familiar. Iceman Samuel Sampson. He starts bringing up Davey’s name and realizes this is his opponent week one.
“OH HELL NO.”
Davey walks out into the hallway, grabs a guy with a cellphone, and stops him.
“Look, I want you to use the video feature and snap a video of me.”
The guy pushes play, and Davey smiles into the camera.
“Well, well, well, it’s every one’s favorite NEWbian, Davey Dynamo. Now, I’ve just recently signed back up, and I’m making a run at the Youngblood title, why you ask? Because that’s who I am and that’s who I care about.” Davey flashes a cheesy grin, and continues. “Now my opponent, Cliché Samuel Sampson, just spit a large to do about nothing. He included the myriad of clichés one may spew when they don’t do their homework, he included the respect angle, trying to take the higher road, but ultimately all he did was make himself look like a fool.”
Davey lights up a cigarette in old fashion and smiles at the camera as he exhales.
“Sammy boy, I loved your little story, it was so cute how sensitive you were. I have no intentions of being your Timmy, because I wouldn’t let a bitch like you beat me. See, your mommy may have dressed you in dresses and put bows in your hair, your daddy may have tried to fuck you in your sleep and your granddaddy called you sweetheart but you listen closely, you are not going to make it out of Ignite with the start of a win streak. I’m nobodies stepping stone and I’ll be fucked if you get in my way.”
Davey takes another drag off his cigarette, and exhales through his nose.
“Sampson, you’re the cutest fucking tool I know, you’re like that little screwdriver. The stubby one, the one that looks like it could be about as useful as a legless man in a shin kicking contest. That’s you. You utter your clichés, then you tell me how big a boy you are? That you wear your pull ups and go on the big boy slide? You’re an adult are you? Well then act like it. Don’t come up with some lame catch phrase that’s a play off a saying that didn’t make sense in the first place and now makes even less.”
Davey drags his cigarette again, flicking it behind him.
“If you can’t take the heat you better stay out of the cold? What the fuck does that mean Sammy? What does it mean? Does it mean if you can’t stand the heat stay in the heat? If I’m too hot I go to the cold to cool off, I don’t go to heat. Your logic is flawed man, and as for your dead granddaddy, I will teabag his eyeholes, that’s how much your dedication means to me. You step in that ring with Davey Dynamo, and you will be lucky to come out alive. Sammy boy, you may be an adult but you’re just another bump in the road, so you may as well give it up now.”
Davey smiles for one last picture and exits the building to go back to his hotel room, and get some rest, and then early training tomorrow.