Knockoff by Chris Kahle

Knockoff by Chris Kahle

I am a mystery shopper who loves his job more than anything in the world. That means I happily go to work each day as a professional consumer replicating what we call the “ASE” or Average Shopping Experience to covertly assess retail employees on their candor and service. If I think back to when the itch first started, I’d say it was as a kid when I’d sneak around my neighbors’ yards, peeking in their windows to watch them watching The Price is Right. If I knew what to look for then I might’ve gleaned some information about making a home of my own, but I was a child so I didn’t and I don’t know much more now. I’ve been a mystery shopper for eight years and I feel lucky to go to work doing something that combines so many of my interests. I’m hoping that soon I will uncover the secret to being lonely and happy at the same time.

& & &

Today I will only buy yellow groceries. I fill my cart with bananas, Eggo waffles, Cheerios, squash, and more bananas. I ask the guy at the deli for a half pound of his most yellow cheese. He shrugs and gives me gouda. It’s more white than yellow, but he’s got decent energy so I make a mental check that I like him and write down his name. Chuck. I must preface that we have a grading system for evaluating employees during the ASE. No one has ever eclipsed 5.5 during one of my evaluations, mostly because I’m quite plain looking and generally speaking the more forgettable the shopper the less friendly the staff towards them. I ask a woman at checkout where to find the turmeric and she looks at me crosseyed, like I’m one of those assholes. This is Betty and she earns a 1.6 reaction score with a 4.4 for bagging. A voice chimes in from behind me telling me to “try aisle five” and I turn to see a face that makes me forget what I’m doing there. Her name tag calls her Emma. I end up in aisle six buying a box of blueberry Pop Tarts. When I go to checkout, I see Emma again and choose her. She doesn’t notice me the way I notice her, but she asks me if I want paper or plastic and I say yes.

& & &

The day the movie trailer for ROCK MAN comes out, I’m sitting at home watching game shows and it’s clear to me that my life is about to change. The star is an actor named Trig Motorcade and he is my doppelgänger. The way he walks, the distant look on his face, even the way he talks. Somehow despite us looking the same, he’s much better looking and I see that charisma has a magic quality of which I possess none. In the trailer, he saves the girl and tells her “I’m not a photographer, but I can picture us together.” That part is also different from me. I’m not that witty. That afternoon, I go work shopping at The Container Store and it’s the first time someone sees the new me. The guy working the counter asks me for an autograph and I oblige, freezing at the moment of execution and giving him some scrawl that looks like what a small child might doodle while pretending to be famous. I get so nervous that I leave the store without running the proper ASE and do something I’ve never done before, I make it up. I give the store employees a median score of 4.9 and I panic as I write it, realizing I don’t know any of the employees names. For the first time in my eight years as a mystery shopper, I have not lived up to the task.

& & &

I go back to Ralph’s store 138 two days later and wander each and every aisle hoping to run into Emma again. At this point, the ROCK MAN trailer has 36 million views and people notice me for the first time in my life (or second if we count yesterday.) As I explore the ethnic foods aisle and weigh its racially problematic inclusions and exclusions, a lady in a red one piece jumpsuit approaches, convinced that she knows me personally. She’s insistent and I remember hearing of people that see celebrities and think they’re old friends from school or something. I randomly walk down the bread aisle, remembering that I do in fact need bagels. I’m looking for the plain bagels with my heart in my throat and every time I get to the end of an aisle, my body tenses as I prepare to see Emma in the next. Finally, I reach the checkout as she’s showing up with her cash drawer in her arms. I know it’s impossible for me to speak to her because I’ve never asked out a girl in my life and despite being a shopping spy, this is not a mission I’m ready for. I make the choice to write my name and phone number on a coupon for Pepperidge Farms Milanos. My turn at the cashier is fast approaching and I can’t stop sweating and I’m trying to time my smile just right so it comes off naturally and Emma looks up to offer paper or plastic but all that comes out is “Rock Man?” I smile nervously as I crumple the coupon with my number and shove it in my pocket. I lie and tell her that I am in fact who she thinks I am. For a moment I am definitely a movie star because I have the audacity to ask her for her number. She giggles like a Japanese character and obliges. I take my bags and walk out of the store like it’s the scene of a battle I’ve just won, trampling the corpse of my enemy, irrelevance.As I get back to my Toyota, it dawns on me that the lady in the red jumpsuit is my old therapist.

& & &

I’m sitting on my couch watching YouTube videos of Koreans eating American snacks for the first time and reviewing them. One of the girls eats a Sour Apple Warhead and proceeds to vomit off camera. I text Emma.

& & &

I meet Emma at the Galleria and we go for cheeseburgers. I don’t know what to say to her because I’m not good at this. Luckily she’s a natural and shows me how dates work. She tells me about growing up near Seattle and how she was in a punk band in her church. Randomly one of my favorite bands is from her hometown and she’s heard them before. There’s no way of knowing if she’s telling the truth or not but I love the way she looks for anything to connect us. I like her, but I hate the feeling of not knowing if she’s into me or Rock Man. I think about what it must be like to be a celebrity and then I realize, oh, it’s just like this. Then I worry that she’ll find out I’m not Rock Man.

“Was it weird going from being normal to everyone suddenly knowing who you are?” She asks.

“The first day the trailer came out, one person came up to me at Staples. The second day, it was my mail carrier and a homeless man. The third day there was triplets who wanted a selfie. Each day, I seem to get a little more famous.”

“Wow, how many days since the trailer came out?” Emma asked, eating a curly fry one twist and bite at a time. Four teenagers interrupt us and ask for autographs.

“Ummm.”

Then their parents ask for a photo.

“Six.”

We talk about our biggest fears. Hers is being asked to potlucks and not knowing what to bring. Mine is being skinned alive. We both agree that public speaking is a close second. I think I might be falling in love with Emma, but I’ve never had this feeling so I can’t be sure.

“I have another fear,” she says. “That you’re having as much fun as I am and that none of it will matter because you’re a famous actor and famous actors don’t date normal people.”

I want to tell her the truth, about the fact she’s the only star here, but I’m not ready for this to end yet. We go to the movies and despite my protestations, she wants to see ROCK MAN on the big screen. I think it’s a pedestrian idea, but we do it anyway. There are so many other movies I’d love to see. The one about the little boy who lives in his mom’s hair. The rom-com about the mismatched puzzle company workers who fulfill missing piece requests, but can’t see they’re a perfect fit. Instead we go to this superhero movie and I’m swarmed by fans. The theater manager gives us free popcorn and the movie is a visual cavalcade. I’m exhausted by the end of the night, but I can tell Emma is excited to be seen with me. I’m drunk with shame and self loathing as I drive her home.

“Goodnight, Emma.”

She kisses me on the cheek.

“Goodnight, Rock Man.”

& & &

Today I’m working as a mystery shopper at a tattoo parlor. I’m getting hazard pay because today’s Average Shopping Experience will leave my body permanently altered. I’m fine with it because I’m excited to get inked for the first time. The girl at the counter plays me at some mysterious staring game and it’s disarming, but also sort of exciting. I sit and flip through the tattoo books and she reminds me she’s there if I need anything (at all.) I give her a 6.5 in my head and realize I’ve never given anything above a 5. Emma only got a 4.7. Flipping through the book of sparrows and tribal art, I can’t decide between an anchor (as a tribute to my gay dad) or a tiger (as tribute to the woman who married him.) I settle on a tattoo of a succulent because they’re my favorite plants on account of their resilience. The tattoo artist is a guy named Rick who I learn is a huge fan of the Rock Man graphic novels. He tells me that this is the coolest thing to ever happen to him and all I can say is “ditto.” Rick wants to talk shop, but getting a tattoo hurts more than I thought it would and I tell him I may need to go inside myself for the duration of my visit. He’s so friendly that I give him a 5.8 and I’m not sure if my grading system is going to survive all these people being so nice to me. As I’m leaving the studio, I’m swarmed by paparazzi wanting to know what tattoo I got. I shield myself from the flashbulbs like I’m walking through a meteor shower and get into my car.

& & &

I’m thinking of calling Emma when my boss, Darrell from McClintock Mystery Shoppers, calls and says he saw me on one of those celebrity paparazzi shows. He asks when I changed my name and became an action star. I explain the situation.

People work their whole lives at jobs they hate. They punch in and they punch out and it is what it is because maybe that’s how they were taught to see the world. That’s all I could think about back when I started mystery shopping. I was joyfully browsing rare gems for my cat’s sciatica (I don’t have a cat) when it dawned on me that I may never work another day in my life. So what Darrell said next gave me a sudden lump somewhere where a lump ought not be.

“We need to let you go, Theodore. Your assessment scores are too high, companies are gonna stop hiring us if they think they’re employing satisfactory workers.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t. Darrell piled on.

“Truth is, I just don’t think you can be an effective mystery shopper if people think you’re a celebrity. I just seems like a…I dunno, a tainted ASE.”

Professionalism has always been my mantra as a mystery shopper, but the moment begged authenticity so I cried. I cried and cried to Darrell. I cried and I pleaded. I told him what this job meant to me and before I knew it Darrell was crying too, but then he got over it and I didn’t.

& & &

Emma tells me she wants to see me and I’m mostly excited except for the part where I don’t have a job anymore and this girl who I have a crush on thinks I’m an entirely different person. I suggest a hole in the wall restaurant that I know I can afford, but she insists I come over instead. When I get to her place, I learn she has a roommate named Walter who’s in his eighties.

“I think people my age are pretty boring,” she says.

She tells me I’m an exception and she makes me her mom’s meatloaf recipe.

“What’s the best part of working in the grocery industry?” I ask.

She tells me that the florist gives her free flowers and I worry what I might do with this information until I remind myself I no longer work in employee assessment.

“Who are your parents?” She asks me.

I tell her they’re Judy and Gavin and are wonderful people who don’t understand why anyone would live in California.

“Do you have a mantra?” I ask her.

She doesn’t. But then confides in me that she doesn’t know what that is.

“Something you tell yourself to be your best,” I say.

Emma tells me about how her grandpa used to tell her she was the “latest and greatest” and how humans were always evolving and how she, as the youngest in her family, was the newest version with the best brain, body, and reflexes. Her ancestors had been evolving for thousands of years, iterating and improving right up until the day she was conceived.

“I like that,” I say.

I get the nerve to move my head closer to hers. She has the nerve to do the same and all I can think about is how thousands of years of human existence have led to this moment and this is the youngest we’ll ever be. The boldest, the prettiest, the most optimistic.

I kiss her and we close our eyes and I can’t be sure but we might be flying. She touches my face and I touch hers and she lifts off my shirt and looks down at my soft body. It’s nothing like Trig Motorcade’s ripped six pack and as she asks why, I tell her the truth.

“Rock Man is a character. He’s not real. Not like me and you.”

She accepts my mawkish excuse as her roommate Walter comes home from fishing and shuffles to his room without stopping to say hello. Emma and I hold each other and her hair smells like the checkout aisle. I feel less alone.

& & &

I’m laying on the floor in the middle of my apartment staring at a spot on my ceiling that looks like Oklahoma. I have no idea how long it’s been there, because my head has been somewhere on Jupiter for the better part of two weeks. I miss being a mystery shopper. I’m contemplating my next career when a wave of immense sadness hits me that my anonymity is gone. I think of what Trig would do in this predicament and I have to imagine that he would fight. He would kick ass. And then the doorbell rings. I open it to a man in a suit who asks for my name and I almost say Trig, which would’ve saved me a lot of headache (or possibly made things worse, one can’t be sure.).

“Theodore Bell, you’ve been served.”

I sit down on the couch and open a cease and desist from Trig Motorcade for likeness infringement and unauthorized use of intellectual property stemming from my appearances on a tabloid news show sporting a tattoo of an aloe vera plant on my upper arm.

& & &

The terms are simple. I must disguise myself in public places in perpetuity so as to avoid any confusion or misrepresentation. I scoff for an entire twelve seconds before countering in my head that a disguise would only be temporary and that a full cosmetic overhaul of my facial features would be a better solution. I write the offer myself using a template I find online. I deliver it to the studio where it is accepted as a small insurance policy against any bad press I might bring with my mediocre life in the lead up to the Rock Man’s international release. I only hope that that Emma will understand.

The way I see it, this is the only way to know for sure if she likes me for me. I keep thinking about how each and every one of us is the latest and greatest. I am a one of a kind creation forged in time and space and Emma is too. We are more than clerks, shoppers, and movie stars. We made a connection and I know Emma feels it too. I can’t wait to confirm this when we meet again and our souls recognize each other beneath the veneer.

& & &

Cosmetic surgery is a billion dollar industry and while many people would hear this and see it as commentary on America’s obsession with vanity, they’d be wrong. For many people, cosmetic surgery is a way back from accidents ––car accidents, dog bites, I even read about a guy who accidentally got shot in the face on a hunting trip. My cosmetic surgery was about going undercover as the new me. I no longer look like Trig Motorcade, but I don’t look like myself either. I’ve chosen to accept a new mission, one that won’t be over until I take my last breath. That mission is to be me and only me. I haven’t seen Emma in two weeks and she thinks I have the worst flu in the world. It’s my last lie to her. When they take the bandages off, she’s the first person I call. The second person I call is Darrell at McClintock Mystery Shoppers to ask for my old job back.

& & &

Emma meets me for dinner at the Galleria at 8:00. I make a point to arrive at 8:05 and find her sitting in a booth.

“Can I help you?” She asks and it’s clear she doesn’t recognize the new me.

“It’s the new me, Emma,” I say.

“Trig?” She asks. “Is this for a role?”

I don’t want to hurt her, but that option no longer exists, so I tell her the truth.

By the end of the truth, the light in her eyes is replaced by a glazed look of indifference. She’s disappointed that I’m Theodore Bell –– one of eight in California by my last count. She excuses herself to use the restroom and never comes back. I eat my cheeseburger alone and give her a 6 for her exit.

& & &

On the drive home I get a call from Darrell about a mystery shopping gig in the morning. I get a flash of nervous excitement. I am a one of a kind creation forged in time and space and the latest version of happy. Darrell asks if I need a refresher course on blending in. I do not.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Chris Kahle 2024