Malden
Mondays at NEC are usually pretty quiet. Worst thing that happens is Ralph sends a 9 page inventory of trade paperbacks--which isn't too bad, even in Malden where calling Jim's display methods baroque is being kind-hearted. But this Monday set all sorts of records with what had to be a 600% infusion of chickenheads, retreads, chromosome-abundants, freaks (and freakettes), spazzes, goons, morons, knuckle-fucks, screw-ups, slap-downs, dim-wits, and--of course--those who are (generally speaking) as sharp as a bag of hammers. Add to that indifferent yuppie parents and the ritalin-soaked ADHD spawn of their need-to-prove-something loins and multiply that by whatever integer you use to represent the various obsessive-compulsive disorders that permeate our fractured 21st century culture. After a day of all that, at five o'clock when the only customers are a pair of young teenagers buying Magic cards and a pair of 20-somethings buying a simple but interesting cross-sample of comics, in walks some 19-ish little hood that can't even grow a mustache who starts hassling them for money. "Dude, y' gotta help me out, my car broke down... Aw, c'mon, y' gotta have more than that--y' gotta give me at least five bucks... " And after a day of taking the creme de la creme that Malden has to offer--I'd had enough. I tell him he's not going to panhandle in the store and hit my customers up for money. I tell him to leave. And this is what I get to listen to...
And then I come around the corner and li'l AJ Soprano screws out the door, issuing threats in the same vein as "do you know who I am?".
Fucking Malden...
And then I come around the corner and li'l AJ Soprano screws out the door, issuing threats in the same vein as "do you know who I am?".
Fucking Malden...