Thursday, October 20, 2005

:::... My dad sold his 1979 Camaro Z28 out of the blue a few days ago. I secretly wanted that car but never said anything for two reasons. First, everyone in my family would have asked what the hell I would do with a car like that and second, the longer my dad owns something the more convinced he is that he is sitting on a gold mine. I meant to write about the Wild Turkey bottle incident but I never got around to it. He let my sister drive the Camaro her senior year of high school and then she dinged the door or something and it has sat in the garage ever since. It has 6,000 miles on it. In case you missed that -- 1979 Camaro with 6,000 miles on it. And he let it just sit there with four flat tires and never cranked it once.


Earlier this week I got a lesson on being dishonest. I'm not one of the losers I see at thrift stores trying to switch price tags with other items, but I guess I run a close second. Not convinced the price on a Polaroid camera I found was a fair one, I tried to rub off the $4.95 that was written in grease pencil on the bottom. It was mostly gone when I took it and a similar camera to the checkout counter. I smiled my pathetic smile and asked what the price of the two cameras was. After searching for one on both cameras, the cashier asked a short woman pittering back and forth in the aisle, who blurted out "Eight-fifty each" and kept walking. Fuck. I hoped the $4.95 was not totally rubbed away. I pointed to what was left on the bottom of the camera which looked like a blob to me, and she quickly rang up $4.95. I felt so ashamed. I went to Dairy Queen and had some tacos. They were terrible and I knew the universe was balanced again.

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This is a photo of the toy section in the GIGANTIC thrift store I discovered. It's blurry due to the fact I was insanely nervous someone that worked there would see me put my camera back in purse and try to argue that I stole it. Anyway, the name of this photo is 'Germs.'

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