Okay, so Tuesday before last, I was at the Kazsupski Street Mall. Since Jake wont lift the ban on me going to Rhino Games and Im pretty much afraid of Montclair Hobbies, Im stuck going to the B. Dalton in the mall and rummaging through their vast selection of gaming supplies. Oh, and boy howdy, do I mean vast. Actually, the B. Dalton at the Kazsupski Street Mall is better than the Waldenbooks at the Holden Mall, but neither are as good as the Barnes and Noble over on 7th and Grand.
I just cant go to the Barnes and Noble on 7th and Grand. See, I got a little bit drunk last year and did a striptease in the womens studies section which would have been fine and everyone could have laughed it off if it hadnt of been for Ethel Johannsen working that night. Ethel, for the record, is not a man-hating bull dyke. I write this because apparently in my drunken state, I said as much to her and let me just say this, Ethel was a champ about it and is a very forgiving woman. Even when such things are said to her by a man with his goods hanging out. Ive had drinks with Ethel and her boyfriend, Mark, a couple of times since. Theyre good people.
No, the problem with all of this is that Suzie Moorish, the stores general manager, heard about it from Ethel the next day and took great umbrage at the whole thing. Apparently, Suzie is a lesbianthough the status on her hating men and being butch have not yet been confirmedand a) thought that the fact that I was getting naked in the womens studies section was an offense to women everywhere (had she been there, she would have known that the sight of my naked body is an offense to women everywhere), b) stated that the use of the term man-hating bull dyke was somewhat unforgivableof which I am in total agreement and Im embarrassed to know that I ever said it in the first placeand c) declared that if I thought man-hating was so bad, well, if I ever stepped foot in the store again shed call the cops so that I could get a taste of what man-loving was all about.
Its moments like that when Id like to say that Im a lover, not a fighter but I cant because it just sounds bad. Id apologize to herI really would even though I didnt do anything wrong to her aside from expose myself publicly in her place of businessits just that every time I see her now, she subtly hints that if she ever sees me in the store again that shes going to castrate me. Youd think that shed be more forgiving since we went together in junior high, and come to think of it, that might have a lot to do both with her being so angry and being a lesbian.
I never really thought of it that way. Huh.
So anyway, I was at the B. Dalton, flipping through what little books they had when I came across a copy of The Complete Fighters Handbook. I laughed a little, thinking back to when I was younger, bright-eyed, ready to take on the world with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. Kits! Fighting styles! Group proficiencies! Role-play tips! The Complete Fighters Handbook was the can opener to the economy size can of bait that 2nd edition eventually brought to the fore, but when it first came out it was a matter of joy, of deeper understanding, an exploration of what could be done with the simple, basic fighter.
It was a way to get more weapons for less proficiency slots and hit people in better ways. In other words, it rocked. At least, it rocked for a fourteen year old.
I was just about to put the book back down when I heard her voice, shrilly severing synapses within my brain. Carol. I wished at that very moment in time that I had been in the Religion or New Age sections instead so that I could have drawn on the inherent peacefulness of the books that fill those shelves. She was talking to the clerk with Todd Moorish, Suzies older brother who used to perpetually beat my ass in junior high school, on her left arm. I ducked down below the line of the shelves and watched the two of them. Apparently, Todd and Carol were lovers and fighters. They were acting like they loved each other and they both seemed to have a penchant for loving to fight with me.
Keeping that in mind, I shoved the book back into its spot on the shelf and prepared to make a break for the door. I didnt need to be barred from yet another bookstore. When they walked into the Mystery section, I beat feet for the door. I like to call that a strategic retreat. The Complete Fighters Handbook, on the other hand, may have called that a cowardly withdrawal.
Oh, and next week I should have all of the gory details of Bustercon.