Justin's Flashback Theater: Hot Dogs are Good
by Justin Bow
So I have this job working in an art gallery. It's a pretty good
job where mostly I just sit there and when people come in I count them
on this little metal counting thing and stare at girls' butts when they
go walking past the window.
Even though I don't really do anything, I still get two breaks
while I'm at work and I make full use of this time. On the particular night
I am currently describing, I decide to go get a hot dog around nine o'clock
because I'm feeling kind of hungry. So I get the hot dog, walk around a
little, then head back in the direction of the gallery. Now, when I leave
to go on break I hang this sign on the door that lets all and sundry know
I'll be coming back in "15 minutes" give or take however many minutes I
decide to add or subtract from that base time on any given day. But when
I come back with the hot dog, there are these two blonde ladies staring
very intently at my sign with their foreheads all wrinkled.
Hot dog in hand, I walk up next to them to see what's going on.
"It says they'll be open again in 15 minutes," says the first girl. But
the second girl is looking doubtful, like maybe my sign is a big liar and
they shouldn't believe what it's telling them.
"I don't know," she comments, "whoever it is could be gone for
a long time and not bother coming back."
It is at this moment that I realize I must intervene. "They're
usually pretty on-time," I say. "Besides, I've been here waiting for the
last five minutes or so, so the most you'll have to wait to get in the
gallery is another ten minutes before the guy comes back."
Both girls are looking at me now real hard. "Well, if you're sure,"
says the second blonde. "I guess we can wait for ten minutes." She turns
to the first girl; "Is that okay with you?"
The first girl thinks about this for a second. "Sure, why not?"
So we stand there for a while, me eating my hot dog, the girls
silent and all three of us staring through the glass doors of the gallery
at the 4 and a half paintings we can see. Pretty soon, I finish my hot
dog, pull my watch out of my pocket and double check the time.
"Looks like it's about time," I say as I take my sign off the
door and unlock the gallery. The two girls just gawk at me, their eyes
all huge and their mouths dangling open. I head into the gallery, but before
I get all the way in, I turn back and ask over my shoulder, "Well, aren't you going to come inside?" Which they did. And that's
how I got fired from my job for the sake of a hot dog.
index would let you have all the ketchup, yes he would George