The following was written in 1997 when convenience stores were still a thing, cigarettes were stored in a metal cabinet above the counter, and Cypress was still a living memory.
Scene: A convenience store. A young clerk waits on an old man.
Clerk:
…That’s a bag of milk, box of crackers, a nudie magazine… and these. [Clerk reaches up and adds a couple of items to the bag at the last moment.]
Old Man:
What’s that? I didn’t ask for those cigarettes.
Clerk:
No, but you implied it.
Old Man:
What?
Clerk:
You implied it when you spoke to me.
Old Man:
I just said, “I’ll take these.”
Clerk:
Yes, but it was the way you said it. You said it in that “…and throw in a tube of lip gloss and a pack of Virginia Slims” tone of voice.
Old Man:
What would I need lip gloss for?
Clerk:
It’s not my place to ask those kinds of questions, sir. That’ll be thirty-seven dollars and eighteen cents.
Old Man:
Is that with my senior’s discount?
Clerk:
I’m sorry, we don’t give senior’s discounts.
Old Man:
What do you mean you don’t give a senior’s discount? You have to. It’s in the Constitution.
Clerk:
No, it isn’t.
Old Man:
Well then it was part of that Meech Lake thing. Old people deserve a discount.
Clerk:
Why? You’ve already got a bigger disposable income than I’ll ever have. Look at me, I’ve got a Master’s degree in Russian Literature, and the only job I could find is as a night clerk at a convenience store. If someone here should get a discount here, it should be me.
Old Man:
You’re right. You should get a discount, too. Only mine should be bigger.
Clerk:
Isn’t it enough that I’m paying for your Canada Pension Plan and your medical benefits, two programs that will be bankrupt long before I ever get to enjoy them.
Old Man:
Listen, sonny, I fought a war to save you.
Clerk:
What, World War II?
Old Man:
[bitter] No, not World War II. Didn’t you ever hear of a place called Cypress?
Clerk:
Cypress? That wasn’t a war. It was a peacekeeping mission.
Old Man:
Don’t listen to that history book crap. It was war!
Clerk:
It was a tropical Greek island.
Old Man:
It wasn’t all lounge chairs and fruity drinks, you know. Here, look at my war wound. [turns and lowers his pants] Damn cabana boy. [pause] He never calls, he never writes…
Clerk:
Listen, there’s no discount for seniors, and that’s final.
Old Man:
Not even if I show you my war wound again?
Clerk:
No.
Old Man:
Fine.