Thursday, September 28, 2006

A Texan Rose and a Brush With Vehicular Assault

I still cannot understand what sort of a place this Spain is.

Diary of a Madman, Gogol.




Tolstoy would be wrong to say that, like happy families, all
good days are the same. Yet, giving due credit, he would be correct
to say that all bad days have their differences.
It started as all days do, with a slow awakening and a peaceful
breakfast. I tend to settle slowly into a day. Just as I negotiate
with sleep nightly. Allow me to amble to the meat of the matter, in
media res, as a poet would say.
Work began innocently. No foreboding of the events to come. It
passed in similitude for nearly six hours. A pleasant passing of the
time which made the night stretch kindly towards me with its repast.
The placid stream of time was unsettled by a simian-like grinning
gal from Texas with an old cap on. She could have been an extra of
one of those heartbreaking Dust Bowl era pictures of the starving, broke
urchins in Texas and Oklahoma.
Enough painting. I, stupidly, volunteered to remove a flat tire from
her trunk. I hate getting dirty and her trunk was filthy and, of course,
the tire was too. I complained loudly while removing the tire. She overheard
and said nothing. The tire was replaced and my tech put it back on her
car. I proceeded to bill her out. As I was accepting her cash I, again stupidly,
apologized for the fit I threw when I got her tire out of the trunk. I told
her I don't like getting dirty and that I'm a primadonna. She, still grinning
(her facial expression never changed), wondered if she could ask me a
question. I said sure! Then the bomb hit, (two of my co-workers were
sitting in chairs nearby, and a tech was sitting at my desk), "Are you Gay?"
I stammered, "Does wanting to stay clean mean someone is gay?" She just
stayed silent grinning and left. Two minutes later the entire shop and many
customers, to everyone's amusment, knew a gal just asked me if I was gay.
That was just the beginning.
A mere half hour before I was set to go home another bit of fun sprung
up for me. A tall man with a heavy accent came in asking if we could install
a Speed Sensor into his van. My service manager, Armand, told him politely
15 times that we could not. The man was still asking him and explaining how
the installation was. I lost my patience and stepped in and asked the man
"Why are you still here?" He replied that I was rude. I corrected him by saying
that he was the rude one for ignoring my Servcie Manager for 15 minutes and
still begging for help with his Speed Sensor. I also added that, not only was
he wasting his time--which I claimed had to be valuable---but that he was
wasting our time. Again he said I was rude and his accent was the reason.
I calmly replied to him that if he was clicking the request in an African Bush
dialect I would still ask him to desist and go elsewhere. He walked out and
I thought the issue was resolved. I was wrong. A lady came in with her little
boy and requested, politely, if somebody could reset her flat tire light. I, perhaps
out of misplaced guilt, volunteered kindly and proceeded to walk out to her van
to reset and show her how it was done so she could do it on her own. As I walked
out I noticed the man in a large green Ford Van. I had thoughts he might do something
stupid like yell out curses as he drove off. I wasn't concerned with that. His van
slowly pulled out of a parking spot and drove slowly towards us--I asked the lady
and her son to stop because he was coming through--I guess she didn't hear me
and she kept walking--He stopped seeing that I was standing still. I just refused to
acknowledge him and started walking to the lady's van. As I did so he went straight
for me--I shit you not----He sped up and tried to hit me--I lept behind a sign and
watched as he swerved away and kept going. When I made it to the lady's van
she asked me if the guy in the van had a problem--I replied that he probably didn't
see me. I was amazingly calm. My service manager came running out and asked
me if he wanted him to call the police. I told him not to. I do not like the Police.
After all that, I cruised home and settled into a peaceful sleep. I didn't even eat
supper.......

Friday, September 01, 2006

Avuncular Dismay(A Defense of Binx)

"And do all shelfers talk sense?" said Pavel Petrovich, and his face assumed a distant,
aloof expression, as if he had withdrawn into the clouds.


--------- Fathers and Sons, Ivan Turgenev(modified), Chapter 6.





We have all had the distinct pleasure of experiencing the fustian airs
of Monsieur Binx. It is a shelf rite of passage to be "tut-tutted" in a jocular
way by this great man. We all err. And, rest assured, kind Uncle Binx is
there to mend our ways.
It does appear at times that Binx lacks a humorous bone in his corpus.
But doesn't someone have to correct the little errancies of the rabble. It's
mighty kind of Binx to take it so modestly on his spacious backside. This lack
of humour is his greatest strength. A straitened martyrdom he gladly suffers
for our sakes.
I commend him. Where would we be without such guidance? His actions are not
pas de deux for plaudits. Popularity is not his aim. Accept his superiority and
gain his everlasting esteem. If he so deigns to esteem your ascription of
his merit.
Aye, all is mystery and pregnant with nuance in Binx's world. We, callow
seekers for the Gold of truth, should bend our backs to Binx's superior
yoke. The Ox never rebels under the yoke of the land's husband. So,
likewise, our Doxies should never rise and question Master Binx's "furrowing".
I timorously await Master Binx's appraisal of this humble piece of praise
in his defense. Dare I even admit he needs a defense!?


Humbly Yours,


Beloved Shepherd