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Noodles: Armaged...gone.

Hey world.  
I have a confession to make.  
I never actually bought a stuffed dinosaur.  It was a black, black lie.  















I’m sorry, Armageddon!  You called my name, but I was afraid to take you home, because I was too cheap to buy a little kid birthday card along with you to cover up my movements should a cashier prove judgementally curious!  And now, thinking about you, I weep.  
Abrupt segue:  Have you ever noticed how we go through life always doing things, or not doing things, simply because of what other people might think of us?  Is that a legitimate way to live life?  No!  It’s not!  To prove it, I’ve sacrificed my own life experience upon the alter of science by writing several alternate endings to the story of Armageddon.  (I don’t know what that means but it sounds super selfless and heroic.)  These are all things that could have happened if I’d been courageous enough to take him down that checkout lane (by the by, you might think I spend all my waking hours shopping.  I really don’t, but I do have some of my deepest thoughts while waiting in lines.  Also humor is ripe for the plucking at any local super-store.). 

1.  I bought a stuffed dinosaur yesterday.  I watched gladly as my new friend rode the belt along with an odd assortment of life’s necessities.  The cashier tranquilly and evenly scanned my q-tips, my animal crackers, my bananas, my Snyders of Hanover’s, but when he came to Armageddon, his composure faltered and his flat, unbiased mask cracked.  I watched in horror as he lifted his eyes to mine, raised his eyebrows, and said “nice dinosaur” in a judgmental, questioning way.  I stammered something about how my three year old nephew was turning...um...three in a few days and how he loved dinosaurs.  A smoggy silence descended over the aisle.  “Huh,” said the cashier, his tone leaving no doubt that he’d perceptively perceived that I have no nephew.  I left with my groceries and Armageddon, paralyzed (yet somehow still mobile) with shame at being caught in a lie.  
Moral?  Assuming the cashier was unaware of the emotions I projected at him, he was probably just snapped out of his typical daze by my unexpected purchase.  I probably saved his life...no doubt he was on the verge of slipping into a state of zombification from which there would have been no return.  Whether he approved or disapproved of the dinosaur is beside the point.  (But, being a guy, he probably thought it was pretty rad, because all guys are secretly three.) 

2.  I bought a stuffed dinosaur yesterday.  The cashier casually picked her nose and wiped it on his little green head.  I dialed the HAZMAT hotline and they leveled the store.  Hundreds of people died.  Armageddon faced a second extinction.  
Moral? However disasterous, this scenario doesn’t compromise my dignity in any way.  Possibly my humanity, but not my dignity.  

3.  I bought a stuffed dinosaur yesterday.  The clerk thought nothing of it because I was buying so much ice cream that he assumed I was throwing a birthday party of vast magnitude, presumably with a dinosaurs and sugar theme.  
Moral?  It’s always best to buy lots of ice cream every time you go to the store, because you never know when it’ll save your sorry hide.  

 4.  I bought a stuffed dinosaur yesterday.  The store called the cops because they thought it suspicious a grown person would buy a stuffed dinosaur from them at an exorbitant price.  The store didn’t get my money.  But they got justice.  
Moral?  Major corporations will do anything to see that justice is done.  

5.  I bought a stuffed dinosaur yesterday.  The cashier took careful note of my face, then followed me to the parking lot and scrawled down my license number.  Since then, he’s been stalking me in the sights of his high powered rifle, waiting for a chance to snuff me.  Why?  Because he wants Armageddon for his own and is too cowardly to buy a child’s toy in honest daylight.  A surreptitious murder is sure to gain less attention.  
Moral?  Some people are just creepy no matter what you do.  (Though wearing full-body armor is a good first step.  You can also try never sleeping again.)



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