Sugar Stand Phillip and the Candy Conglomeration

Sugar Stand Phillip and the Candy Conglomeration

By Kevin Wilder

While not the intended effect, the outcome was surprisingly satisfying. Satisfying for whoever committed the act. And also for Phillip’s boss. But Phillip, on the other hand, wasn’t satisfied in the least. Even within the walls of a candy store, he expected taste to only account for so much.

Somehow the previous afternoon an individual- or individuals- had mixed the Boston Baked Beans and the Gummy Tigers into a single jar, creating a mishmash of unexpected tastes. This had all happened under Phillip’s nose, and being the only employee on the job had made him feel solely responsible. As he locked the folding metal gate and sat behind the register of money, he began considering the possibilities.

He figured the act was committed by children, and probably more than just one. He remembered the skateboarders who hung around every afternoon for hours, knowing them from their spot outside the shop on the mall benches (they’d purchase Cookies-n-Cream ice cream with parent’s money and laugh and point at Phillip while it dripped down their pubescent stubbled chins), and also because two-fifths of them were members of that god-awful surf-rock band from his school, The Chunkeylasagna’s. He hated them, and instantly knew the scenario. After growing bored of soliciting, the five of them must have decided to abandon their waffle cones long enough to come in and wreak havoc on his candies.

They’re moronic, Phillip thought, just like that band name.

Even now this got a laugh out of him. Not only did these guys manage to inappropriately place an apostrophe in their name, but they’d also chosen to represent the worst kind of lasagna in the history of cooking: the chunky kind. This further explained the skateboarder notion. They were fascinated with revolting food.

Thank God they didn’t mix the Smarties with the Gooey Caramels, Phillip thought, knowing the resulting mélange of tastes would’ve been worse.

The task was no accident, but carefully planned. Roughly three hundred and fifty square feet separated the two jars. He saw that both scoops were in their respective buckets, still attached to their plastic chains. Even if they employed candy bags, the offenders would have needed to transport around fourteen bags’ worth of Boston Baked Beans over (he measured) in order to the mix the two together. The fact that they chose to do this in the Gummy Tigers bin probably made him the most livid. The Gummy Tigers were the laughing stock of the entire store.

 “Never get the Bears confused with the Tigers,” Bill (his boss) had warned him the first day.

“Got it.”

Phillip wondered why they had to stock an additional candy so much like another at all, even giving it it’s own cupboard. These kinds of decisions had confused him since day one. But devoted as he was, Phillip never once forgot to check the labels. How could he have let them get away? Whoever it was that had gone mixing the Tigers and the Beans together- several gallons worth- were laughing their asses off. They would be doing so for years.

Phillip tried to imagine what type of sick adult would be inclined to do this. Okay, so the surf-punks-and-friends explanation was the only one he could think of. He never saw them enter, but then again it was a busy afternoon. It was the last Saturday of the holiday season, and like most other stores the Sugar Stand was short-staffed. Phillip had collected more overtime hours than he figured was lawful for his age, but still told Bill he could manage the shop an entire afternoon alone, even though he was starting to fall behind on his Watergate presentation for Social Studies.

This might be the loneliest store in Southern California, Phillip thought, as he tried to recount the stack of twenties a second time. He then remembered it was also the only one to hire him after weeks of filling out applications. His loyalty was unwavering, and he’d protect the Sugar Stand from all matters of evil, remaining loyal until his death (or at least, he more reasonably concluded, his Junior year.)

That night as Phillip lay in bed trying to plot an elaborate plan. Though tired, he couldn’t get any sleep, as many thoughts were looming in his mind of deceit, sabotage, espionage, Frank Willis, President Nixon, stockings filled with candy canes, and the dump truck-shaped PEZ dispensers he’d forgotten to mark down. His plan for revenge would be intricate and sweet, and would involve catching the bandits. He’d make them answer for their crime on the spot and yell and throw punches, if necessary. In the past Phillip had been considered a nerd, but soon he’d expose an identity hidden deep within his soul. He was a nice kid who wanted to maintain order in society, and would kill anyone that stood in opposition to his goals.

Phillip got up and went to the kitchen for a drink of water. He suddenly remembered something simple. He was embarrassed he hadn’t considered it before now.

The surveillance camera.

Yes, the video would solve everything! He would play it in the morning for Bill. They’d sit in the office that doubled as a break room and watch the tape in entirety (assuming the footage went to an actual tape) and here they’d watch it play through quickly, even if Phillip had to watch some of it off the clock. He wouldn’t blink while focusing on those two jars and watch as they were tampered with. His anger would burn while witnessing them perform the unthinkable task of wrecking his candy-filled world.

The next morning Phillip drove to work earlier than normal. Immediately he tried gathering evidence, and crawled on the ground hoping to uncover some skateboard-brand sneakerprints by the jars (he couldn’t). He climbed up the ladder and began toying with the tape recorder, tracing the wires to the back corner of the store. They were bundled and bound with electric tape, and traveled into a drilled hole in the ceiling. Phillip was never good with electronics, and knew he would anxiously have to wait until his boss arrived. He knew Bill could show him the equipment and how it worked.

When Bill actually came in, it was thirty minutes late. He walked over and cranked the volume on the Muzak. This startled Phillip, who jumped up and ran over to explain the awful story from the beginning.

“What will any of this solve?” Bill asked with indifference. He seemed to care less about Phillip taking the time to sort it all out in his head (he had been doing so for more than eleven hours now). It was wrong that somebody mixed these candies together and why wasn’t Bill agreeing?

“We need to find out who did this,” Phillip said, applying a more straightforward manner of talking than ever before. In a couple weeks, Phillip would be promoted to Assistant Manager upon review. He had already decided that yes, he’d accept the promotion, under several conditions. They would have to treat him more fairly, and take his suggestions for organization more seriously. There were several other things too, which Phillip couldn’t remember specifically, which he had written down in his composition notebook at home. Phillip thought perhaps Bill, knowing his commitment, might be testing him to make sure it was unwavering.

“I’m really busy,” Bill said as he fumbled through a stack of papers.

Phillip repeated himself, “We need to know who did this,” remembering Bill was also sometimes hard of hearing.

“Oh, do we? And why’s that?”

“Because those candies won’t ever taste the same.”

Bill must have been a foot taller than Phillip. He could make him feel tiny during times like this, when he stared into the boy’s tiny nub of a face. He hated eye contact, but now that Bill was finally looking concerned, he tried not to flinch.

“How do they taste?”

“Well-“ Phillip couldn’t think of how to finish this sentence after he muttered the first word. He couldn’t lie and say they were unappetizing.

 “Okay, fine. I’ll try some already if it’ll get you to shut up about the whole thing.”

Phillip followed Bill as he walked to the storefront. “I wasn’t asking you to try the candy,” he added sheepishly. But it was too late.

Bill plunged his arm into the bucket and scooped around, picking up a handful to shove in his mouth. He chewed, “This tastes-” and then he paused to try another scoop. “Oh my.” Phillip watched as the food went down his throat smoothly. “This tastes magnificent!”

Clearly, this wasn’t going according to plan. Bill walked back to the office with zest and Phillip continued to follow behind him. “You can’t be serious,” he said.

“Serious as a heart attack,” Bill said. “Got a pen?”

Phillip nodded with reluctance and removed a ballpoint from his shirt pocket.

“Your project today is this. Get the buckets in the back and fill them to the brim with all the Boston Beans and Gummy Tigers in the entire shop.”

“Alright?”

“Fill them evenly with everything you can find in the whole store, backstock notwithstanding, and shake the contents together.”

“For what?” It didn’t sound like Bill wanted to scan a few individual pieces for fingerprints first. Phillip figured if they had to get the police involved, at least they’d be used to investigating this sort of thing.

Bill looked at the blank ceiling as if it were the sunniest sky he had seen in years. He said, “This could very well be a bestseller this Christmas.”

He searched his thoughts but could find no efficient response.

“Well alright, maybe I don’t expect they’ll beat out Chocolate Santas or anything, but we can still push the hell out of ‘em.”

Phillip walked away defeated. Before he got to the store entrance he heard Bill call for him. “Where’d those colored sharpies go?” he said. “We’ve got a sign to make!”

Phillip was moving through the mall now, walking past glass windows displaying winter clothes, then one with hats and suits, and finally an odd store that only sold electric organs.

Why a store that sells only organs? Phillip wondered. Then again, he considered, at least organs aren’t bad for you. They won’t make your teeth rot.

He picked up the pace. People moved out of his way as he sprinted by them. They were all looking at him like he was some sort of crazy person. A crazy fast person. There must have been thousands of people there that day, and all of them looked so incredibly stupid, he thought, all buying presents on credit just make sure their friends and family members felt happy and loved. Phillip’s family didn’t celebrate holidays, so he hated those who did.

He ripped off his nametag, which still read “Phil.” He’d never wanted anyone to use this abbreviation for his name, but Bill hadn’t bothered to have it changed yet. He promised to get to it soon on more than a few occasions.

The shirt went next. Phillip twisted the red polo with the Sugar Stand logo over his head, almost knocking over a fat kid in the process. The kid’s mother yelled as he threw it to the ground.

“Watch it!” another guy said as Phillip ran by, bumping into his shoulder.

He couldn’t stop, and was almost at his destination. He knew what actions to take from here. The outcome would be satisfying for him now.

Sweating hard, Phillip stopped to take a much-needed breath. If anyone were to observe Phillip, shirtless now, even while seeing his scrawny arms (he had never exercised a day in his life), they might have mistaken him for someone much more powerful and deadly. It felt as if he could do anything; work or live anywhere, and murder anyone who thought he was a fool.

Phillip walked in the ice cream shop and tried to blend into the background. He was several feet behind the glass wall displaying all the individual ice cream varieties for the line of customers. Each flavor looked colorful and unique, not unlike all the candies in his store. He would never eat them again. Somehow this caused his skin to feel warm.

He walked to the front of the line and tapped the tallest kid on the shoulder. When the boy turned around to meet Phillip’s eyes he dropped his money to the floor. As Phillip reached into the pocket of his pants to remove the knife, the boy and his friends wished they could find any inclination of what to do.