My sister and I rolled up to the music store with a mission. We were on the verge of a five-hour tour and in dire need of a fresh disc. The choice was predetermined: She had tickets to the upcoming Who / Plant show and wanted to hear Plant's new material. My nephews were with us, so I was elected to stay in the car "for just a minute" while she "ran in." It was early in the day, the boys were feeling every bit of their 2 and 4 year-old oats, and I needed a quick nicotine fix before the haul. I stood beside the car with my door open, periodically braving the flying-matchbox-car-zone of the backseat to make sure neither of them were bleeding.
Finished my smoke, and still no sign of my sister. Back in the car, my youngest nephew found what appeared to be a sandwich made from half an Oreo and dust-bunnies.
"Where'd you get that!?"
Two blank faces stare at me. To much protest, I toss the dust-bunny sandwich out the window, and glance at the clock.
20 minutes to buy a CD in an empty store?
The oldest boy is now helicoptering my sister's cell-phone by the antenna.
Meanwhile, the younger one is still lamenting the loss of his dust-bunny sandwich.
That clock is wrong. Has to be. No way does it take 35 minutes to buy a CD.
A super-ball ricochets off the windshield.
Roughly a week later, the door opens and my sister steps out . . . empty handed. WTF?
"Where's the CD?"
"I'm gonna puke!"
"I couldn't find it, and the girl had never heard of Robert Plant."
"What!? Did you say: Black Dog,? Good Times Bad Times? Did you say Whole Lotta Love? Heartbreaker? Tall Cool One? Did you say frickin' L e d Z e p p e l i n?? What kinda person works in a frickin' music store and doesn't know frickin' Robert Plant?"
"She said they had Eminem on sale."