My New Friend
[ 5 Comments ] Posted on 11.06.04 in friends, funny stories
Last night as I was waiting for Channing and Erin at Pioneer Park in Dunedin to see the Friday Night Film and proceed to Fritzee Freeze with some drama kids I don’t know, I showed up when Erin told me to, but was forced to wait for thirty minutes as a result of their tardiness. Toward the end of my wait, I sat on a bench and was approached by a freakily pasty white man with a backpack. Here’s how our conversation went.
FPWMWAB: What are they doing, showing a movie here tonight?
Me: Yeah, sure are.
FPWMWAB: What movie?
Me: Not sure – I think its some sort of old Martian film.
FPWMWAB: Oh. Is Dunedin a nice place?
Me: Yeah, I live in Clearwater. It’s much quieter here.
FPWMWAB: Yeah, downtown Clearwater past 8 is crazy.
Me: Yeah.
Awkward silence ensues…
FPWMWAB: Do you know when the last bus out of here is?
Me: No, sure don’t, sorry.
FPWMWAB: Waiting for someone?
Me: Yeah, you can never expect women to be on time.
FPWMWAB: Oh, well if you’re still together by Christmas, you should get her a watch.
Me: …No, it’s not just one girl.
FPWMWAB: Oh, so you’re a ladies man!
Me: That’s what they tell me…
FPWMWAB: Here, then maybe they’ll appreciate this.
FPWMWAB hands me a pamphlet consisting of his selected love poetry and passages from 1 Peter and Proverbs. I thumb through it, feigning interest.
Me: Oh, maybe they will. Thanks. The font is too small and it’s too dark – I can’t read it.
FPWMWAB: I can read it to you.
Me: No, that’s alright – I’ll save it for later.
Just then I spotted Channing and Erin across the street, and taking my chance to get out of the presence of FPWMWAB, I tried to pull out from the conversation.
Me: Oh, well… there they are. It was nice to meet yo-
FPWMWAB: Can you spare a dollar?
Me: No, sure cant; if I had any money, I wouldn’t be here.
FPWMWAB: Oh, then can I get that pamphlet back? I usually charge a dollar for it.
Me: Sure… Okay, there is my entourage, I have to go.
FPWMWAB: I can read it to them if you’d like.
Me: No.
Then I left the bench, directed the girls quite hastily away in the other direction, and attempted to avoid any and all contact with freakily pasty white man with a backpack for the rest of the evening. I last saw him backpacking across Douglas Avenue, walking into the darkness to do whatever it is that homeless people do.
Moscow girls make me sing and shout
[ 8 Comments ] Posted on 09.23.04 in food, funny stories, girls
Today at school, there were a couple of foreign exchange students from Russia. After meeting them and welcoming them to our humble little country, I urged them to go eat some high quality American cuisine.
And what do they do? They go eat cookies for lunch; cookies that could just as easily been eaten in Kaliningrad. I find that to be a highly innutritious and un-American lunch choice. It’s not everywhere you can get overpriced turkey tetrazini with a fifty cent dinner roll.
But I forgive them for two reasons. First, this is a strange, new land to them. Second, they were a couple of lovely ladies. And everyone knows there is no lovelier lady folk than can be found in Russia and all of her U.S.S.R. buddies from way back when.
Therefore, they are absolved so long as I have my Eastern European eye candy.
Bad George
[ No Comments ] Posted on 07.31.04 in family, funny stories
A few weeks ago, Ian put the capital into an investment of 100 Polo shirts from a supplier. They’ve never been opened, are in original packaging, and have a retail price of $52.50. We decided to resell them to try and turn a profit. And, regrettably, we went to the flea market. Charging $20.00 a piece, we sold $100.00 worth in shirts. Not too successful, given the surplus inventory we have. But what made the venture worth it was George.
George is a regular. 89 years young, he knows everyone by name as they do him, and he greets everyone with a smile. He admits that he moves at the speed of a 98 year-old, but mentally, he’s quick as a fox and twice as sly. He sells things you would normally find in a drugstore, you know – toothpaste and Mach 3 razors and the like. Until about 12:30 he sat at the booth next to ours, imparting immeasurable wisdom upon us.
First, it was about the flea market. After over 20 years he knows what’s too expensive, what will and won’t last, and the types of items that sell best. But then our conversations turned broader. We touched upon subjects of race, sex, religion, and age.
My favorite George-ism was when he explained interracial relationships. He thinks that every white young lady who becomes involved with a brother is bound to be beat. When asked why they stay with the abuser he answers, “They like that black oak.”
I will miss George. From now on, no more flea markets for us.