“Mom, why is Charizard so WRINKLY?”
He sounded on the verge of tears. She was busy asking about game ratings.
“But mom, why?!”
His mother was harried and irritated, “I don’t know! Are you done here?”
He looked confused and bewildered, but he gradually focused on some other toy in the store.
A little while later they left.
I wish I had an answer for him.
Once, we were in the back, eating some lunch with the door ajar when a sullen boy of about seven poked his head in. “Hey guys.”
“So, wh-what do you guys know about the black market?” His face was pale, serious.
I swallowed a craggy meteorite of Chik-fil-a, whole. “Gak!”
I regained my composure. “Why do you need to know about the black market?”
He looks uncertain. My compatriots chime in, “What are you trying to do?”, “Who told you about that?”, “What do you mean?”
His face flushes. His stuttering increases. “H-how c-can you answer a q-question with another question?”
He storms out of the store.
To this day I don’t know how you can answer a question with another question.
An overweight transvestite with a full, luxurious beard walks into the store, and slumps onto the counter. His daughter looks embarassed.
He speaks in a rich baritone. “Do you have Windows 95?”
My mind went blank. I saw and felt nothing.
“Hi, can you help me find a game I can play with my feet?” He handed me a box from off the shelf.
I went through all the possibilities in my mind: it must have simplistic controls, decent timing, few button presses.
“What about this flight simulator?” It seemed to fit the bill.
He scratched his head. “I’m a professional pilot. This better be realistic.”
He looked at me menacingly for a few seconds.
I nodded my head.