3 January 2005
109
R. Linda:
What a way to end the year is all I can say, and shake my head while saying it. I have come back to some strange news indeed, and news worthy of being broadcast on Fox telly, or so I was told.
While I was away, I missed a story on me beat that I would have savoured. John McCollough, who took me beat while I was on holiday in what I swear is Alaska, was filling me in on what I missed, you know, catching yours truly up to speed and all. Well, R. Linda, it seems this convenience store clerk was busy clerking away last Wednesday evening when a man came in to burgle the shop. Yes, it be the Christmas season, and here you would be thinking, "'Tis the season to be jolly," and what appears but a Christmas Grinch with a handgun.
Yes, R. Linda, in walks this grinch just before our clerk is ready to close up and go home and enjoy a wee bit of Christmas cheer, to find he is having a gun waved under his ample nose. What to do, indeed. Well, one does not simply jump about crying out, "Ooh, he's got a gun," no indeed, one does the heroic thing like our clerk, who reaches over the counter, gripping the handgun, and hopes the damn thing is on safety and try to pull it away from the grinch.
Sounds good, doesn't it? Uh, that isn't what transpired, no, no indeed. I can tell you up to this part of me story where our clerk was hoping the safety was on . . . well, it was off. I think you get the picture now, so there they were, clerk and grinch, safety off, which means our grinch meant business aplenty he did, and well, he wasn't going to let go of his handgun without a struggle when he realised the safety be off and up he pulls and with a squeeze, the trigger be moving back and BAM the thing goes off. The bullet hit our heroic (and somewhat stupid clerk) in the head it did.
There was a moment of both their hands gripping the gun, their eyes locked in the realisation of what just happened; the Grinch mutters, "Oops," and our clerk feels something hot trickling down his cheek, and it is dripping upon the counter, BLOOD! "Oh my God," he shouts as they both let go of the gun. "I am SHOT." He yells, obviously scaring off the Grinch, who you would have thought might stay and help, but nooo, off he buggers, leaving the stunned (and going into shock) clerk.
What to do now, you might well ask. Well, there was no one about the place; it was empty except for our clerk. If it were you or I, we'd have rung up 911, but no, not our clerk. He is thinking of anything but that he is going to die for sure and he needs, yes, you will like this, he needs his mum.
Now, let me give you a wee bit of a side note on this. Our clerk and his mum have not spoken in over two years because they got into a fight over a woman our clerk wanted to marry. To make this an abbreviated version -- the young woman was of questionable repute, and Mumsy noticed this immediately, but our clerk, like most healthy young lads, saw the short skirt and the ample bosom, and his mind was there and nowhere else. This led to confrontations between mother and son until our clerk shut her out of his life and said hello to the pimp's former star prostitute. Now, it took some time for our overzealous (and very in love clerk) to figure out that this woman he hoped to marry was number one in the stable of fillies that frequented the store corner where he worked. He'd be in there counting out change, and she'd be right outside the window counting money from her Johns.
You already know our clerk is not the brightest light on the Christmas tree, so instead of bothering to inform his mum that the affair was over, he kept it to himself because his male pride and ego couldn't take an "I told you so," from his sweet grey-haired, apple-cheeked old Mumsy.
Anyway, back to our wounded hero thinking he needs to die in the arms of his mumsy, and so off he goes lurching into the street, where someone he knows sees him and figures out quite quickly what must have happened. This person runs in and calls 911 as our hero is muttering and crying for Mumsy, who lives only two long blocks from the store.
Sadly, our clerk got to Mumsy's house only to find Mumsy had moved! Talk about adding insult to injury. This situation certainly did. Meanwhile, back at the store, a few of the 'fillies' have helped themselves to whatever feminine hygiene products they could stuff in their tight tank tops, and the local riffraff had helped themselves to the cashbox and crisps. The police came upon the scene where the store was almost devoid of products, blood was dripped on the counter and floor, and led a trail down the street, and no one standing outside seemed to know a bloody thing.
Clueless, all of them, except the filly who made the phone call to 911. She steps forward after some trepidation (well, she didn't want to get arrested for soliciting, now did she?) and tells the police where the injured store clerk has got off to. Well, R. Linda, the story has a happy ending, sort of.
Our clerk survived his wound; he still has his job, but he can't seem to locate Mumsy's house. Do you think he pissed her off? What is that about moving without telling a soul? Of course, she could have died, and no one told him that either. I don't know, but this is the foolishness I be back to. And, it is all true.
Gabe
Copyright © 2005 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
What a way to end the year is all I can say, and shake my head while saying it. I have come back to some strange news indeed, and news worthy of being broadcast on Fox telly, or so I was told.
While I was away, I missed a story on me beat that I would have savoured. John McCollough, who took me beat while I was on holiday in what I swear is Alaska, was filling me in on what I missed, you know, catching yours truly up to speed and all. Well, R. Linda, it seems this convenience store clerk was busy clerking away last Wednesday evening when a man came in to burgle the shop. Yes, it be the Christmas season, and here you would be thinking, "'Tis the season to be jolly," and what appears but a Christmas Grinch with a handgun.
Yes, R. Linda, in walks this grinch just before our clerk is ready to close up and go home and enjoy a wee bit of Christmas cheer, to find he is having a gun waved under his ample nose. What to do, indeed. Well, one does not simply jump about crying out, "Ooh, he's got a gun," no indeed, one does the heroic thing like our clerk, who reaches over the counter, gripping the handgun, and hopes the damn thing is on safety and try to pull it away from the grinch.
Sounds good, doesn't it? Uh, that isn't what transpired, no, no indeed. I can tell you up to this part of me story where our clerk was hoping the safety was on . . . well, it was off. I think you get the picture now, so there they were, clerk and grinch, safety off, which means our grinch meant business aplenty he did, and well, he wasn't going to let go of his handgun without a struggle when he realised the safety be off and up he pulls and with a squeeze, the trigger be moving back and BAM the thing goes off. The bullet hit our heroic (and somewhat stupid clerk) in the head it did.
There was a moment of both their hands gripping the gun, their eyes locked in the realisation of what just happened; the Grinch mutters, "Oops," and our clerk feels something hot trickling down his cheek, and it is dripping upon the counter, BLOOD! "Oh my God," he shouts as they both let go of the gun. "I am SHOT." He yells, obviously scaring off the Grinch, who you would have thought might stay and help, but nooo, off he buggers, leaving the stunned (and going into shock) clerk.
What to do now, you might well ask. Well, there was no one about the place; it was empty except for our clerk. If it were you or I, we'd have rung up 911, but no, not our clerk. He is thinking of anything but that he is going to die for sure and he needs, yes, you will like this, he needs his mum.
Now, let me give you a wee bit of a side note on this. Our clerk and his mum have not spoken in over two years because they got into a fight over a woman our clerk wanted to marry. To make this an abbreviated version -- the young woman was of questionable repute, and Mumsy noticed this immediately, but our clerk, like most healthy young lads, saw the short skirt and the ample bosom, and his mind was there and nowhere else. This led to confrontations between mother and son until our clerk shut her out of his life and said hello to the pimp's former star prostitute. Now, it took some time for our overzealous (and very in love clerk) to figure out that this woman he hoped to marry was number one in the stable of fillies that frequented the store corner where he worked. He'd be in there counting out change, and she'd be right outside the window counting money from her Johns.
You already know our clerk is not the brightest light on the Christmas tree, so instead of bothering to inform his mum that the affair was over, he kept it to himself because his male pride and ego couldn't take an "I told you so," from his sweet grey-haired, apple-cheeked old Mumsy.
Anyway, back to our wounded hero thinking he needs to die in the arms of his mumsy, and so off he goes lurching into the street, where someone he knows sees him and figures out quite quickly what must have happened. This person runs in and calls 911 as our hero is muttering and crying for Mumsy, who lives only two long blocks from the store.
Sadly, our clerk got to Mumsy's house only to find Mumsy had moved! Talk about adding insult to injury. This situation certainly did. Meanwhile, back at the store, a few of the 'fillies' have helped themselves to whatever feminine hygiene products they could stuff in their tight tank tops, and the local riffraff had helped themselves to the cashbox and crisps. The police came upon the scene where the store was almost devoid of products, blood was dripped on the counter and floor, and led a trail down the street, and no one standing outside seemed to know a bloody thing.
Clueless, all of them, except the filly who made the phone call to 911. She steps forward after some trepidation (well, she didn't want to get arrested for soliciting, now did she?) and tells the police where the injured store clerk has got off to. Well, R. Linda, the story has a happy ending, sort of.
Our clerk survived his wound; he still has his job, but he can't seem to locate Mumsy's house. Do you think he pissed her off? What is that about moving without telling a soul? Of course, she could have died, and no one told him that either. I don't know, but this is the foolishness I be back to. And, it is all true.
Gabe
Copyright © 2005 All rights reserved
