Paul Acevedo

Rumble in the ‘Tronics 

“We have a problem in Electronics,” a young woman’s voice came across the walkie-talkie.

“What is it, Ebony?” Fred responded.

“It’s the DVD players. They’re biting people.”

“I’m on my way.” There was no time to lose. Fred dashed out of the managerial offices and onto the sales floor.

A lanky, auburn-haired man in his late 20’s, Fred had worked at Target since he was 16. By the time his promotion to Electronics manager (or Level 3, in Target-speak) came last year, few remaining employees knew his embarrassing secret: ‘Fred’ was actually short for Frittata. He had never forgiven his parents for that one. “That’s not a name. It’s not even a word!” the kids would tease at mealtime. Young Frittata’s tears often dripped onto his omelet as he ate in silent acquiescence.

During his initial job interview, Fred emphatically explained to the HR lady that he would prefer to be called Fred, and nothing else. She agreed to his request, and then promptly forgot. When he showed up for his first day of work, Fred received a nametag that bore his loathsome birthname. It took two weeks to get a new nametag, and far longer to live down the shame. But as time passed, the store’s faces changed. Fred moved up in the ranks. Only the managers remembered the truth, and they would not betray one of their own.

As Fred approached the Electronics Department, he scanned the store for signs of commotion. The books section with Dan Brown’s latest thrillers Da Vinci’s List and Demons and Demons displayed conspicuously on an endcap, several isles of movies and CDs dotted with the occasional shopper, the videogame cases and Electronics counter…

Ah! A cautious fifteen feet or so from the wall of display televisions and DVD players Ebony waited, a bit flustered but cute as always in her red shirt and khakis. Fred and Ebony enjoyed a flirtatious working relationship, but he could never work up the courage to break the manager-employee relations rules and ask her out. A guest stood beside her, holding a wad of paper towels around his hand. Never say ‘customer!’ Fred’s training had instilled. At Target the word customer might as well mean vagrant, or plague-carrier. These people are our guests, and we are just so delighted to invite them in!

 Ebony relaxed at the sight of her manager. “Hey Fred. This is Mr. Dear.”

“It’s Mr. Deere,” the guestomer corrected.

“I thought that’s what I said,” she mumbled.

“Hi Mr. Deere. What’s all this about DVD players?”

The portly shopper raised his hand, wrapped like a fish in the store’s brown paper towels. Typically used by employees for cleaning spills, these towels ranked just a smidge above completely non-absorbent and useless for their intended purpose. Fred noted with relief that no blood poured from the mass of paper towels, which meant that the injury couldn’t be too severe.

“I was lookin’ at TVs, just minding my own business. They was showin’ a commercial for Larry The Cable Guy’s new DVD. That fella’s great. He tells you when his jokes are funny so you know when to laugh. And he’s right, too!“ Both employees winced. That commercial - and a scant few others – looped ceaselessly day in and day out, the bane of many an Electronics team member’s existence. “Anyway, just as Larry was about to gitterdone, one of the DVD players latched onto my hand. It was that one over there, the Sonyvox!”

“Did you see this, Ebony?” her manager inquired.

“Are you kidding? I had to knock the thing off him with my hand scanner. That DVD is crazy. I never saw such a thing.”

Neither had Fred. In all his years at Target, the merchandise had never attacked a guest before. The closest thing was the time a Tickle Me Elmo began swearing profusely at passers-by. The Toys manager had reluctantly put the doll out of its misery. Fred did not relish the thought of taking the ol’ DVD player behind the store and shooting it.

“Maybe somebody plugged it into the wrong jack or something. I’m sure we can—“

“Yee-oww!!!” The redneck’s scream interrupted Fred’s musings. The Sonyvox had snuck up and wrapped its fangs around Mr. Deere’s ankle. A few feet behind it, a Magnorex and Samsilips growled menacingly.

“Holy crap!” Acting quickly, Fred snatched a fire extinguisher from behind the Electronics counter and doused the errant video players with chemicals. They shrieked and pulled away like vampires splashed with holy water. Fred and Ebony pulled the unlucky shopper back toward the main aisle. As the fire-fighting mist vanished from sight, so did the electronic attackers. Had their lust for blood been extinguished? The empty spots on the display wall suggested otherwise.

“Ebony, I think you should take Mr. Deere to the front and get him some bandages.” Fred would scarcely gamble with an attractive employee’s safety. Not before they had hooked up! If anyone bites her, it’s going to be me, he thought.

“But Fred… What about you?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve read the manuals on every one of these DVD players. I’ll figure something out.” This was Fred’s responsibility anyway, but her obvious concern instilled him with the right amount of intestinal fortitude. Ebony reluctantly agreed to help Mr. Deere along.  Fred risked a few glances at her backside as she hobbled off with the injured guest. He had to make sure she got Deere to safety, after all.

Soon the thought of his own safety returned to Fred’s mind and he took refuge behind the Electronics counter. He had to consider his options. Evacuating the store would cause his department to lose valuable sales - maybe even miss their numbers for the month. But what if the home theater equipment attacked more guests? Bad word of mouth could be just as harmful. It’d be even worse if the DVD players escaped the store and went on a rampage. No, this had to end here and now. But who could he call on for help? While attending a recent security conference in Oregon, the store’s three security personnel had come down with measles, cholera, and a snakebite (respectively). So they were out. None of the sales team members working that day were over 18; their safety could not be risked. Target has a series of walkie-talk codes for every conceivable situation: code yellow for a missing child, code red for fires, etc. Fred grasped his radio and uttered a phrase so seldom used that he barely remembered it: code olive.  Manager in need of assistance - send managers only.

Fred peered over the counter, trying to locate the wayward electronics. Nothing moved. Turning toward the front of the store, he saw two of his fellow managers approaching: Roget, an effeminate and articulate French immigrant, and Norma Jean, a burly, middle-aged troll of a woman. Fred waved cautiously. As he did so, something flew by his hand, smashing into the counter. Fred instinctively dropped out of sight. His coworkers hurriedly rolled over the counter; the training that once seemed extraneous was finally paying off.

“What is happening?” blurted Roget. Having only just clocked in, he had missed Ebony’s call for help.

“The DVD players, I take it,” Norma Jean surmised.

“Yeah…” Fred began. Smack! Another object reflected off the counter like a bird hitting a windshield. The next projectile (a DVD, they realized) fell harmlessly among the managers. Several more followed. “Oh god,” Fred moaned. “They’re shooting discs at us like in Hellraiser 3 and Carrie 2. I can’t stand when they do that in movies. Discs are so non-threatening.”

Roget examined a couple of the fallen discs. “Do not be so certain. Fireproof and Facing the Giants. The DVD players are pelting us with atrocious films. Perhaps we should surrender.”

 “Oh Roget, you always say that!” Norma Jean teased wryly before turning her gaze to Fred. “This is bad, you know. You’re not going to make your monthly numbers.”

Fred was no quitter. He had survived his ridiculous name, after all. “Hey! Nobody’s died yet. We just need something to fight back with. You guys hold the fort and I’ll make a run to sporting goods.”

“Very well. We shall create a diversion.” Roget began pulling rolls of receipt printer paper from the cabinet below the register. He and Norma Jean lobbed them like grenades in the direction of their assailants.  “Now go. And tell them to bombard us with better movies!”

Fred took his chance to escape. He headed toward the back of the store, slowing to a power walk once Electronics was out of sight. He needed to make it past Domestics and Toys before reaching Sporting Goods. If he could just avoid the guests…

No dice. After only a few steps, a man stopped him to ask for a price check on a set of automotive floor mats. Fred explained that he didn’t have a hand scanner at the moment, but a stationary price scanner hung on a post just around the corner.

After directing several more guests to their destinations, the image of Fred’s fellow managers pinned behind the counter came rushing back. "Oh, right!" He ran the rest of the way to the massive Sporting Goods department, whose isles of badminton nets and jock straps stretched as far as the eye could see. Should he grab some boxing gloves? No, not enough range. Tennis rackets? They wouldn’t survive more than a smash or two.

As he searched for the paintball guns, an automated voice buzzed from his radio. “Fast service is needed in Electronics. Who is responding?” Oh no! Someone had pressed one of the “Call for assistance” buttons in his department. Target employees had only 60 seconds to answer these calls. Failure to do so - under any circumstances - would create a black mark on the store’s service record. Department heads like Fred were held particularly accountable for missed service calls. Even one failure and the offending department got added to the monthly Wall of Shame. Miss a few calls and pretty soon nobody would mate with you. Did a guest truly need assistance in Electronics? Or had Roget and Norma Jean press the button in desperation? Either way, Fred’s time to choose weapons had run out. He dashed back to his department, an aluminum baseball bat in one hand and a stray golf club in the other.

Several sloppy seconds elapsed as Fred slipped between guests on his way to Electronics. The DVD players made a real mess of things. Fred returned to discover the videogame cases had become mosaics of shattered glass. DVDs, batteries, and rolls of film littered the area like pigeon droppings. Norma Jean lay slumped across the counter, surrounded by shards of broken electronics. Roget desperately kicked the snarling black Magnorex player away from her person. Foam dripped rabidly from its disc slot.

Fred knocked it back with his bat. “Is she dead?” He was always more afraid than fond of Norma Jean, but he certainly did not want her blood on his hands.

“No, simply unconscious. That woman is a bear. She tore the Samsilips DVD machine apart with her bare hands before this other one overpowered her.” Roget’s foot lashed out at the Magnorex as he spoke. “Fred, I… I was fearful. But no more!” He took Fred’s golf club in both hands, weighing it. Finally the Frenchman swung the club overhead and impaled the Magnorex. As Roget stepped back, the shaft of the club wobbled from the DVD player’s body. It vomited sparks, shuddered, and then stopped moving.

“Thank goodness! In that case…” Fred slapped the service call button, canceling it just in time to save his record and future dating prospects. “Roget, you tend to Norma Jean. I’ll find the Sonyvox and put it out of our misery.”

From the counter, Electronics branched off in two directions. Fred could see people shopping in Movies and Music, oblivious to the nearby carnage. TV series box sets were on sale that week, after all. If the Sonyvox remained in Electronics (its natural habitat), then it could only be in Videogames or Computers. That gave Fred seven isles to search. Four of them turned up nothing. As he neared the end of the computer accessories isle, his enemy jumped down from behind some boxes on the top shelf. The Sonyvox and Fred tumbled to the floor, Fred’s bat rolling several feet out of reach.

The two adversaries wrestled, each one at times on top of the other. The DVD player’s hard plastic disc tray punched Fred’s soft human face again and again. He had never faced such a small and deadly foe; it was six pounds of pure electronic evil. Fred felt his energy slipping. Desperately looking around for something to fight back with, Fred’s gaze found only a Rising Sun disc on the floor, a result of the DVD players’ earlier assault. That wouldn’t slow the Sonyvox down. The situation was dire. Wait! What was that movie about? Fred searched his memories. Then he remembered: a Japanese businessman strangles a woman and Wesley Snipes is sent to investigate. Suddenly Fred knew what to do. Pushing the DVD player’s maw away from his throat with one hand, Fred grabbed its power cord with the other. He looped the cord around the Sonyvox several times and started to pull. It struggled frantically, but could not escape its own cable. Several tense moments later, the DVD player stopped trembling. Its front panel lights went out for good.

Fred pushed his deceased opponent aside and got to his feet. For the fourth time in his life, a Wesley Snipes movie had saved him! “Ever seen Passenger 57? Always bet on black,” he quipped.

With all of the rabid DVD players destroyed, the managers could finally call in the younger employees to clean up the mess. Ebony approached Fred, who was slipping the Sonyvox into a plastic trash bag. “Did… Did it suffer?” she asked.

 “It was suffering to begin with, Ebony. Killing it was the humane thing to do.” He finished tying the bag and then - ignoring protocol - Fred put his arm around her. She smiled. If things went well, maybe he would let her call him Frittata. Why not? He had gained the courage to throw caution like a kite and date who he pleased. Surely he had become strong enough to wear his birth name without being emasculated too. Anything is possible, he thought. Wait, no way! I hate that stupid name!

When the security personnel finally recovered from their mishaps on the trail, they conducted a full investigation into the cause of the DVD player incident. Mysteriously, the store’s security cameras recorded nothing that day. Had the cameras been in league with the DVD players? They dismissed the ideas as too farfetched. The only clue anyone ever found was an abandoned Walmart employee discount card among the Electronics wreckage. Target’s team members would need to stay on their toes for a while.