Personal Vignettes

The mall Spencer Gifts stores always confuse me. Such a mish-mash amalgamation of the most random gag prizes and questionable tchotchkes. I am not confused by their continued ability to profit, just that they are able to stock their shelves with the oddest assortment of items. While inside, I came upon a bucket of canes, sitting in front of a series of gag sex toys (furry handcuffs, whips, chains: the good stuff). These were the canes you would only ever see on Halloween, the heads either human skulls or dragon skulls or medieval torture devices or, on the one that caught my eye, a stack of skulls growing larger.

That headpiece had to have weighed a good five pounds. I swung it experimentally through the air, exposing to the light that ridiculous male fantasy of being dropped into a one-on-ten fight situation and fighting your way out. (Though, really, don't call me Bruce Lee, call me Bruce Leave Me Alone. Those of you that saw me in a fight, your recollections are far different from the reality). The cane itself felt light, hollow, plastic, a good sign that with one solid strike, the cylinder would shatter, leaving me with a bit of bent plastic, and an awkward smile on my face.

One of the store's employees saw me, sidled on over, the chain extending from his pocket and down his leg a good foot and a half. He tried striking up a conversation, something to do with getting in a fight. We were on the same wavelength. I just wanted to be left alone and look around. Thinking I would try to freak him out, I said that if I had to get in a fight, I would smack someone in the foot as hard as I could, then when doubled over, I would swing the club up to smash their face in.

Pause with me for a second as we slow down time and examine my thought process, which flashed by in half a second, and where I went wrong. I assumed that an ultra-violent response would repulse him, as it would most strangers, and thus, by giving that response, there would be no need for him to continue. I also left it as brief a statement as possible, so as not to allow for any openings. The problem here, I should have analyzed the whole situation. He came over and talked about swinging the cane in battle. To such a person, my response is just an extension of the olive branch, an invite to further query.

So, his next question was "What do you take?" I had to shake my head and grunt. At first, it seemed like an illicit drug question, until I saw his smile and his slight lean forward, as if we were sharing some state of being that only he and I were privy to. I sort of knew he was not discussing drugs, but had no idea what he meant.

"Martial arts, MMA, do you do any of that, what do you take?" Ah, yes. I had to shake my head and say that I did not take anything, that I was merely an avid fan of martial arts movies, and spent entirely too much time with them. He kept trying to extend the conversation, and I kept repeating that I watched too many movies, and would be of no help to him. Soon thereafter, a physical opening presented itself, and I walked forward, and walked out.

***

While in Florida, I would run up and down the same two mile stretch of sidewalk every day. It turned out that on Google Maps, when I measured the distance to the nearest stop light from my hotel, it was almost exactly two miles.

Heading out from the hotel, the movie theater would be on my right. You cannot buy tickets online, but you can get a five dollar ticket all day every Tuesday. When I detoured one day to watch "The Hangover" in there, the audience was almost two-thirds the elderly. Then again, only seven people sat in the theater.

From there, a 7-11 on my left, then a Circle K. I have not seen a Circle K since Taiwan. They are just as you would expect for any convenience store. One night, after a run, I walked in to buy some Gatorade. When I went in to purchase it, and kept panting at the doorway, the clerk asked me if I was alright, and if someone was chasing me. Given that it was Florida, I wonder if she meant I was in an abusive relationship.

A little ways past the Saturn dealership was a large furniture store with a giant LCD display out front. Right next to it, sharing a parking lot, was a nightclub, which I believe was somehow affiliated with the furniture store. After doing some research, it seems as cheesy as I thought when I would run past. Then again, I was the fool running past at nine at night.

A small antiques store followed at some point, but it was always closed when I ran past. There were a couple more furniture/mattress stores nearby. Also a tractor supply shop.

At one point would be a strip club, where the marquee advertised "Fifty pretty girls and two ugly ones". That was almost enough to get me to go inside to see the two ugly ones. Then again, a guy with two bucks in his pocket for a drink probably would get rebuffed, without even enough to pay the cover.

It turns out the strip club sign further down the street next to all the winnebagos did lead to an actual club. However, doing research on the internet, it turns out that place, which I could never see from the street, was a brothel. Stay classy, Florida.

The wild west arcade, next to the laundromat, is actually just a slot gambling place. There is nothing inside except old people and video poker. No Street Fighter IV machines. None. It was most depressing.

Just past that were a succession of fireworks stores. One edifice loomed thirty feet tall, free standing, with a buy-one-get-one-free deal leading up to the Fourth of July. Miraculous, and a little scary that so many fireworks stores could stay in business.

At this point, I would turn around. Just reread all the above paragraphs in reverse order. Pour some water on your head, maybe start panting. That's my return trip.