Entertainers put on such a great facade to bring joy to children. But their lives are just like anyone else’s. They struggle with relationships, addiction, money, mental illness. Sometimes, these qualities are strong enough until they’re fed up. That’s what this story is about: Eric Electron
At work, I’ve been sending out weekly updates each Friday with new things going on around the library, important dates, etc. But, I also put something at the beginning that isn’t work related. It’s something people might get some entertainment out of, or so I hope. The last one got some good feedback around the office, so I thought I might post it here. Here it is:
A few days ago, I got in my car and started driving down the road, ready to come to work. Well, not ready to come to work, per se, but willing to do so. (I’m not a morning person; or an afternoon person, for that matter. I like the nighttime. It is the right time, after all, because they rhyme.) I was driving down the road, still yawning and rubbing my eyes, and I put my window down a few inches, hoping the unseasonably cold air will keep me from running off the road.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something at the window. Upon closer inspection, it was, in fact, a spider hanging down inside the glass and bobbing with the movement of the car like a pendulum.
I am scared of spiders. I’m okay with that. It’s only really a problem every once in a while.
My gaze was fixated on this terrible creature when I noticed I had run the car into the middle of the road. I watched the spider bob left to right. I knew I only had a limited amount of time before it would drop below the threshold of the window. I pulled the car to the side of the road. The spider swung closer to me. I just knew it was about to attack. I tensed up. The car was stopped. I inched my hand up the side of the door, just below where the spider was hanging, and hesitantly pushed the button to lower the window completely.
The spider was now dangerously close to the threshold, and if it made it and dropped into the car, I knew the result. I would have to abandon the car and run screaming into the dew-covered grass field up ahead.
I readied myself. The spider was still just hanging, twiddling its legs. I raised my right hand, slowly, mind you, because I knew any sudden movement could be my last. With a quick flick of my arm, I knocked the evil devil spawn out the window.
I breathed a sigh of relief, returned home to change my pants, and was back on my way to work. Crisis averted.
I’ve uploaded a new story. This is the first revision of a story I wrote for our former library director at work. She moved to Vermont. I know, I know. Why the hell would anyone move to Vermont? It’s a ridiculous premise for a story, but we all just have to understand there are strange people in the world. Some of them move to strange states with absolutely no memorable aspects.
At least Ohio has a lot of landmarks and history and crime. When was the last time you heard of a serial killer coming from Vermont? Never. Because Vermont is boring, and all the serial killers move to a proper state before killing a bunch of people.
At least her and her family will be able to take in some professional sports events. Oh…wait…they have no professional sports in Vermont.
They’re close to the ocean, though, right? Wrong! The whole state is landlocked.
The one good thing is there are a lot of parks to do outdoorsy stuff and whatnot. Of course, they had to turn most of the state into a park, because no one wanted to build anything there.
An old dialogue between two Vermont leaders:
Important person A: “Hey, what do we do with all this land?”
Important person B: “Let’s get some people to build some stuff here!”
Six months later:
Important person B: “No one, literally, no one, wants to build anything here.”
Important person A: “Fuck it. Let’s just make it a park.”
That’s all the history of Vermont you need to know.
Anyway, check out my story here: Rutland
Last weekend around these parts, as well as around any part surrounding U.S. 127 for hundreds of miles, was a fantastic annual event. It was the annual “Let’s Slow Traffic, Not Look When We’re Pulling Back Into Traffic, and Run Off The Road While Rubbernecking Toward Piles Of Junk” weekend. It’s better known as the U.S. 127 yard sale, which runs from somewhere in Alabama to somewhere in Michigan.
Essentially, it’s comprised of a bunch of yards on the highway who decide they have junk they think is worth money, because everyone watches American Pickers and Pawn Stars and thinks they can find a bunch of awesome stuff that’s worth a ton of money. Well, you can’t, and you most likely didn’t this weekend.
Anyone with the foresight to plan for the 127 yard sale is smart enough to have checked completed auctions on eBay, and they know if they have anything worth buying. The people who are too stupid to check eBay are too dumb to buy anything worthwhile in the first place, so it’s a lose-lose situation if you’re shopping.
The one type of item I did buy, and they only thing I ever search for at these sales, was books. It’s the only real deal you can find. And there weren’t even many of those around.
There are also people who don’t live on 127 or anywhere near it, but they think they can capitalize on it. They put signs out on posts along the highway that say something like, “Yard Sale – 2 miles that way” with a little arrow that no one follows. I drove past a few of those types of sales, and it was just a couple people sitting around with their junk, only that junk was situated on tables. They watched as no one came, no one stopped, and no one cared. You know why? Because all the sales are on 127. People drive up and down 127, and sure, you might get a few people here and there willing to go off the beaten path to be amazed at the ridiculous prices people think their crap is worth, but few do.
Here’s a tip: if you want something for a fair price, go to eBay, and look at auction listings that have bids on them. If people are bidding, the item gets to about fair market value, maybe a little higher or lower sometimes, and it sells.
Next year, how about you celebrate the 127 yard sales by staying home and knowing that you helped not clog the roadways, you didn’t get into an accident, and there are a bunch of people paying for stupid shit they don’t need.