Tuesday, June 14, 2005

One Million Dullards!

I find myself in one of the far corners of the Earth, thousands if not millions of miles away from my home. Ah, home. Actually, I'm getting more action here than back there so no complaints. The food is lackluster, the locals lack...luster. Observe:

"Hey, Mr. Stocking-The-Shelves-At-A-Local-Pseudo-Grocery-Store-Kinda-Place-
That-Appears-To-Sell-Everything-Except-What-I-Need dude, do you guys sell camera film?" [Editor's note: I felt compelled to throw in the "camera" descriptor at the very last second in a concerted effort to minimize any unnecessary confusion.]

"Camera film, hmm. Do you have a car?" I sensed trouble.

He proceeded to give directions for thousands if not millions of minutes on how to navigate to yet another pseudo-grocery-store thousands if not millions of miles away. I patiently waited for him to finish, politely nodding at key points during his story as if committing thoughts to long term memory. He abruptly finished and I struggled to remember what the original question was. I paused for effect, blinked once, and said, "There's nothing...closer?"

"Dude, this is [nowhere]ville."

Haha, yes. Of course. What a fool, I am. Here, please take my very own hand and slap me with it.
"Okay," I say. "Thanks," I say. I leave and proceed to an electronics store right. next. door.
"Yes, we sell film. Right down there, past the cameras." Ah, thank you. I proceeded to purchase thousands if not millions of camera...films? Cameras film. Camera film, whatever.

Then, in a bold move, I return to the pseudo grocery store. He was working a cash register now. I purchased some god-awful carbonated lemon flavored water and waited behind some alcoholic housewife buying thousands if not millions of bottles of wine just to say, "Hey, they sell film across the street."
"Man, I didn't even think about that place."

Thanks a thousand if not a million for nothing, pal.

I get kinda edgy when I'm sex-deprived.

1 comment:

Blog ho said...

which explains your near-constant edge.

About Me, Not You

I was christened Wannahockaloogy by our tribal leader. He was a bitter old man with throat cancer who believed that, to truly hock a loogie, one must not retrieve the phlegm from the throat, but from the soul. His weakened, delirious state made it easy for me to overthrow him and seize control. Now, I am the chief and I have internet access. Beware, delirious smoking populace. Beware.