Secret packages, I have never been handed one, never thought of making one, they annoy me in movies and I’m just generally against them.
“Merkley, can you take me to the airport?” Anastasia asked. “I have to pick up a secret package.”
“Doesn’t telling me about it mean it’s not secret?” I asked. “and why are secret packages always at airports? How come nobody ever picks up a secret package at Costco or Bed Bath & Beyond?”
“The CONTENTS are secret, dummy.” she said. “Even I don’t know what is in it.”
“Why are you picking it up? Are you getting paid? What if it’s something illegal and we get busted?” These were all perfectly good questions I asked.
“Because it will be FUN.” She said.
We drove around the back side of the airport, there were security guys everywhere along with very clear signs about not stopping or standing. It took quite a while before we spotted an out of place Coke machine.
“This must be the spot.” She said.
Sure enough, we spyed a cliché steel briefcase.
We got out and made our way over.
“Shit, I don’t have enough change for a Coke.” I said as I rifled through my pockets.
“You don’t need change. you just open the door, like this.” Said a little girls voice.
I hadn’t noticed the little black girl standing there. She was no more than 7 years old, had two pig tails and a book bag with a silk screen on it that read “Ingrate Elementary School, Home of The Shitty Bands.”
That’s a refreshingly honest mascot if you ask me.
“Thanks for the tip, ma’am, but I’ll be happy to pay for mine.” I said, conforming to some unspoken adult code wherein, while in the presence of children, especially those of races not our own, we pretend that we are honest. “I probably have change in my car.”
I didn’t.
I never got a coke and never found out what was in the secret package.
Point is: It’s safe to assume that black cats are as dirty as white ones.
That’s all for now.
Don’t get caught righting imaginary wrongs.
Your Holy Self-Righteousness,
Grover.
The Secret Package, The Little Black Girl & The Coca Cola Sermon
Secret packages, I have never been handed one, never thought of making one, they annoy me in movies and I’m just generally against them.
“Merkley, can you take me to the airport?” Anastasia asked. “I have to pick up a secret package.”
“Doesn’t telling me about it mean it’s not secret?” I asked. “and why are secret packages always at airports? How come nobody ever picks up a secret package at Costco or Bed Bath & Beyond?”
“The CONTENTS are secret, dummy.” she said. “Even I don’t know what is in it.”
“Why are you picking it up? Are you getting paid? What if it’s something illegal and we get busted?” These were all perfectly good questions I asked.
“Because it will be FUN.” She said.
We drove around the back side of the airport, there were security guys everywhere along with very clear signs about not stopping or standing. It took quite a while before we spotted an out of place Coke machine.
“This must be the spot.” She said.
Sure enough, we spyed a cliché steel briefcase.
We got out and made our way over.
“Shit, I don’t have enough change for a Coke.” I said as I rifled through my pockets.
“You don’t need change. you just open the door, like this.” Said a little girls voice.
I hadn’t noticed the little black girl standing there. She was no more than 7 years old, had two pig tails and a book bag with a silk screen on it that read “Ingrate Elementary School, Home of The Shitty Bands.”
That’s a refreshingly honest mascot if you ask me.
“Thanks for the tip, ma’am, but I’ll be happy to pay for mine.” I said, conforming to some unspoken adult code wherein, while in the presence of children, especially those of races not our own, we pretend that we are honest. “I probably have change in my car.”
I didn’t.
I never got a coke and never found out what was in the secret package.
Point is: It’s safe to assume that black cats are as dirty as white ones.
That’s all for now.
Don’t get caught righting imaginary wrongs.
Your Holy Self-Righteousness,
Grover.