I am Dane Cook in Good Luck Chuck. Ladies, if you’re interested in getting engaged and/or married in the near future, I recommend a relationship with me. We’ll date, and then you’ll leave for smoother sailing. And higher cheekbones.
Craziest thing ever to happen in a workplace of mine (well, next to punching a guy in the face) occurred yesterday. So, I’m standing at the front of the store, processing some new training gear, when I glance out into the parking lot and spot a strange character standing all alone, with about fifty feet of space around him in every direction. He was clothed in athletic wear, and he was motioning around his body with his hands and arms in a… cleansing… motion. It’s difficult to describe through text, so ask me to reenact it in person someday, and I’ll give it my best effort.
After ten minutes of this, he began to strike out at invisible assailants with a series of rapid-fire punches, spin-kicks, and throws. This was (as I tweeted earlier) either an impressive martial arts training session or the most elaborate figure skating routine I have ever witnessed. I watched this for another ten minutes, until my boss walked out of the stockroom. I pointed the guy out to Kent, and we both stood entranced by this crazy for a full half-hour.
Eventually, four squad cars pulled into the lot and boxed the guy. Two cops got out of their cars and approached the guy; they talked for about fifteen minutes, then handed him what I presumed to be a ticket, got back into their cars, and drove away. The guy then started toward our store.
I greeted him as he passed me, and let me tell you, he appeared insanely creepy for a number of reasons, not the least of these being his martial-artistry-slash-triple-salchow. The guy’s eyes were tinged blood-red around the irises, and not in a twelve-beers-deep way… More like a demonic-possession way. He grabbed a few pairs of shorts, but he did it in a very apathetic manner, as if he really wasn’t interested in the clothing but wanted something to carry around.
He asked for a fitting room, so I opened one for him. About twenty minutes later, I realized that he was still in there, so I stood in a spot where I had a direct view of his feet, which were twirling and stepping through the same forms from his routine outside. Thoroughly creeped out, I backed away, and he eventually came out and left the store.
Crazy, crazy world.
I’m thinking about getting tattooed over Christmas break.
The title of this post isn’t really a reference to Shakespeare. Earlier, I watched tonight’s Friday Night Fight between Jesse Brinkley and Lucian Bute, and since I’m always starved of creativity by the time I attempt to title my posts, I went with my first idea.