Pirate's tale
So I went to lunch with my friend Holly Bonds a couple days ago. She is lovely red-headed company. We ate at a Mediterranean place, then visited a calendar store where we laughed at the doggy month displays and I cursed the $18 price tag for a sweet Thor action figure. But when we started heading back to the office, Holly Bonds suddenly realized she didn't have her purse. We had to go back for it.
We get to our lunch spot and immediately one of the clean up ladies tells us she found the handbag. She blazes past a sandwich splattered tray and flags down a security guard who goes all radio dispatch. Soon after his radio broadcast we are off, entering the mall behind the mall. It's a dirty, snakey path that leads to a what can only be described as a questionable elevator. The security guard who escorts us through the Batcave re-invents deadpan with each step. He was so serious, in fact, that I had to break the tension or I would have buckled under the weight of his scowl.
I turned to him confidently and said, "So, THIS is the secret dungeon where all the urban wealth is kept." I rubbed my hands together greedily and followed with, "What treasures shall we find!?"
Deadpan guard looks at me and then just starts cracking up. I was pleased with my work.
We surprisingly survive 'ol questionable and finally arrive downstairs. An ominous counter stretches before us. A lady of indeterminate age appears out of thin air and tells us she went through Holly Bonds' purse to confirm the contents. Turns out, Holly Bonds has a passport. All of a sudden, the security guard who brought us to this chamber of the unclaimed, says, "I need one of those!" to the lady at the counter.
I responded, in the best authoritative voice I could muster, "You need to get out of the country? You got gambling problems? Someone after you?"
Guard Man offered a hefty chuckle and said, "No." To which I responded, "Good. I can finally take down the surveillance."
Having completely disarmed deadpan guard, we left for the surface. As the light from the foodcourt became visible, I asked one final question, "So what happens to all the unclaimed goodies, guard man? Do you split the spoils amongst yourselves like pirates?"
So I went to lunch with my friend Holly Bonds a couple days ago. She is lovely red-headed company. We ate at a Mediterranean place, then visited a calendar store where we laughed at the doggy month displays and I cursed the $18 price tag for a sweet Thor action figure. But when we started heading back to the office, Holly Bonds suddenly realized she didn't have her purse. We had to go back for it.
We get to our lunch spot and immediately one of the clean up ladies tells us she found the handbag. She blazes past a sandwich splattered tray and flags down a security guard who goes all radio dispatch. Soon after his radio broadcast we are off, entering the mall behind the mall. It's a dirty, snakey path that leads to a what can only be described as a questionable elevator. The security guard who escorts us through the Batcave re-invents deadpan with each step. He was so serious, in fact, that I had to break the tension or I would have buckled under the weight of his scowl.
I turned to him confidently and said, "So, THIS is the secret dungeon where all the urban wealth is kept." I rubbed my hands together greedily and followed with, "What treasures shall we find!?"
Deadpan guard looks at me and then just starts cracking up. I was pleased with my work.
We surprisingly survive 'ol questionable and finally arrive downstairs. An ominous counter stretches before us. A lady of indeterminate age appears out of thin air and tells us she went through Holly Bonds' purse to confirm the contents. Turns out, Holly Bonds has a passport. All of a sudden, the security guard who brought us to this chamber of the unclaimed, says, "I need one of those!" to the lady at the counter.
I responded, in the best authoritative voice I could muster, "You need to get out of the country? You got gambling problems? Someone after you?"
Guard Man offered a hefty chuckle and said, "No." To which I responded, "Good. I can finally take down the surveillance."
Having completely disarmed deadpan guard, we left for the surface. As the light from the foodcourt became visible, I asked one final question, "So what happens to all the unclaimed goodies, guard man? Do you split the spoils amongst yourselves like pirates?"