Oriental Boy already knows she doesn't move her lips when she talks.
“Ten copies? Is that what you said?”
“Mmm-mhh-mm, good paper.”
“We have paper samples there in the corner if you'd like to pick something out.” Oriental Boy watches her walk over to the paper, pull out a sheet and wave it in Br'er Juan’s direction.
“mmm-mmm-mhhh.”
“I'm sorry, I can't hear you.” Oriental Boy still watching as Br'er Juan walks around the counter to get within hearing range.
“AHHHHHHH – AHHHHHHH,” she screams, jumping back about three feet. “DON'T YOU GET CLOSE TO ME.”
Br'er Juan runs back around the counter. “I've told you I'm deaf – Either I'm going to have to get close to hear you – or you're going to have to talk louder.”
“I DON'T WANT IT ON THIS PAPER I HAVE IN MY HAND, I WANT IT ON THE PAPER ON THE SHELF ABOVE THIS ONE.”
“Whatever,” mutters Br'er Juan, wishing, as he began making copies, the snack machine in the lounge had potato chips.
“Hey, this phone’s for you,” says Oriental Boy, aiding the Moon in her final plot.
“Juan, this is Julia – calling about this sign you ordered. The colors in the picture in the catalog are off a bit – we don't make one in those colors. And I think Hyptnotherapist is misspelled,” she says in her wonderful Tennessee mountain twang.
“That woman took 40 minutes to order that sign, and that’s what she wants. Spell it that way – I guess I'll have to call her about the color.”
“I feel sorry for you,” goes Julia. “I've heard these stories all day. It must be a full moon. Either that, or the space shuttle brought something back.”
More of these tales, a blog, lots of photographs and other foolishness at The Paxety Pages
The North Florida Music Association site covers music in Florida.
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