Sucker.

So, Mel wanted to go to The Salvation Army (TSA) again tonight.  There was talk of a couch or something there.  I was very worried.  But we went anyway.  Fortunately for me, the couch was a much bigger piece of shit than she had remembered, and far worse than the one we have.  Score.  So I don’t have to move a couch.  With that ordeal wrapping up in my favour, I turned my attention to the kids shit… because as a Fat Guy With Glasses, I still have an unhealthy affinity for plastic molded in the forms of nerd icons and stuff from my childhood.

Turns out there was a C-3PO carrying case that said it was made in ’83.  It wasn’t busted all to fuck, and it was sitting in a bin at TSA, so I was doubtful.  But it was only 2 or 3 bucks or something, so I ended up getting it.  After some quick ebay and Google searches, it turns out it was actually from the mid 90s Star Wars revival.  So it’s not from my childhood at all. I feel duped.  

I know it’s my own fault, though.  There was a time when I could tell you exactly what a Darth Vader with a 2 3/4 inch lightsaber in a 3 3/4 lightsaber tray was worth, when it was produced and what the asian kid that slapped it together made for an hourly wage.  Now I’d have to think about which one was 4-LOM and which one was Zuckuss.  (4-LOM was a droid, so that should make recognition easier, I suppose.)

Pop Quiz! Who’s Who?

I’ve lost touch with my inner Fat Kid With Glasses He Never Wears ‘Cause He’s Still Trying To Fit In.   Sure, I still send him e-mails from time to time… but he’s on Facebook now, and it’s really awkward ’cause I don’t really need to know what his current status is every 3 seconds so I don’t do the whole Facebook thing.  And he’s all uptight about it because everyone’s on Facebook and I should just join Facebook already so we can keep in touch, and I’m all like, “Dude, seriously, back off with the Facebook, ok?” and now we don’t really connect as much as we should.  So I bought him this C-3PO thing and it’s not good enough and now he’s all like “I don’t even like Threepio, douche.”  It’s really annoying too, ’cause things were starting to get better since a few weeks ago I bought him this Spikor figure at this store he really likes for 3 bucks, but now I’ve gone and fucked it all up, I guess.   Way to go, man.  I should plug in the NES and smooth things over, but then he’d probably just bitch about having to give away his Atari again.  Fuckin’ ingrate.

A Glimpse Of Hell

I meant to write about this experience Wednesday night before getting Lost. But the blocky adventures of Tetris with Mel kept me from writing.

You see, around 6pm Wednesday night, Mel wanted to go look for a canvas, and then go to The Salvation Army to buy a cushion or a frame or some kind of bric-a-brac that someone bought at the dollar store and then gave to their grandmother on her birthday, who then died a couple weeks later and had the executor of her estate donate it to The Salvation Army.

So, after looking for the canvas with Mel, I followed my first inclination when dealing with TSA. And my first inclination when dealing with TSA is, of course, to stay the fuck away. The reason for this is because other than maybe looking at a couple boxes of records that they have packed away in a corner near the shitters, there’s nothing there that I’m interested in.

So, while Mel goes to TSA, I head to the Co-op to get some Diet Pepsi™. As is pretty much always the case, this took much less time than scouring TSA for the perfect cushion, frame, or Dead-Lady-Garbage, and I headed over to TSA to tell Mel that I was heading to Cockbuster Video to look at their used games.

Immediately I notice something odd. The parking lot surrounding TSA is solid fucking full of cars. Not just parked cars, but cars hovering about looking for spaces like it’s December 23rd, 1996 and Walmart is having a half-price sale on Tickle Me Elmo. After nearly getting T-Boned by a half dozen crazy old women in a Buick Century, I manage to find a spot about a quarter mile from the store. I park, and freeze my ass off as I head for the store.

Inside the door, I see the cause of all the kafuffle. Apparently, every Wednesday from 6pm to 8pm it’s HALF PRICE ON ALL CLOTHING at the Salvation Army. Which, obviously, is something that everyone everywhere needs to be a part of.  It was my own personal hell.

Normally, the musty smell of TSA (or any 2nd-hand Clothing Store) over powers me.  But on this occassion it mixed in with the smell of cold elderly and made me cringe.  The line up for the cash registers–that’s right, registers, 3 were open–had about 25 people in it when I entered.  Rows and rows of clothing racks had women of all ages in them, sorting, lifting and judging.  But more noticable than anything, was the noise of the coathangers as they screeched across the steel racks incessantly.  By the time I had found Mel in the DLG section, I was ready to snap.

I told her where I’d be, and bolted for the door as fast as I could without looking like a complete lunatic.  But noticed something odd as I was headed up the aisle.  There, at the end of the aisle was a woman, mid to late 30s, leaning against her shopping cart.  Her appearance just barely betrayed that she was mentally handicapped.  Her hair was red, and curled in a perm.  Her eyes were small, but the irises huge.  She and her cart were stopped at the end of the aisle, taking up about 3/4s of it.  And as I walked the entire length of this long aisle, she never once stopped staring at me.  Not even long enough to blink.  Coupled with the screeching, it was about the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.  I quickened my pace, arguably reaching the point where I did indeed look like a complete lunatic, shot passed the woman as she slowly turned like a zombie, and raced out the doors for the car.

Safe once more from the threat of the nearly dead, I headed out to look for videogames.  As it turns out, I picked up Left 4 Dead for the 360.  It’s a game about Zombies.  I really hope there’s no Salvation Army level.

…blouses…