Saturday, April 28, 2007
In Case Anyone is Wondering How My Weekend is Going...
I just spent twenty minutes hiding behind a rack of romance novels in the book section of a secondhand store.
You see, I decided to pop in to check out the record selection, and while I was browsing through absurdly full racks of Liza Minnelli and Bread albums, a nice older gentleman took it upon himself to help me. Noting that I had an album of Brahms' Symphony Number Four, he decided to load me up with about six other Brahms albums he had discovered. And then about twelve Bruckner albums. And then some random organ concertos that I have no idea where they came from. The help, it seemed, simply would not stop.
I tried to thank him kindly and walk further down the aisle, thinking I could always return later and stash the thousand unwanted flute and harp albums he had saddled me with back in their places. But this simply caused him to yell out to me each time he found another item he thought might be of use. He called me "sir."
I then thought of making some excuse and leaving the store, such as "Oh my God, is that my car on fire?" or "Excuse me sir, but I'm due to donate some organs at three." But given that no one at the secondhand store ever really seems to have anywhere to be, I didn't think it would be plausible.
So I did what any reasonable person would do. I obscured myself behind some Danielle Steeles until he left the store. I'm pretty sure that's how Anne Frank did it, too.
I just spent twenty minutes hiding behind a rack of romance novels in the book section of a secondhand store.
You see, I decided to pop in to check out the record selection, and while I was browsing through absurdly full racks of Liza Minnelli and Bread albums, a nice older gentleman took it upon himself to help me. Noting that I had an album of Brahms' Symphony Number Four, he decided to load me up with about six other Brahms albums he had discovered. And then about twelve Bruckner albums. And then some random organ concertos that I have no idea where they came from. The help, it seemed, simply would not stop.
I tried to thank him kindly and walk further down the aisle, thinking I could always return later and stash the thousand unwanted flute and harp albums he had saddled me with back in their places. But this simply caused him to yell out to me each time he found another item he thought might be of use. He called me "sir."
I then thought of making some excuse and leaving the store, such as "Oh my God, is that my car on fire?" or "Excuse me sir, but I'm due to donate some organs at three." But given that no one at the secondhand store ever really seems to have anywhere to be, I didn't think it would be plausible.
So I did what any reasonable person would do. I obscured myself behind some Danielle Steeles until he left the store. I'm pretty sure that's how Anne Frank did it, too.
