Story Time
I know there has been a longer blogging hiatus than usual, which has been adversely affecting my readership. Several readers have written me and said they’ve turned their backs on God, some have dropped out of school, and most are suffering from varying degrees of depression. Trust me, I know this blog has a profound effect on people so you’ll be happy to know that something peculiar actually happened to me today that's worth blogging about. Actually, several peculiar things have happened to me over the past few weeks. I just can’t write about them as they are a direct result of my own poor decision making. Let’s just say they involve a partially broken foot, a ruined shirt, and several misdemeanors that I may not yet know about. I’ll let you speculate. Anyway, on with today’s story.
On my way to lunch today, I stopped into a local used bookstore to add to my collection of books I’ll never read. You know the drill: smells like rotten paper; books stacked to the ceiling; barely any room for maneuvering; eccentric/cantankerous/senile person at the front desk. I think these used book stores are the same everywhere—almost like a franchise. There was an elderly lady at the front desk and I said hello as I entered and browsed around the first floor (biographies, new arrivals, non-fiction). Finding nothing, I decided to head upstairs to the fiction section and maybe check out the Danielle Steele spread they have (I don’t know about you all, but there’s nothing like lusty, steamy romance novel…nothing). As I passed by the lady at the front desk I said, “I think I’ll check out the fiction section.” You know, a little idle chit chat with the nice lady. A little Slurry Beta charm is always appreciated. Suddenly, the lady begins speaking in disjointed sentences, “I hate to ask this of you…but…when you go upstairs….and I don’t mean to be presumptuous…but…I was robbed at gunpoint not too long ago…there is a gentleman who comes in here often and never buys a book…not that he isn’t allowed to come in here….but I was robbed at gunpoint…would you mind checking it out upstairs and let me know if there is anything suspicious?…I mean, I hate to be rude…but I’m just a bit concerned…don’t be too conspicuous.”
At this point I was thinking to myself, “Well, not only to I feel morally obligated to check this armed gunman out (I have sheriff’s blood, you know) but I also feel obligated to buy a goddamn book lest I be construed as an armed robber.”
“Sure, I’ll check it out, Sugar Britches,” I said without saying Sugar Britches. I walked upstairs and, sure enough, there was a guy polishing his firearm in front the True Crime section. “I robbed that woman downstairs at gunpoint last month and I’ve been coming in here every day for the past few weeks, not reading anything, but just waiting for the right time, man. I think now’s the time,” he said. I quickly sprung into action and beat him down with “The Complete Works of Shakespeare.” Cops and reporters arrived on the scene not too long after and I was given the Presidential Medal of Honor, all in time to get back to the office for an after lunch meeting.
Okay, that didn’t happen. I did, however, walk upstairs to find three very harmless people quietly perusing the bookshelves. I picked up a copy of Tim O’Brien’s “If I Die in a Combat Zone”, told the lady she was okay, paid for my book and walked out.
On my way to lunch today, I stopped into a local used bookstore to add to my collection of books I’ll never read. You know the drill: smells like rotten paper; books stacked to the ceiling; barely any room for maneuvering; eccentric/cantankerous/senile person at the front desk. I think these used book stores are the same everywhere—almost like a franchise. There was an elderly lady at the front desk and I said hello as I entered and browsed around the first floor (biographies, new arrivals, non-fiction). Finding nothing, I decided to head upstairs to the fiction section and maybe check out the Danielle Steele spread they have (I don’t know about you all, but there’s nothing like lusty, steamy romance novel…nothing). As I passed by the lady at the front desk I said, “I think I’ll check out the fiction section.” You know, a little idle chit chat with the nice lady. A little Slurry Beta charm is always appreciated. Suddenly, the lady begins speaking in disjointed sentences, “I hate to ask this of you…but…when you go upstairs….and I don’t mean to be presumptuous…but…I was robbed at gunpoint not too long ago…there is a gentleman who comes in here often and never buys a book…not that he isn’t allowed to come in here….but I was robbed at gunpoint…would you mind checking it out upstairs and let me know if there is anything suspicious?…I mean, I hate to be rude…but I’m just a bit concerned…don’t be too conspicuous.”
At this point I was thinking to myself, “Well, not only to I feel morally obligated to check this armed gunman out (I have sheriff’s blood, you know) but I also feel obligated to buy a goddamn book lest I be construed as an armed robber.”
“Sure, I’ll check it out, Sugar Britches,” I said without saying Sugar Britches. I walked upstairs and, sure enough, there was a guy polishing his firearm in front the True Crime section. “I robbed that woman downstairs at gunpoint last month and I’ve been coming in here every day for the past few weeks, not reading anything, but just waiting for the right time, man. I think now’s the time,” he said. I quickly sprung into action and beat him down with “The Complete Works of Shakespeare.” Cops and reporters arrived on the scene not too long after and I was given the Presidential Medal of Honor, all in time to get back to the office for an after lunch meeting.
Okay, that didn’t happen. I did, however, walk upstairs to find three very harmless people quietly perusing the bookshelves. I picked up a copy of Tim O’Brien’s “If I Die in a Combat Zone”, told the lady she was okay, paid for my book and walked out.
posted by Slurry B @ 5:15 PM
2 Comments:
Sugar Britches cracks me up. Laughed out loud and I plan to use if it ya don't mind.
Duly noted. That was a poorly worded sentence and I have modified it for clarity purposes. I did not mean to imply that I actually received multiple misdemeanors but that I may have either escaped capture or forgot due to a shaky memory.
On a side note, Moroni. Never, and I mean NEVER, call me out on my own blog. This forum is not a democracy. Check the maiz.
On a side, side note: Why did you let the bad men capture Prophet Steed? Who will now marry sisters with brothers, infants with adults, or infant sisters with adult brothers and vice versa? Who?
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