Subject: Would you buy a Buick from "Bob"?

Date: 12 May 1996 00:00:00 GMT

From: megeliz@radix.net (MegEliz)

Organization: Gene Wolfe Library and Family Restaurant, East Wing

Newsgroups: alt.slack

 

 

 

 

Already, I was a little disconcerted to see the same old guy trudging

across the asphalt at the gas station. It was definitely the same old

guy that had reminded me to turn off my headlights a mile away only

minutes before. So maybe I was feeling just a tad paranoid, and yeah,

it crossed my mind that I might be being followed for some sinister

reason. I get so tired of that.

 

I had just about convinced myself that I only THOUGHT it was the same

old guy because of the similarity of the clothing and the general

parking lot ambiance that leads me to pay attention to people only if

they are holding weapon-like objects. I was well on my way to

convinced when a purring voice said, "Howya doin?"

 

So I turned and looked and nearly fell over. It was disorienting to

see that the speaker was indeed talking to me and that he was not

inches from my ear, but a few yards away. Some fucking ventriloquist

trick, I thought. Since he continued to walk away I answered politely

without preparing to club him with the gas cap. I was feeling a little

more dizzy anyway: he was a truly beautiful specimen. I would have bet

money that he smelled just wonderful if not for the gas fumes. I had

his undivided attention for a full second, long enough to get the idea

that he was acting out of some compulsive attraction. Whew! Better

fill that tank and get outta here. I started to ponder what I could

have done to earn this sort of attention: just too appealing for my

own good, I guess.

 

Hopping in the car and feeling for the keys, I was startled as he

leaned into my window, and damn, he did smell good. He handed me his

card as I noted his smooth brown scalp, his expensive tie, his

enormous smile. He said, "Come and see me when you want another one."

I nodded. I would see him and get another one. Yes. I will be needing

another one. Yes.

 

SLAP! Another what? Another card? Another peculiar gas station

encounter? Examining the card, I see that it is introducing my lovely

new friend as a Buick Salesman. Duh. I'm driving a borrowed Buick.

He's magnetized to my wallet. As he speeds away, I daydream about

buying a Buick from him anyway. Then I decide that my next car really

should be a Buick...

 

It took a full day to completely recover. I hear there exists a Bob

Black, but now I know where to find the black "Bob."

 

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My sig is not under construction. It's dead. megeliz@radix.net