Not long after my bookstore was painted and rearranged according to the principles of Feng Shui (the ancient art of Chinese placement), I was working the five to midnight shift. Through trial and error, we'd found that between ten o'clock and 11:30 pm very few people would stray in to browse the titles or strike up a conversation, especially in the winter. I would often play whatever music suited me during those hours, and on this particular evening I was playing Holst's Mars symphony.
It was at about the 5 1/2 minute mark in the music at about a quarter after eleven when a man came in to the store. At the time we had the counter at the very back, and after traversing the length of the building, the man was now standing directly in front of me. He was black, rather handsome with his cornrows and high-end winter jacket.
He seemed to be taking it all in, absorbed in the moment. A smile came across his face when I said "Hello... is there anything I can get for you?" Without a word, he raised his hands up, turning at the same time. He performed a number of turns, laughing that sort of comic-book villain laugh, theatrically in time to the music. I was righting the stool I had been sitting on, wondering what was coming next. I had witnessed peculiar behavior from customers before. It seems to come with the territory in bookstores. A gentleman had once practiced his kung-fu with his reflection in the doorway, and on another occasion someone pissed through the mail-slot. I was ready for anything.
He introduced himself as Baron Roth, and proclaimed his love for the store, and in earnest asked if the owners were gay. "No," I said, "they are not." He zigzagged around the bookshelves, asking me more questions of "the owners", how long the store had been open, and if he could buy shares. Returning to the cash register, he looked me squarely in the eye and said, "Can I ask you a personal question?" "Absolutely," I said, "ask me anything you like." "Are you gay?" "No, I'm afraid not, as I am one of the owners." After a bit of silence he cleared his throat and said "that's unfortunate!" Then, feeling foolish, with one hand he covered his face in embarrassment, feeling better only when I assured him that I was flattered to have been considered and that he had nothing to feel bad about.
By this time it was almost midnight, and I was getting ready to shut the store down for the evening. It was then he chose to reveal the true purpose of his being there. He identified me as the individual he had been sent to look for, and wanted to return with me to "the other side". Apparently I was one of the "chosen ones" who had gone astray in this dimension. When I tried to convince him that I was quite happy in this reality, and had no interest in making the return trip, he frowned severely. Unable to contain his disappointment, he reluctantly acknowledged my request to leave the store, but not before telling me that he would visit two more times, before disappearing forever.
He kept his word, coming back to the store twice, each time trying desperately to persuade me to join him in some inter-dimensional travel. To this day I wonder if I made a mistake, that maybe I was one of the chosen ones after all. Ha!
He did not, however, live up to his promise to disappear forever. It was about three years later, when I drove past him on a busy street on the city's south-side. Perhaps his quantum powers had been revoked, as he was waiting for the bus! Dressed once again in his expensive outdoor clothing, but looking as though he had a hang-over. I couldn't stop to offer him a lift as I was in the wrong lane, but a thought came to me as I went by. Why does someone who claims to be able to travel through different realities need a transit pass?
It was at about the 5 1/2 minute mark in the music at about a quarter after eleven when a man came in to the store. At the time we had the counter at the very back, and after traversing the length of the building, the man was now standing directly in front of me. He was black, rather handsome with his cornrows and high-end winter jacket.
He seemed to be taking it all in, absorbed in the moment. A smile came across his face when I said "Hello... is there anything I can get for you?" Without a word, he raised his hands up, turning at the same time. He performed a number of turns, laughing that sort of comic-book villain laugh, theatrically in time to the music. I was righting the stool I had been sitting on, wondering what was coming next. I had witnessed peculiar behavior from customers before. It seems to come with the territory in bookstores. A gentleman had once practiced his kung-fu with his reflection in the doorway, and on another occasion someone pissed through the mail-slot. I was ready for anything.
He introduced himself as Baron Roth, and proclaimed his love for the store, and in earnest asked if the owners were gay. "No," I said, "they are not." He zigzagged around the bookshelves, asking me more questions of "the owners", how long the store had been open, and if he could buy shares. Returning to the cash register, he looked me squarely in the eye and said, "Can I ask you a personal question?" "Absolutely," I said, "ask me anything you like." "Are you gay?" "No, I'm afraid not, as I am one of the owners." After a bit of silence he cleared his throat and said "that's unfortunate!" Then, feeling foolish, with one hand he covered his face in embarrassment, feeling better only when I assured him that I was flattered to have been considered and that he had nothing to feel bad about.
By this time it was almost midnight, and I was getting ready to shut the store down for the evening. It was then he chose to reveal the true purpose of his being there. He identified me as the individual he had been sent to look for, and wanted to return with me to "the other side". Apparently I was one of the "chosen ones" who had gone astray in this dimension. When I tried to convince him that I was quite happy in this reality, and had no interest in making the return trip, he frowned severely. Unable to contain his disappointment, he reluctantly acknowledged my request to leave the store, but not before telling me that he would visit two more times, before disappearing forever.
He kept his word, coming back to the store twice, each time trying desperately to persuade me to join him in some inter-dimensional travel. To this day I wonder if I made a mistake, that maybe I was one of the chosen ones after all. Ha!
He did not, however, live up to his promise to disappear forever. It was about three years later, when I drove past him on a busy street on the city's south-side. Perhaps his quantum powers had been revoked, as he was waiting for the bus! Dressed once again in his expensive outdoor clothing, but looking as though he had a hang-over. I couldn't stop to offer him a lift as I was in the wrong lane, but a thought came to me as I went by. Why does someone who claims to be able to travel through different realities need a transit pass?
Holst's Mars Symphony by the London Symphony Orchestra - directed by Richard Hickox (Innovative Music Ltd.)
"Why does someone who claims to be able to travel through different realities need a transit pass?"
ReplyDeleteTo fuck with you...