You're No Daisy, Sir
Tonight I found myself discussing Tombstone in one of a thousand Mexican restaurants called "Monterrey's." I was sitting across from Flake, whose most distinguishing characteristic is his penchant for referring to everyone as "queer," or, in Rob's case, "Jap." Now that may seem harsh when you write it down, but in reality it comes off as slightly endearing.
The path that led me to that situation was typical for a Saturday at the shop, and began with lunch at Wendy's where the conversation focused mainly on who could get out of the Village first: James Bond or Number Six (McGoohan takes that one, yo). The conversation then turned to weight, which, I'll admit, is one of the few subjects I'm a bit sensitive about. But it did give us the following exchange after Gossett said he'd never had to worry about his:
Me: Yeah, well when the next Ice Age comes, we'll see who has the last laugh. I'm prepared.
Shaka: Even the fat dinosaurs died, Chris.
Ouch! Hilarious, but ouch nonetheless!
So the day pretty much went on from there. I finally got the new Eberron novel, and I've been reading it. So far it's great. The tone is pretty similar to the story I was writing, but with a much better plot. Still, I've got to write more on it, if for no other reason than to get that damn fight scene out of my head. That's work for tomorrow.
So, to celebrate a further delve, I sold one of my D&D miniatures to Ben and used the money to go out to dinner with The Gamers.
For those of you who don't know how it works, I'll explain. The store closes at seven most days, but on Wednesdays and Saturdays, it's open until 9. Wednesdays are New Comics, of course, but Saturdays belong to the games. It is Ben's kingdom, and he rules like a fair-haired Conan, sullen-eyed and capable of great rolls or critical failures, and his subjects flock in for tournaments or trying out the new games. The power of the game room is so great that it'll occasionally snag a "comics type" like Phil or Tug for around of Versus, the gateway drug of superhero gaming. The game room is jumping all day long, and I get asked for the key to the bathroom more times than the rest of the week combined, which gives me a chance to see everyone on the same level.
I heard once on This American Life that Christmas is a time when most people are given what is essentially the same stage and the same props and how they act at Christmas is how they are, but moreso. For me, asking for the bathroom key is the same way. Everyone has their own approach, and they're almost all annoying.
It's a fairly simple task. You walk up to the counter and say: "Hey, could I get the key to the bathroom, please?" Simple, direct, polite. For the most part, that's what I get, so don't get the wrong idea, but there are a few out there that still haven't mastered it.
Some people feel compelled to say things like: "Can I have the key? I had a lot to drink today, and I really need to take a leak." Well, thanks, bro, I had no idea how the endocrine system works until you decided to take a break from Warhammer to inform me. Some people just stand there and point to the key without saying a word, or walk up and say "Key," as though speaking takes a great effort and they need to conserve their words whenever possible. These two are mystifying to me. I mean, who thinks that's the proper way to interact with someone? That's clearly in violation of the social contract, and I'm afraid I've got to declare those cats Unmutual.
Also odd are the people who meander up and request, under their breath and sometimes accompanied by a cover cough, the key to the "ahem, facilities." Nice job, chief. The Allies'll never crack that code.
And for God's sake, there's paper towels in there. There's no reason why I should be getting that key back wet.
It's like the comics people who ask if the latest issue of something is out. Well, by definition, the latest issue is out. That's what makes it the latest issue. What do you want me to say?
None of those people were at dinner. Well, except Flake, who asks for the key to the facilities before telling me how many sodas he's had today and always returns it wet. It's another of his many habits (such as flinging pennies at comic book store employees) designed purely for antagonism and which I can't help but respect.
Regardless, it all came down to dinner with the Gamers. And for the record, it was decided that Val Kilmer should've just made True Romance and Tombstone, and then faded away, never to be heard from again.