Wake-Up Call. Joaquin De Torres
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surveying the scene.
“No, but I’ll let Brian know.” He reached for a register phone and pressed the store intercom button. Instantly, the in-store speakers echoed.
“Store manager to Computer Electronics, please. Brian to Computer Electronics for customer service, or call me on line three at register two, please.” The buzzer sounded on line three. He picked up the receiver and raised his head to the terraced, glass offices on the second floor above. He saw store manager Brian Stedman with the phone on his ear.
“Brian, we have a homeless man going into electronics.”
“So? You know what to do. Just have some associates hang around him and make sure he doesn’t take anything. Leave Monica in charge of the front if you want to help out.”
“Okay, thanks.” Wilson turned to one of the assistant managers. “Monica, Brian wants you to watch the front while I go over there.” He left to join the small gathering of blue-shirted associates keeping an uneasy distance around the disheveled man.
Henderson approached a display table of no less than 20 laptops sitting side by side on a long display rack. Their various trademark screen savers and features videos played repeatedly on each. He moved from one to the other, while nervous associates pretended to look busy as they milled around him. He stopped in front of one with a massive keyboard and a 19” screen. Fran, the assistant manager in charge of Computer Electronics that shift, approached him with a cautious smile.
“Good afternoon! Is there anything I can help you with today?” Henderson moved passed her as he studied the laptop like it was a museum piece, ignoring her question.
“Are you looking for a laptop for home or office use?” Wilson winced as Fran glanced at him, both knowing the ridiculousness of the standardized question. A couple of the younger associates stifled smirks and Wilson shot hard looks at them. Fran continued with her well-practice customer service routine.
“We have specials this week right over here if you’d like to look at them.” She held her hand out to guide Henderson to the other models, but he didn’t move.
“I LIKE THIS ONE!” he yelled out, slurring the words drunkenly. YEAH! I LIKE THIS ONE!” The volume of his exclamation made customers within earshot turn around and stare. He placed the fingers of his left hand lightly on the keyboard. Fran tensed up even more, imagining his hands would be grimy and force her to clean the unit. Wilson moved closer making sure man’s right hand wasn’t stuffing merchandise into his pocket. Henderson nodded his head up and down wildly, smiling like he had finally found buried treasure.
“YEAH, MOTHA FUCKA! THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKIN’ ‘BOUT!”
“Anything I can do to help?” The associates turned to the familiar voice. Brian Stedman’s calm, melodic voice seemed to break the tension.
“He’s interested in the new Sony Matrix XL5 laptop,” answered Fran. “I thought he might be interested in one of our specials, but he said he likes this one.”
“Great!” answered Stedman. He moved next to Henderson. “This model is the store’s newest and Sony’s most powerful. It’s perfect for home, work or travel. It has massive storage for downloading music, photos and movies.”
The associates looked at each other wondering what their boss was doing; laying out the specs and features of a machine that no way in the world a homeless man could afford. But Wilson knew that this was vintage Brian Stedman. The perfect salesman, boss and professional no matter the situation, no matter the customer. Steadman treated everyone kindly and personably, from the associates to the district managers. He was especially warm to customers, thus resulting in his store’s number one sales ranking two years in a row. Wilson reasoned that this was Steadman’s way to train the young associates in both the product and in customer service; what better test than to perform such services than on a putrid-smelling, drunk, yelling homeless man? He grinned to himself to watch his boss’ biggest challenge to date.
“This laptop has the highest graphics performance rating of all these models according to the field’s top three software magazines: Tech Authority, PC Magazine and Digital Market,” Stedman continued. “It contains the new NVIDIA G5 Triton graphics chip, so if you like gaming, graphics designing, chart building, or Photoshop creation, this one is the best. DVD playback looks absolutely stunning.”
“This guy? Graphic design, yeah right,” mocked one associate to another under his breath. Henderson wheeled around to him, his face twisted in anger.
“YOU DON’T THINK I CAN HANDLE THAT, MOTHA FUCKA!?” The young man recoiled sharply, while patrons and associates jumped again.
“I’m sorry, sir! I wasn’t talking about-”
“I worked for a special combat team in Iraq while you were still suckin’ on your motha’s titty!” Stedman quickly looked at Henderson’s tattered cami jacket and recognized the 3d Infantry Division, Special Electronics Warfare patch on the arm. “I was a computer expert! I knew how to take apart a laptop and put it back together in total darkness! Can you do that, you snot-nosed bastard? I WAS A LAP STRIKER, BITCH! I CALLED IN AIR STRIKES!” He jabbed his thumb towards his chest. “ME, MOTHA FUCKA! ME!” Stedman stepped in front of Henderson and held up his palms politely. He glanced at the name patch sewn above his pocket.
“Mr. Henderson. I apologize for our associate. He’s new.”
“And disrespectful!” Henderson was still glaring at the young man, now shaking. “Not everything you see is what it is, punk! Let me show you how we do it on the battlefield!” Henderson turned back to the laptop and held his left wrist near one of the USB inputs on the side of the device. Suddenly the video display on the Sony Matrix stopped; a new display took over the screen; something foreign and strange. The screen’s display light intensified as Henderson tapped at the keys with his right hand. His left hand was clenched in a fist as his wrist touched flush with the left side of the laptop. Stedman thought he saw glowing, arching sparks move from the two USB ports to his wrist and back again-a connection between the machine and his flesh. Then the display screens on every laptop in the store changed in instant synchronization, mirroring the intense light of the Matrix’s display. All the employees, including Stedman and Wilson, turned and watched their displays shift and morph. The light on every screen began to strobe, and a shape formed at the center. Henderson’s eyes closed as he continued typing, yet none of his keystrokes showed up on the display. The center image began to grow and with a tap of the Enter key, the displays on every TV in the store instantly and simultaneously mirrored what was on the laptop displays. The entire store was synced up to the one Matrix.
People across the massive store in the TV department cursed when the Oakland Raider game being shown on all the massive LCD screens, was replaced by the brilliant light. But it didn’t take long for them to stand mesmerized by the glowing image that was still too fuzzy to see. Stedman turned to Henderson whose eyes had rolled up into his head. His mouth was open and his upper body began to shake violently.
“Mr. Henderson! MR. HENDERSON!” He tried to pull him off the laptop by the arms, but Henderson seemed locked in place. “TIM, HELP ME! HE’S BEING ELECTRICUTED!”
“STEP BACK, BRIAN!” The tall, burly Wilson, a former Antioch high school linebacker rushed in and tackled Henderson, bringing him to the carpeted floor like any number of quarterbacks he’d sacked years ago. The strobing light emanating out of the Matrix instantly stopped, as did all the flat screens in the building. What was left on their displays was an image now fully visible in almost 3D clarity. People moved closer to the TVs and laptops to inspect the image with puzzlement.
“Mr. Henderson,” said Wilson with his massive arms still wrapped around him. “Are you okay?” Henderson’s eyes blinked rapidly then looked around. They both sat up together and Stedman helped both men to their feet.
“Are you hurt, Mr. Henderson?” asked Stedman. He noticed Henderson gripping his left wrist with his right hand and wincing.
“I’m okay, man,” Henderson said finally, then turned his head