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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?" she says.

 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.

True Story.

The index would let you have all the ketchup, yes he would George