Overheard: Small Town, Big Chain Bookstore


I went to the chiropractor today, and he ran electrodes through me; therefore, I’m fairly certain I’m now a mutant. My latent powers will show up any day and so will Professor X. That’s why I feel perfectly justified eavesdropping in public.

Convo 1: frat boys in books

“Is Marilyn Monroe Dead?”

“Uh, I think so, yeah. Maybe.”

“Well, I was just wondering if she ever wrote anything before she died. If she’s dead. Like Betty White, I thought she was dead, then she kinda came back.”

“Who’s Betty White?”

 

Convo 2: cat lovers in calendars

“Oh my GOD! Look at this yoga cats calendar!”

“Oh, that’s awesome! It’s like yoga for cats!”

“Yeah! That calico does a mean downward dog.”

“That’s totally ironic, right? I wonder if Mr. Fluffykins would do that?”

Convo 3: Hipsters in History

“Why are there so many books on World War II?”

“I know, right? It’s like everyone reads about World War II. Why doesn’t anyone write about anything [long pause] important. Ya know?”

“That’s deep, man.”

I can’t make this stuff up. Also, the alliteration is completely accidental. Oh yeah. Watch what you say in public, folks.

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About charliegreenberry

I grew up in the wilds of New Mexico in a strange combination of free and restricted. Now, as I stumble unwillingly into adulthood, I find memories resurfacing. So I dust them off, sand them, slap on a coat of paint and display them with the hopes that at some point they'll make sense and pull the room together. The blog is a space for writing, for sharing, someday sharing without worrying about who is reading it, and a place to practice. Virginia Woolf said, "A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction." Well, here's to having a room at least.
This entry was posted in adulthood, cheating, fail, history, inspiration, people, personality, shopping, small town, war. Bookmark the permalink.

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