Squatter's rights
It's probably about time I stopped by these parts. I keep forgetting the fucking password to get into this place, and I have been pissed off that leaving A-you-know-what-L - the biggest shitheel operation on the Web, or close to it - meant that I lost access to my old "Cheeks" site.
But never mind all that. We all get what we deserve in this life, so surely I am getting what I deserve for not being able to remember one of my 570 passwords.
I just need to tell you about something that happened to me recently, one of the many stupid things that tend to happen to me. I am a magnet for idiotic occurrences, possibly because I tend to wind up in places filled with idiots, and I am not sure whether that is by accident or by design. Whatever.
Anyway, I recently found myself doing some shopping in a large bookstore, one of those enormous chain places. Let's call it B-----s here, for identification's sake, and perhaps you will be able to fill in the blanks and figure out what the name of the place is. If you can't figure it out, well, sorry.
So I am wandering around this place, shopping for a gift for my friend Liz, and of course the place is filled with touchholes of every stripe imaginable. Mainly, the place was filled with phonies, people with tiny eyeglasses, people talking in loud voices about stupid things that no one else would give a shit about, like their graduate course in Corncracker Philosophy or Greek Wainscoting or whatever. I don't understand how anyone can do this, especially in a bookstore. Rightly or wrongly, I tend to think of a bookstore as being sort of a library, where you shut the fuck up and look at books. I don't want to hear about your graduate course, or your new hybrid car, or your piles, or whatever, when I am browsing in a bookstore.
But most of the conversations were as stupid and phony as the day is long, and believe me, it was enough to make Holden Caufield go postal. That old boy would have had a grand old fucking time in that place, especially if he came in with a submachine gun.
The coffee place in B-----s is a magnet for assholes, and you had better take that as gospel. These people come in and ponder the New York Times like it is like some kind of ancient rune. Sometimes I think they just stare at the page in hopes that some other phony will come in and rip their pants off on the basis that if they are looking at the grand old New York Fucking Times, they must be someone worth fornicating with.
It's not surprising that I got a little queasy while in the midst of this nest of assholes, and eventually it got so bad that I had to make a stop in the restroom. This place doesn't even have real restrooms - it has those unisex rooms (and only two of them for a place that's continuously filled with nauseating people), the ones where you go in and latch the door and do your business.
So I pulled down on the handle and pushed the door open, And there, sitting on the toilet with a whole pile of books next to him, was a distinguised-looking man who looked at me in horror as I walked in during his "evacuation."
Note that I said he had a whole pile of books with him. Either he was scheming how to steal them (which I somehow doubt) or he was planning on spending a good hour or two browsing these titles, deciding which ones to buy and then placing the others back on the shelves for all to enjoy, along with any cryptosporidium or giardia he might leave behind on the pages.
You probably think I am cribbing this incident from a Seinfeld episode in which George takes an expensive art book in with him while he takes a major squat and afterward is forced to buy the book. I wish I could tell you that I am making this particular incident up, but I am not. The only good thing about it was the look on the poor bastard's face when I walked in on him. I could tell it is a moment he will never forget, and I kind of hope that it is the last thing he remembers as he is about to depart this world someday - the fact that he was humiliated by being exposed as someone who will take a bunch of someone else's books with him while he takes a crap.
If this guy had any decency at all, he would have bought every book he took in there. Somehow I doubt this. And why did he see fit to take eight or 10 books in there? Was he planning on spending a leisurely afternoon enjoying some fine literature and the pleasure of his intestinal odors?
Please do not do this. Please.
But never mind all that. We all get what we deserve in this life, so surely I am getting what I deserve for not being able to remember one of my 570 passwords.
I just need to tell you about something that happened to me recently, one of the many stupid things that tend to happen to me. I am a magnet for idiotic occurrences, possibly because I tend to wind up in places filled with idiots, and I am not sure whether that is by accident or by design. Whatever.
Anyway, I recently found myself doing some shopping in a large bookstore, one of those enormous chain places. Let's call it B-----s here, for identification's sake, and perhaps you will be able to fill in the blanks and figure out what the name of the place is. If you can't figure it out, well, sorry.
So I am wandering around this place, shopping for a gift for my friend Liz, and of course the place is filled with touchholes of every stripe imaginable. Mainly, the place was filled with phonies, people with tiny eyeglasses, people talking in loud voices about stupid things that no one else would give a shit about, like their graduate course in Corncracker Philosophy or Greek Wainscoting or whatever. I don't understand how anyone can do this, especially in a bookstore. Rightly or wrongly, I tend to think of a bookstore as being sort of a library, where you shut the fuck up and look at books. I don't want to hear about your graduate course, or your new hybrid car, or your piles, or whatever, when I am browsing in a bookstore.
But most of the conversations were as stupid and phony as the day is long, and believe me, it was enough to make Holden Caufield go postal. That old boy would have had a grand old fucking time in that place, especially if he came in with a submachine gun.
The coffee place in B-----s is a magnet for assholes, and you had better take that as gospel. These people come in and ponder the New York Times like it is like some kind of ancient rune. Sometimes I think they just stare at the page in hopes that some other phony will come in and rip their pants off on the basis that if they are looking at the grand old New York Fucking Times, they must be someone worth fornicating with.
It's not surprising that I got a little queasy while in the midst of this nest of assholes, and eventually it got so bad that I had to make a stop in the restroom. This place doesn't even have real restrooms - it has those unisex rooms (and only two of them for a place that's continuously filled with nauseating people), the ones where you go in and latch the door and do your business.
So I pulled down on the handle and pushed the door open, And there, sitting on the toilet with a whole pile of books next to him, was a distinguised-looking man who looked at me in horror as I walked in during his "evacuation."
Note that I said he had a whole pile of books with him. Either he was scheming how to steal them (which I somehow doubt) or he was planning on spending a good hour or two browsing these titles, deciding which ones to buy and then placing the others back on the shelves for all to enjoy, along with any cryptosporidium or giardia he might leave behind on the pages.
You probably think I am cribbing this incident from a Seinfeld episode in which George takes an expensive art book in with him while he takes a major squat and afterward is forced to buy the book. I wish I could tell you that I am making this particular incident up, but I am not. The only good thing about it was the look on the poor bastard's face when I walked in on him. I could tell it is a moment he will never forget, and I kind of hope that it is the last thing he remembers as he is about to depart this world someday - the fact that he was humiliated by being exposed as someone who will take a bunch of someone else's books with him while he takes a crap.
If this guy had any decency at all, he would have bought every book he took in there. Somehow I doubt this. And why did he see fit to take eight or 10 books in there? Was he planning on spending a leisurely afternoon enjoying some fine literature and the pleasure of his intestinal odors?
Please do not do this. Please.
posted by Fiddler at 1:53 PM
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