Dinello’s Job in Urban Apparel

Section 1: Just Another Tuesday

Dinello wandered through the crowded SkyView Mall with nowhere in particular to go.

His Zhongshan suit hung open as usual, exposing his chest, while his hollow eyes drifted lazily from store to store. He looked bored out of his mind.

Eventually, he stopped beside a soda vending machine. Then his expression suddenly changed.

“Shit…” Dinello crouched down and clutched his stomach. “I think I’ve got diarrhea…”

He bent forward, his face twisting in agony. “My intestines… they’re flipping around. My guts feel like they’re tearing apart. The pressure in my butthole… it’s unbearable…”

A young couple nearby noticed him and cautiously approached.

“Sir, are you okay?” the girl asked. “You look like you’re in a lot of pain. Should we call an ambulance?”

Dinello didn’t answer.

The couple leaned closer.

Suddenly, Dinello sprang to his feet, shoved his face toward them, stuck out his tongue, stretched his mouth wide with both hands, and screamed:

“LILILILILILILILILI!”

The couple screamed and stumbled backward.

“What the fuck?!”

“Jesus Christ! This guy’s insane!”

“A pervert! A fucking freak!”

They cursed him as they hurried away.

Dinello watched them disappear into the crowd. A few seconds later, his hollow expression returned.

“…Too boring.”

He sighed and continued walking.

Even his weekly prank barely entertained him anymore. Every day followed almost exactly the same routine.

Wake up. Brush his teeth. Eat breakfast. Watch TV. Eat lunch. Wander around. Work. Eat dinner. Go on a date. Have sex. Go home. Sleep.

Then do it all over again.

That was when he passed a clothing store called Urban Apparel.

The place was packed. Customers flowed through the entrance while employees greeted newcomers, folded shirts, restocked racks, operated registers, and thanked people as they left.

Dinello stopped and watched.

One employee folded a shirt. Another hung up a jacket.

“Thank you. Have a great day!”

A customer left. Another entered.

“Welcome to Urban Apparel!”

Fold. Hang. Smile. Thank you. Welcome. Repeat.

Dinello’s eyes somehow became even emptier.

How does anyone live like that? What’s the point of it all?

Eventually, he turned away.

The next morning, at exactly nine o’clock, Dinello stood in front of Urban Apparel.

Same Zhongshan suit. Same open chest. Same dead expression.

He yawned.

“Why does everyone start work this early?” he muttered. “Can’t we just stay home? Eat, drink, sleep, repeat?”

Dinello sighed and casually stepped toward the entrance as if he had worked there for years.

“Guess another busy day begins.”

Section 2: The Goofy Greeter

Dinello stood at the entrance of Urban Apparel, smiling brightly at every customer.

Unlike the other employees, his greetings had a little more personality.

“Hey, what’s up, dude?”

“Morning, loser. How’s it going?”

When a nervous-looking young man walked past, Dinello leaned closer with a cheerful grin.

“Don’t steal anything in there, or I’ll break your kneecaps.”

The man stared at him, then hurried away.

Dinello nodded to himself.

Customer service was going pretty well.

A few minutes later, a beautiful young woman in office wear approached. One of the upper buttons on her blouse had come undone.

Dinello noticed immediately.

“Hey, sexy. Your button’s undone.” He pointed at her blouse. “I get it. You’re trying to tempt me into giving you a discount, right?”

Her eyes widened.

“Not gonna happen.” Dinello grinned. “Unless you give me a kiss.”

Before she could respond, a female employee hurried over and whispered into the floor manager’s ear.

The manager’s expression darkened.

“Hey. New guy.”

Dinello turned.

“You don’t need to greet customers anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t.”

The manager pointed toward a towering pile of unfolded clothes.

“Go fold those.”

Dinello looked at the clothes, then at the manager.

“…Fuck me.”

“GO RIGHT NOW!”

Dinello dragged himself over and began folding with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner starting a twenty-year sentence.

An hour later, the manager returned.

Dinello was gone.

So was the pile.

For a moment, the manager looked impressed.

Then he looked up.

Somehow, Dinello had folded and stacked the entire mountain of clothing into a giant, hideous Statue of Liberty. Shirts formed the robe, rolled-up pants made an arm, socks formed a crooked crown, and one sleeve stretched upward like a torch.

The manager stared.

“…Impossible.”

Who the hell folded clothes like this?

A vein bulged on his forehead.

“DINELLO! GET OVER HERE!”

Dinello casually wandered back.

“Are you here to work, or are you here to waste everyone’s time with your nonsense?!”

Dinello looked at his creation, then lowered his head with exaggerated regret.

“Sorry. I got a little carried away. I promise I’ll do my job properly. Please don’t fire me.”

The manager looked like he desperately wanted to.

Instead, he pointed toward the sales floor.

“Fine. Go help the customers. Find what they need, help them with sizes—just do something normal.”

“Got it.”

Dinello spun around like a figure skater and strutted toward the women’s section with a ridiculous little dance.

The manager watched him go.

He already regretted this decision.

Section 3: Best Customer Service Ever

Dinello stood casually in the women’s section with one hand resting on a clothing rack.

No customers needed him, so his eyes wandered toward a female mannequin.

It wore a jacket over a shirt and bra, along with fitted pants.

Dinello tilted his head.

“Not stylish enough…”

He removed the jacket, shirt, bra, and pants. Then he found a pair of pink, triangle-shaped women’s underwear and pulled them onto the mannequin.

That was it.

No shirt. No pants.

Just pink triangle underwear.

Dinello stepped back and admired his work.

“Hmm. This is what I call art.”

For some reason, the outfit felt strangely familiar.

“Where the hell did I get this inspiration from?”

He thought for several seconds.

Nothing.

“…Whatever.”

He walked away, leaving the nearly naked mannequin proudly displayed in the women’s section.

Before long, a young woman approached him.

“Excuse me, sir. What kind of outfit would look good on someone like me? Could you help me pick something that suits my body and complexion?”

Dinello gave her a careful once-over from top to bottom, then bottom to top.

His eyes stopped on her chest.

Ten seconds passed.

“Have you… decided yet, sir?”

Dinello snapped back to reality. He had been too busy estimating her cup size to remember the question.

“No problem. Follow me.”

He pulled out an extremely revealing cropped top, barely more substantial than a bikini, and handed it to her.

“With your figure, you should be wearing stuff like this.”

She stared at it.

“Isn’t this a little too sexy? Wearing this to work would be inappropriate. Even on the street, people would stare.”

“Come on, no big deal. Half the girls on the street dress like this. I dress like this sometimes too.” Dinello pointed at his own open Zhongshan suit. “Totally normal.”

She looked at his exposed chest.

That made her even less convinced.

“You can change right here if you want.” Dinello pointed toward a mirror.

“Here? There are people everywhere.”

“So?”

“Can I use the fitting room?”

“Whatever. Suit yourself.”

The woman inspected the top again before shaking her head.

“No. If I wear this home, my mom might break my legs.”

She returned it and walked away.

Dinello shook his head.

“Kids these days really don’t know how to dress themselves. Geez…”

A few minutes later, another woman approached. She appeared to be in her early thirties, with an average face and a noticeably large chest.

“Hey, midlife bunny. Anything I can help you forget today?”

She blinked.

“I’m looking for a women’s coat. Probably size large.”

“Easy.”

Dinello wandered into the racks, randomly pulled out a black Zhongshan jacket, and handed it to her.

“Try this one.”

She put it on and buttoned it. Surprisingly, it didn’t look terrible.

“It feels really tight around my chest,” she said. “I can barely breathe.”

“Yeah, new clothes are always like that.”

“They are?”

“Of course. Wear it for a few days. It’ll loosen up. It totally matches your retro vibe.”

The woman still looked uncertain.

Dinello casually gave her chest a quick pat absent-mindedly, as if reassuring a nervous customer.

“Trust me. It’ll be fine after a few days. Just takes a little time.”

The woman froze.

Her eyes widened slightly as she stared at Dinello, stunned and clearly a little offended. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but for a moment, she couldn’t seem to find the words.

Before she could, a familiar voice came from behind Dinello.

“Dinello.”

He turned around.

The floor manager stood there with a face dark enough to kill the mood of the entire store.

“Someone just destroyed the bathroom. There’s shit all over the floor. Go clean it. Now.”

Dinello wasn’t sure what he had done wrong this time, but he nodded.

“Okay.”

After he left, the manager turned to the customer with a tight smile.

“I’m very sorry. Our new employee made a mistake.”

He pointed at her jacket.

“That’s a men’s coat.”

The woman slowly looked down at herself.

“Let me help you find something that actually fits.”

Section 4: Toilet Nap, Chaos Outside

Dinello made his way toward the restrooms and pushed open a door.

The place was spotless. The floor shined, the mirrors were polished, and the air smelled faintly of lemon cleaner.

“Where’s the shit?”

Dinello shrugged, entered a stall, and locked the door.

“Might as well enjoy the environment.”

He hadn’t noticed the women’s restroom sign.

The men’s restroom was next door—and that one really had been destroyed. Shit covered the floor, toilet, walls, and even part of the mirror, as if someone had detonated a biological weapon inside.

Dinello knew none of this.

He sat comfortably on the toilet.

“Ahhh…”

Within minutes, he fell asleep.

It was the deepest, most peaceful toilet nap of his life.

CRASH!

Dinello’s eyes snapped open.

Shouting and screams erupted outside, followed by another heavy impact.

“What the hell?”

He quickly finished, gave his ass a military-grade polish, flushed, pulled up his pants, and hurried out.

The moment he reached the sales floor, he froze.

Then burst out laughing.

A man in a hoodie stood in the middle of Urban Apparel with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

It was Canelo.

He held the floor manager completely off the ground by his collar. The manager’s legs kicked wildly as though he were trying to run on invisible pavement.

Employees and customers surrounded them, too frightened to interfere.

Dinello grabbed his stomach.

“Hahahahaha!”

The manager twisted toward him.

“HEY! You asshole! STOP LAUGHING AND DO SOMETHING!”

Dinello pulled out his phone.

“Hold on.”

He snapped a photo.

“Man, your pose right now is comedy gold.”

Canelo tightened his grip and shouted at the terrified employees.

“Bring me all the cash from this store! Last month, you missed your protection payment!”

The store fell silent.

Off to the side, Dinello looked at the photo—

and started laughing again.

Section 5: Identity Crisis

Someone in the crowd suddenly shouted:

“Holy shit! Isn’t that Canelo?! That gangster from our neighborhood?”

Dinello stopped laughing.

“Who the hell just called me Canelo again?”

Everyone went quiet.

“My name is Dinello. D-I-N-E-L-L-O!” He scanned the crowd. “Who said that? Come out and apologize!”

Canelo, still holding the manager by his collar, glanced over.

“Chill out. He wasn’t talking about you.”

Dinello turned toward him.

“He was talking about me. My name’s Canelo.”

Dinello froze.

Canelo is real?

All these years, he had assumed it was just some stupid nickname people used to mock him. A mispronunciation that refused to die.

But standing in front of him was an actual hoodie-wearing gangster named Canelo.

Dinello’s eye twitched.

“You…”

He pointed at him.

“You stole my nickname.”

Canelo frowned. “What?”

“That name has been haunting me for years. And now you just casually walk around being Canelo?”

“I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Dinello’s hand flashed downward.

CHOP!

His palm struck Canelo’s wrist. The grip broke instantly, dropping the floor manager back first, ass second.

“AAAHHH! MY PELVIS!”

He rolled across the floor clutching his hip.

Neither man looked at him.

Dinello stepped forward until he stood chest-to-chest with Canelo.

Canelo swung a hard slap toward his face.

Dinello caught his wrist in midair.

Effortlessly.

Canelo’s eyes widened.

Dinello smiled and drove his knee straight into Canelo’s crotch.

“UUUGHH—!”

Canelo folded, both hands shooting between his legs.

BAM!

Dinello’s front kick slammed into his chest.

Canelo flew backward through the glass entrance.

CRAAASH!

Glass exploded across the sidewalk as he sailed out of Urban Apparel and smashed into a trash bin.

The bin toppled over.

Canelo dropped beside it and stopped moving.

Silence.

Dinello lowered his leg, looked around at the stunned crowd, and slowly raised both fists.

“I…”

He paused.

“…am the one and only true Canelo.”

Everyone stared.

“And anyone else who says otherwise gets kicked in the dick.”

Section 6: Best Employee of the Year

For a few seconds, the store remained silent.

Then someone started clapping.

“Best employee of the year!”

“Yeah! This guy’s amazing!”

The applause spread through the store. Dinello raised both hands and waved like a celebrity accepting an award.

“Thank you. Thank you all for your support. I’ll keep working hard next year!”

The floor manager slowly climbed to his feet, rubbing his bruised hip.

After the threats, terrible customer service, and Statue of Liberty made of clothes, somehow this idiot had actually saved the store.

“Never thought he’d actually be useful…”

Just then, a middle-aged man with thick, curly hair hurried through the shattered entrance.

The store owner.

He stared at the broken glass, overturned trash bin, and crowd of customers.

“What the hell happened here?”

The manager quickly explained.

The owner listened, then looked across the store at Dinello.

“So that’s the employee who stopped the robbery?”

The manager nodded.

The owner studied him.

“Wait…”

Dinello’s smile weakened.

“Who the hell are you?”

The applause died.

The owner pointed at his open Zhongshan suit.

“You look completely unfamiliar. And where’s your uniform? Every employee here wears a pink polo.”

Dinello glanced down at himself.

“I’m Dinello.”

A short pause.

“Sales associate.”

The owner narrowed his eyes, walked behind the counter, and pulled out the employee schedule.

He flipped through it.

Once.

Twice.

Dinello stood perfectly still as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

The owner lowered the schedule.

“There’s no Dinello working here.”

Silence.

The floor manager stared at Dinello.

Dinello stared back.

“You’re not an employee?” the owner said. “You just walked into my store and pretended to work here all day?!”

The floor manager’s mouth slowly fell open.

The owner grabbed Dinello by the wrist.

“I’m calling the cops. You’re not going anywhere until they get here.”

Dinello looked down at the hand gripping him.

Another bead of sweat rolled down his cheek.

He took a breath.

His cheeks swelled like balloons.

The owner frowned.

“What are you—”

PFFFFFTTT!

A concentrated blast of Qi shot from Dinello’s mouth and blasted directly into the owner’s thick curly hair.

FWOOOSH!

The entire hairstyle lifted off his head.

Everyone froze.

The curly hair spun through the air and landed on the floor.

A wig.

Under the fluorescent lights, the owner’s bald head gleamed like a polished light bulb.

His face turned bright red.

He released Dinello, dove for the wig, and slapped it back onto his head.

Backward.

Someone snorted.

Then another person giggled.

Within seconds, the store erupted in laughter.

The owner crouched behind the counter, desperately adjusting his wig.

The floor manager suddenly looked around.

“Wait. Where’s Dinello?”

Everyone turned.

He was gone.

Outside SkyView Mall, Dinello walked beneath the evening sky with his hands in his pockets.

He thought about his day.

He had gotten a job he never applied for, redesigned a mannequin, terrorized customers, built a Statue of Liberty out of clothes, slept on a toilet, beaten the real Canelo through a glass door—and nobody had realized he wasn’t an employee until the owner showed up.

Dinello let out a long breath.

“…I’m bored again.”