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mallorys_cameraSo I am thinking of writing about the Third Bozo for Stegner Story # 2. His name is actually Spawn, and in first wan weeks of November, he has become the guy, who stands on the corner of Cannery Row & Prescott, giving out Silver Shop discount coupons to the few tourists who brave the cold and wet. The Silver Shop has a permanent sign in its window: 75% off 60% Of The Store. Why not just mark down the whole store 45%? you may ask. But no, that wouldn’t have the same appeal for the marks – I mean, tourists.
Spawn is 16. I like teenagers so I make a point of talking to him. No doubt he think I’m this batty old broad with bad breath and wishes I would stop. Yesterday I asked him, “So what’s going on with the home schooling?” and he said, “Well, that’s never really happened. I’m not supposed to tell strangers though.”
“Isn’t this boring?” I ask. “Standing on a street corner in the rain, giving out coupons to tourists?”
He shrugs. “It’s better than being bored at home.”
Boredom apparently is his ground state. For Spawn, there are two choices: boredom or video games.
Except for weekends and the stray wedding, the street musician scene is just about over for the year so I imagine Spawn’s father, Bozo # 1 is spending a lot of time indoors and that may be another perc of the new job. I have this idea that Bozo # 1 smokes a lot of dope. And has a lot of sex with Anaconda. A lot of loud sex. It’s a small apartment.
Also yesterday we had a Homer crisis. Some fat ten year old jigging along to “Shake Your Booty” gets affectionate, grabs Homer around his middle and knocks him off his pedestel, thereby rupturing his delicate plastic neck plates and couplers. His even fatter mother thinks this is hilarious, whips out her camera. People like you are why I don’t believe in gun control, I think to myself but fortunately our basement is a veritable catacomb of dismembered plastic Homer Simpsons so Ben repairs it without too much trouble.
Sales have been very slow this month, v-e-r-y s-l-o-w and not having a naturally resilient Mister Macawber disposition, this is making for some sleepless nights. We get a lot of repeat customers, I’d say fully 50% of our sales are repeat customers, and so many of the people coming into the store are people who first met us a year ago. “You’re still here!” they exclaim. They’re happy to see us, they buy stuff, but somehow the surprise element makes me uncomfortable.
Spawn is 16. I like teenagers so I make a point of talking to him. No doubt he think I’m this batty old broad with bad breath and wishes I would stop. Yesterday I asked him, “So what’s going on with the home schooling?” and he said, “Well, that’s never really happened. I’m not supposed to tell strangers though.”
“Isn’t this boring?” I ask. “Standing on a street corner in the rain, giving out coupons to tourists?”
He shrugs. “It’s better than being bored at home.”
Boredom apparently is his ground state. For Spawn, there are two choices: boredom or video games.
Except for weekends and the stray wedding, the street musician scene is just about over for the year so I imagine Spawn’s father, Bozo # 1 is spending a lot of time indoors and that may be another perc of the new job. I have this idea that Bozo # 1 smokes a lot of dope. And has a lot of sex with Anaconda. A lot of loud sex. It’s a small apartment.
Also yesterday we had a Homer crisis. Some fat ten year old jigging along to “Shake Your Booty” gets affectionate, grabs Homer around his middle and knocks him off his pedestel, thereby rupturing his delicate plastic neck plates and couplers. His even fatter mother thinks this is hilarious, whips out her camera. People like you are why I don’t believe in gun control, I think to myself but fortunately our basement is a veritable catacomb of dismembered plastic Homer Simpsons so Ben repairs it without too much trouble.
Sales have been very slow this month, v-e-r-y s-l-o-w and not having a naturally resilient Mister Macawber disposition, this is making for some sleepless nights. We get a lot of repeat customers, I’d say fully 50% of our sales are repeat customers, and so many of the people coming into the store are people who first met us a year ago. “You’re still here!” they exclaim. They’re happy to see us, they buy stuff, but somehow the surprise element makes me uncomfortable.
