[When the Salesmen Parted.]
When it came to summer blockbusters, Stan was the consummate consumer. Not only would he go to see the latest bit of celluloid eye candy five or six times, but he would hunt down and purchase every last piece of merchandising associated with the film.
Collect all four commemorative plastic champagne glasses? No problem! The sountrack? Yes, please! Some sort of gadgety razor? Well, of course! Stan was, for unrelated reasons, extremely wealthy, so the cost of all of this was no issue for him.
Actually, Stan had only one issue with movie merchandising. When he would buy something and accidently learn about some secret plot twist from the movie, he would rage with the white hot passion of a thousand vehicular explosions. Strong men and fierce women would cower before the intensity of his anger. "Don't tell me what happens!" he would roar, and then he would break things.
Fortunately, this sort of thing was relatively infrequent, and so Stan was well liked by the townsfolk, and especially by the Chamber of Commerce.
One afternoon, Stan discovered that his local automobile dealership was selling the very automobile model that was supposed to play an integral, yet unknown, part in a highly anticipated summer blockbuster that was set to open later that week. He raced over to the lot, and was immediately swarmed by salesmen.
"You must be here to look at the car!" they cried. Stan's reputation had arrived at the dealership well in advance of his corporeal form.
"Yes!" replied Stan. "Where is it?"
The mass of salesmen parted, revealing the car, gleaming on the showroom floor.
But, alas, Stan's eyes were immedately drawn to the immense spoiler at the rear of the car.
Friday, July 4th, 2003
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© 2003 Karl Bailey.