A work of fiction.
In case you were curious, I've been experimenting more with an unreliable narrator. For example, this unnamed main character has opinions that cannot be excused, even with his rationalizations on his own behalf. At times, what he says can be taken seriously, but the whole of his opinions should never be taken as complete truth.
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If nothing especially interesting shows up, I know of a few alternate
locations that have worked well before. But unlike those who know how to
conceal a hidden camera, my usable videos might last for a little more than a minute
a person, or they might last for five. As before, I try to keep my hand steady
and not make noise. I’ve gotten pretty good at it and slightly fearless.
At the moment, I’ve just finished up recording a young woman
in her early twenties. On my knees in the adjacent stall, I’ve managed to take
an effective position. She is too busy trying on swimwear and talking on a cell
phone to know what I’m doing. Posted on every door in the changing area is a
reminder that it isn’t sanitary to try on bathing suits without first donning
underwear. This woman doesn’t seem to notice, but she stays reasonably still
and will be a popular upload.
What makes my work even possible is the way the cubicles are
laid out. The men’s facilities are right next to the women’s. In stores where
men and women are placed far apart, my job is impossible. We usually hit the
smaller stores for this reason, though once again, finding an adequate location
is a task left to someone else. As I leave, the woman speaks excitedly to an
unknown party, entirely naked, talking enthusiastically about some person who
is a dickhead, in her words. I’ve
been here long enough.
I check my phone for a text message.
GAP DRESSING ROOM, DOWNTOWN, 3:00 to 4:30 pm
That store makes me nervous. It provides considerable
challenges when it is not packed to the gills. I know that whatever I salvage
from this trip is going to come at great risk and what is usable won’t be much.
Apparently it’s a popular location, which is why I keep coming back here
against my better judgment. When I set up next to a woman in an adjacent room,
I have little to no idea of what she looks like. Based on what I’ve heard, I
assume the occupant is a woman in her late teens. This is confirmed when I peek
slightly over the divider, using my camera like a flexible periscope.
She’s also trying on bathing suits, but only the brassiere
portion. Her breasts are large. She calls out to an unseen friend who is also
trying on clothes.
Maybe we should go to
Target later.
Yeah, we should,
she replies.
Her voice is girlish and youthful, very much the
stereotypical hyper feminine girly girl. The audience likes women like her,
based on the statistics, especially when one considers the number of highly
ranked downloads. There’s commission in it for me if stumble upon an
interesting situation and produce a particularly popular clip. That depends on
luck more than it does skill. Much like a viral video, it’s often difficult to
predict how to produce success and interest on the part of viewers. Videos I
thought were fairly unimpressive have at times struck a chord.
Assuming I had a girlfriend, I might be able to take
on-the-job experience and apply it to my love life. I’ve seen hundreds of women
preen and primp before the mirror, scrutinizing themselves in a way they would
only do in strictest privacy. It can take whole minutes before the express purpose
of my being there presents itself.
After going through an elaborate, private ritual of
self-scrutiny, she begins to put on a new outfit or element of clothing. The process
is that of considerable analysis. From an aesthetic perspective, this is, in
many ways, much more interesting to casually observe. Sex is one thing, but
vulnerability and true secrecy is even more private than that. We may be more
comfortable as sexual beings in the outside world, on our own terms. We are considerably
much less confident when our bodily flaws are on display, assuming we believe
we are completely alone. Our worst critics are ourselves.
I’ve done this for five years and I’ve developed a sixth
sense about this location. Something about this place makes the hair on the
back of my neck stand up. I’m tempted to leave a few minutes early. It’s like
gambling. Should you start winning, the best decision is in knowing when to
quit. The odds are in your favor only to
an extent. Eventually, mathematically speaking, your luck will swing against
you. Cut your losses and move elsewhere.
The pay isn’t what I’d prefer, but neither do I have to work
terribly odd hours. Once I worked as a security guard at an exclusive golf
course. My assignment was the graveyard shift, 7 pm to 7 am. Twelve hour shifts
will really take it out of you, as well hitting the bed after the sun has risen.
I don’t have to guard ice machines and golf clubs at early mornings anymore,
and I’m thankful for that much. It’s tough to be strictly ethical when you
haven’t had much money. Even with the constant promise of great terror and
discovery, I work a generally fun job.
One learns to not ask questions of one’s superiors. Plausibility
denial is a good strategy. I don’t know who puts clips and pictures online. I
send them along in edited form to a purposefully vague and innocuous e-mail
address. Few of my submissions are ever returned for being of insufficient
quality or needing additional video edits. An operation this intensive and
complex could only work in a large city, which is how I’ve learned nearly every
neighborhood and general area, even if I’ve got completely lost a time or two.
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