He's bloated with bullshit, but that's not what made him especially annoying. He spoke with the cadence of a used car salesman, but I could forgive that. He's standing there in a Misfits t-shirt, khakis, and boat shoes. An irony that possibly, under different circumstances, might effect visceral functions. But, at this moment, I had a purpose that didn't involve the ridiculously retarded. But that's the rule for the ridiculously retarded. They have a knack for accosting your attention, throwing it into a headlock. Charly was not the exception. I guess if you're going to read the rest of this, you're gonna want to know what I'm talking about.
I'd just finished my workout. Naturally, a beer or 6-12, was calling. So, after changing into dry clothes, I hop in my car and make a bee line for the nearest liquor store door. I pull into the parking lot without much ado,score rockstar parking, and as I'm reaching for the car door handle I notice Charly.
Not in that "notice" kinda way, but in the way that you notice someone muttering incoherently to themselves. Acknowledge that he's there, and ignore them in earnest.Charly, however, doesn't think this is the place for such grace.
I'm purposefully walking to the door and averting my eyes. Despite all of my attempts at congeniality and avoidance, Charly interrupts the mission.
"Hi,sir," he started. "Can I have a moment of your time to discuss an opportunity that will forever change your life, and the life of your loved ones?" His hands anxiously offering a flyer. I cast a baleful look in his direction and say, "Maybe, if you can tell me one song The Misfits sing."
Blank expression. "What?"
"That's about what I thought. You shouldn't wear t-shirts of bands you don't listen to. It's just annoying." And with that I pushed through the doors and resumed the mission.
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