Dead Wrestlers
by Jason Schaefer
“This Mankind's practically worthless.”
Well you don't have to comment on all of them, asshole. I saved Mankind from the rejection pile. “Practically worthless?”
“Can't put a pricetag on the sentimental.”
“He's in pretty good condition,” I held him up.
“ Looks like he got tossed off his fair share of Hell in a Cell's. Scuff marks all up the backside.”
“But the front's pretty good. You put him on display--”
“Buff Bagwell. Haven't heard from him in awhile.”
Mankind went back to where he'd been.
“Yeah, forgot all about him too. What's he worth?”
A frown, and another addition to the rejects.
“Listen,” he said. “I'll level with you. All your wrestlers, their value pretty much dropped to zero the moment you took em out of the box. And each time you played with them, it went down even further.”
“How can they be worth negative?”
He smacked his lips and moved half a Rey Mysterio to the pile of rejects, sans comment.
“And I mean, it wasn't me. My little brother was the one who played with them. Roughed them all up.”
Confession: I am an only child.
“Well, maybe he'll wanna buy your headless Luna figure off you.”
He held up her headless body once more.
“Hey, I already told you, I didn't realize. I've had em in that box for like fifteen years. My parents moved all my sh—stuff around when I went to college and now again since they started another moving process. One of them probably dropped it or something.”
“Look, I get it. You wanna make some money off all your old shit just like everyone else. Lemme tell ya what. Look.” He showed me an Eddie Guerrero I somehow forgot I owned. “I'll give you a buck for Eddie. And you know what? Your Luna? I like Luna, so I'd even give you five for her. If she had a head.”
“How about three, and I even glue the head on for you,” I blurted out.
He laughed.
“I said, I would buy her for five'f she wasn't broken. Wanna know why?”
“Because you like Luna.” Because you had a weird crush on her, too.
“Yes, I liked Luna. I told you that. Liked Eddie Guerrero too. But I'm also a fan of Raven, Mankind, Chris Jericho, Scott Hall. Rey.” He picked up Rey Mysterio's torso like it was someone else's used Kleenex. I was clearly being judged. “But I'm not going to buy them off you. Want to know why? You're going to think I'm an asshole.”
“Because--” you're an asshole. “I don't know.”
“And you wouldn't be the first person to think that.”
“I try not to judge.”
I should have paid more attention in AP Business. Do people always give long speeches while cutting a deal?
“Actually my wife called me an asshole just this morning.”
“You seem like a nice guy.”
“My wife who I've been married to you longer than your wrestlers have been in this box. Her mother-in-law even sometimes calls me an asshole.”
I'd almost missed it. “My little brother's wrestlers.”
“You're not going to guess why?”
I was looking at Eddie, clutched in the guy's fist. Excellent condition, despite being out of the box. Not even a visible scuff mark across his t-shirt, bearing one of my favorite of his mottos. Had to be worth way more than a dollar. Suddenly I saw a way forward. Cheat 2 Win. I needed to earn this guy's respect.
I put my left hand in my pocket—that's the one wedding rings go on, right? Then I leaned, conversationally, against the counter covered in trading cards. “Mother-in-laws are the worst. Now that I think about it, mine's a lot like my younger brother. Real--”
“Said my wife's mother-in-law. Think about it.”
“Yeah.”
“My wife's mother-in-law. She would be my mother.”
“Yeah, I know.” Shit, he's right. I went into retreat mode. I felt like I'd violated his personal space by making contact with the counter anyways. “I didn't mean to imply anything about your mother.”
“So you wanna know why?”
“Why they call you an--”
“Because they're dead.”
“Uh. I'm sorry to hear that.” Did he just confess to murder? Run. Leave your wrestlers behind.
My legs stayed put.
“What? No.” He hadn't understood my reaction. He set Latino Heat on the counter—my heart skipping a beat when I noticed he'd avoided the rejection pile. “Eddie Guerrero died of heart failure in 2004 and Luna passed away in 2010.”
“Really? I didn't know Luna died.”
“It's a really sad story actually,” his tone softened, his eyes caressed the headless body poking out of the pile on the counter. “She--” his voice broke.
The bells on the door jangled. A young couple came in. The man carried his own plastic tub. He parked a respectful distance behind me to a form a line and the woman quietly toured the shop.
The owner resumed his previous condescending tone. “If you wanna know Luna's life story, I'll just have to refer you to Dark Side of the Ring, Season Three. There's a whole episode about it. But since we're both trying to make some money here--”
“I didn't know they came out with a third season.”
Now I was the asshole, his look said. “They've already started filming season five.”
He poked around at the register.
“So that's a dollar for Eddie Guerrero. Like I said, Luna I'm not going to give you anything for. Account of her missing a head.”
“But,” I said, “if it's dead ones you're looking for, I have, like, two Benoits.”
I fished them out out the jumble of wrestlers.
He turned to me quickly.
“Listen. What happened to Chris Benoit and his family was terrible. But noone wants to be reminded of that story everytime they wake up and look at their wrestlers collection.”
“I saw that Dark Side episode. He and Eddie were friends.” Also, who looks at their action figures first thing in the morning?
“All these professional wrestlers dying young, it's a tragedy. Owen Hart falling out of the rafters—that was devastating. Now, if you had an unopened Owen Hart in mint, that could fetch you something here. Kanyon, he's a damn LGBT icon now. I'd buy him off you regardless of his condition. He'd sell. A Luna with a head on, you know what--I'd put that in my own collection. But the rest of these guys--”
“Sell you both for a dollar.”
“This isn't a non-profit. You see a whole lot of empty space on my shelves here?” I looked around. The young couple were clearly trying not to eavesdrop. “I can't afford to keep around any more hard-to-move product here. The story of Chris Benoit was a tragedy, yes, but it was also a major bummer.”
“What about my Owen Hart?” I dug him out.
“That's Jeff Jarrett.”
“Huh? No, it's Owen.”
“It's Jeff Jarrett. Look at his tattoos.”
“Huh. I always played with him as Owen Hart.” Then I remembered: my real Owen Hart figure meeting his end, bursting apart after I tossed him down our second floor stairs in a winning main event dropkick maneuver. Why did I have to play so rough with them?
“And what about Chyna?” I sorted through the pile on the counter. “She died.”
He shook his head. “Joanie? No, I don't think you have one of her.”
“Yeah I do. I just saw her. You picked her up earlier.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Didn't see no Chynas.”
“And she was in perfect condition, too. I know, because I always had her win.”
“If I'd seen it, I would've remembered. Might've even bought her off ya. Oh well.” He looked past me to the other customer. “Can I help you folks?”
The man in line said, “Just here to have you look at some stuff. No rush.”
The store owner politely smiled at the couple and then looked back to me. “So that'll be one dollar for one Señor Guerrero?”
I was still digging through my wrestlers. He'd totally looked at my Chyna earlier. Did she fall on the floor, or...?
He dinged the register, yanked out a dollar and held it up in the air. I glared at him.
“Look. It happens sometimes. You swear you have something, and then you don't. Who knows. Maybe your little brother took her. Or maybe you have her confused with someone else.”
“I know who Chyna is.”
He shrugged. “Don't beat yourself too much about it. Probably wouldn't have gotten too much for her. Depending on her condition. So we doing a deal or what?”
I backed off a bit, worked my leverage.
“Yeah, but that Eddie is in really good shape,” I said. “Let's make it five.”
“All sales are final.”
“Four.”
He pointed at the sign.
“But I haven't sold anything yet.”
He sighed, put the dollar back. “You know, to be honest you could probably get more for him on Ebay. Buck fifty, tops. But then you have to take a picture, write out a description, wait for it to sell. Then you have your packaging, shipping. If your parents are moving, you're probably under a time crunch.”
“Wait,” I said. Eddie Guerrero, his back against the counter, now seemed to share the store owner's smirk. The Cheat 2 Win slogan emblazed on his T-shirt took on an unexpected new meaning for me.
“Okay,” I said, taking the dollar and placing the rejects back in my plastic tub.
“My pleasure,” he said. “And if you find your Chyna, feel free to come back. Might be interested.”
“Asshole,” I said, stepping out into the parking lot with my box of worthless toys. I felt as if I'd failed my heroes. Eddie Guerrero had been one of my favorites. And you can't even buy a bag of Skittles for a dollar in this state.
by Jason Schaefer
“This Mankind's practically worthless.”
Well you don't have to comment on all of them, asshole. I saved Mankind from the rejection pile. “Practically worthless?”
“Can't put a pricetag on the sentimental.”
“He's in pretty good condition,” I held him up.
“ Looks like he got tossed off his fair share of Hell in a Cell's. Scuff marks all up the backside.”
“But the front's pretty good. You put him on display--”
“Buff Bagwell. Haven't heard from him in awhile.”
Mankind went back to where he'd been.
“Yeah, forgot all about him too. What's he worth?”
A frown, and another addition to the rejects.
“Listen,” he said. “I'll level with you. All your wrestlers, their value pretty much dropped to zero the moment you took em out of the box. And each time you played with them, it went down even further.”
“How can they be worth negative?”
He smacked his lips and moved half a Rey Mysterio to the pile of rejects, sans comment.
“And I mean, it wasn't me. My little brother was the one who played with them. Roughed them all up.”
Confession: I am an only child.
“Well, maybe he'll wanna buy your headless Luna figure off you.”
He held up her headless body once more.
“Hey, I already told you, I didn't realize. I've had em in that box for like fifteen years. My parents moved all my sh—stuff around when I went to college and now again since they started another moving process. One of them probably dropped it or something.”
“Look, I get it. You wanna make some money off all your old shit just like everyone else. Lemme tell ya what. Look.” He showed me an Eddie Guerrero I somehow forgot I owned. “I'll give you a buck for Eddie. And you know what? Your Luna? I like Luna, so I'd even give you five for her. If she had a head.”
“How about three, and I even glue the head on for you,” I blurted out.
He laughed.
“I said, I would buy her for five'f she wasn't broken. Wanna know why?”
“Because you like Luna.” Because you had a weird crush on her, too.
“Yes, I liked Luna. I told you that. Liked Eddie Guerrero too. But I'm also a fan of Raven, Mankind, Chris Jericho, Scott Hall. Rey.” He picked up Rey Mysterio's torso like it was someone else's used Kleenex. I was clearly being judged. “But I'm not going to buy them off you. Want to know why? You're going to think I'm an asshole.”
“Because--” you're an asshole. “I don't know.”
“And you wouldn't be the first person to think that.”
“I try not to judge.”
I should have paid more attention in AP Business. Do people always give long speeches while cutting a deal?
“Actually my wife called me an asshole just this morning.”
“You seem like a nice guy.”
“My wife who I've been married to you longer than your wrestlers have been in this box. Her mother-in-law even sometimes calls me an asshole.”
I'd almost missed it. “My little brother's wrestlers.”
“You're not going to guess why?”
I was looking at Eddie, clutched in the guy's fist. Excellent condition, despite being out of the box. Not even a visible scuff mark across his t-shirt, bearing one of my favorite of his mottos. Had to be worth way more than a dollar. Suddenly I saw a way forward. Cheat 2 Win. I needed to earn this guy's respect.
I put my left hand in my pocket—that's the one wedding rings go on, right? Then I leaned, conversationally, against the counter covered in trading cards. “Mother-in-laws are the worst. Now that I think about it, mine's a lot like my younger brother. Real--”
“Said my wife's mother-in-law. Think about it.”
“Yeah.”
“My wife's mother-in-law. She would be my mother.”
“Yeah, I know.” Shit, he's right. I went into retreat mode. I felt like I'd violated his personal space by making contact with the counter anyways. “I didn't mean to imply anything about your mother.”
“So you wanna know why?”
“Why they call you an--”
“Because they're dead.”
“Uh. I'm sorry to hear that.” Did he just confess to murder? Run. Leave your wrestlers behind.
My legs stayed put.
“What? No.” He hadn't understood my reaction. He set Latino Heat on the counter—my heart skipping a beat when I noticed he'd avoided the rejection pile. “Eddie Guerrero died of heart failure in 2004 and Luna passed away in 2010.”
“Really? I didn't know Luna died.”
“It's a really sad story actually,” his tone softened, his eyes caressed the headless body poking out of the pile on the counter. “She--” his voice broke.
The bells on the door jangled. A young couple came in. The man carried his own plastic tub. He parked a respectful distance behind me to a form a line and the woman quietly toured the shop.
The owner resumed his previous condescending tone. “If you wanna know Luna's life story, I'll just have to refer you to Dark Side of the Ring, Season Three. There's a whole episode about it. But since we're both trying to make some money here--”
“I didn't know they came out with a third season.”
Now I was the asshole, his look said. “They've already started filming season five.”
He poked around at the register.
“So that's a dollar for Eddie Guerrero. Like I said, Luna I'm not going to give you anything for. Account of her missing a head.”
“But,” I said, “if it's dead ones you're looking for, I have, like, two Benoits.”
I fished them out out the jumble of wrestlers.
He turned to me quickly.
“Listen. What happened to Chris Benoit and his family was terrible. But noone wants to be reminded of that story everytime they wake up and look at their wrestlers collection.”
“I saw that Dark Side episode. He and Eddie were friends.” Also, who looks at their action figures first thing in the morning?
“All these professional wrestlers dying young, it's a tragedy. Owen Hart falling out of the rafters—that was devastating. Now, if you had an unopened Owen Hart in mint, that could fetch you something here. Kanyon, he's a damn LGBT icon now. I'd buy him off you regardless of his condition. He'd sell. A Luna with a head on, you know what--I'd put that in my own collection. But the rest of these guys--”
“Sell you both for a dollar.”
“This isn't a non-profit. You see a whole lot of empty space on my shelves here?” I looked around. The young couple were clearly trying not to eavesdrop. “I can't afford to keep around any more hard-to-move product here. The story of Chris Benoit was a tragedy, yes, but it was also a major bummer.”
“What about my Owen Hart?” I dug him out.
“That's Jeff Jarrett.”
“Huh? No, it's Owen.”
“It's Jeff Jarrett. Look at his tattoos.”
“Huh. I always played with him as Owen Hart.” Then I remembered: my real Owen Hart figure meeting his end, bursting apart after I tossed him down our second floor stairs in a winning main event dropkick maneuver. Why did I have to play so rough with them?
“And what about Chyna?” I sorted through the pile on the counter. “She died.”
He shook his head. “Joanie? No, I don't think you have one of her.”
“Yeah I do. I just saw her. You picked her up earlier.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Didn't see no Chynas.”
“And she was in perfect condition, too. I know, because I always had her win.”
“If I'd seen it, I would've remembered. Might've even bought her off ya. Oh well.” He looked past me to the other customer. “Can I help you folks?”
The man in line said, “Just here to have you look at some stuff. No rush.”
The store owner politely smiled at the couple and then looked back to me. “So that'll be one dollar for one Señor Guerrero?”
I was still digging through my wrestlers. He'd totally looked at my Chyna earlier. Did she fall on the floor, or...?
He dinged the register, yanked out a dollar and held it up in the air. I glared at him.
“Look. It happens sometimes. You swear you have something, and then you don't. Who knows. Maybe your little brother took her. Or maybe you have her confused with someone else.”
“I know who Chyna is.”
He shrugged. “Don't beat yourself too much about it. Probably wouldn't have gotten too much for her. Depending on her condition. So we doing a deal or what?”
I backed off a bit, worked my leverage.
“Yeah, but that Eddie is in really good shape,” I said. “Let's make it five.”
“All sales are final.”
“Four.”
He pointed at the sign.
“But I haven't sold anything yet.”
He sighed, put the dollar back. “You know, to be honest you could probably get more for him on Ebay. Buck fifty, tops. But then you have to take a picture, write out a description, wait for it to sell. Then you have your packaging, shipping. If your parents are moving, you're probably under a time crunch.”
“Wait,” I said. Eddie Guerrero, his back against the counter, now seemed to share the store owner's smirk. The Cheat 2 Win slogan emblazed on his T-shirt took on an unexpected new meaning for me.
“Okay,” I said, taking the dollar and placing the rejects back in my plastic tub.
“My pleasure,” he said. “And if you find your Chyna, feel free to come back. Might be interested.”
“Asshole,” I said, stepping out into the parking lot with my box of worthless toys. I felt as if I'd failed my heroes. Eddie Guerrero had been one of my favorites. And you can't even buy a bag of Skittles for a dollar in this state.