Click here for nice stories main menu

main menu   |   youngsters categories   |   authors   |   new stories   |   search   |   links   |   settings   |   author tools


Changes (standard:humor, 1312 words)
Author: Reid LaurenceAdded: Jan 06 2008Views/Reads: 1725/1109Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
"What we have here, is a failure to communicate!" Will America finally pull itself together and get pulling together? Can Barack Obama really do what he says he can? We may not have long to find out...
 



Well... here I am, I thought, as I looked up at the great, big, marquee
in front of me. But as I read the lighted letters off in the words, 
‘Antique Road Show' I could see right away that some of the bulbs were 
out and needed changing. How could they neglect an important sign like 
that, I wondered? That's like a guy who won't wash his hair, or a 
waitress who doesn't ask you if you want water. I swear... when will 
America get back up on its feet were it should be? Maybe we need more 
pride in who we are and what we stand for, I don't know. 

Anyway, when I reached down into the pocket of my worn out jeans and
felt the giant wad of cash there, I felt a lot better about things in 
general. It won't be long now, I said to myself, simultaneously pulling 
out some of the money and flipping through it as if it were a deck of 
cards. I might even be on t.v.! Just think, I could be up there in 
front of millions of viewers... I hope I don't mess up and stumble over 
my words like the president. How could that happen now? Even my 
drunken, uncle Eddie is more fluent then President Bush, but that's not 
saying much, is it? 

Finding my way through the crowd, I noticed the show was well under way
and one of the antique historians was hard at work summarizing an 
authentic Grecian urn that someone had brought along when suddenly, he 
asked a most penetrating question which made us all stop and think. 
“What's a Greek urn?” 

“I don't have any idea,” responded the lady who'd brought it. “Please
tell me.” 

“Ohh, about seven-fifty an hour!” he replied, laughing hysterically at
his own jest. “But seriously now lady, what kinda cash would'ya expect 
for this thing... it's indecent. Look at it, or no, wait, don't look at 
it. The guy here,” he remarked, pointing to one of the immaculately 
hand painted figures on the vase. “His whole package is exposed. Makes 
me feel like I'm stand'in next to Danny Bonaduce. You know what I mean? 
Very uncomfortable. Anyway, lets cut to the chase shall we? I'd say, 
don't expect anymore then ten bucks for it. I don't see no holes in it. 
Maybe you could cover the paint job on it an stick some flowers in it.” 


“Flowers? In a three-thousand year old vase? Really now... are you
sure?” 

“Yeah, I'm sure. I don't got a problem with that. Unless you think you
can get yourself a better deal. It's a free country lady. More power to 
ya.” 

But after another hour or so of other such similar flawless lessons in
history, my turn had finally come to meet a similarly skilled 
antiquarian and the power of speech that I thought I'd arrived with had 
all but dribbled from the bottoms of my feet. Nervous? You said it, but 
I couldn't let a little thing like spent nerves stop me now. Not after 
coming all this way. So when the representative of one of the most 
important collectable firms in New York asked me, “What have you 
brought with you today?” I just stood there with my jaw hanging open, 
as pale as a ghost and with about as much to say. In fact, the only 
thing I could think of doing was to show the historian, in pantomime, 
the reason I had come. “You're kidding me,” he said. 

“Nope,” I finally squeezed out. “It was my grandfathers, and his
father's father before him. Whaddaya think. Its's been sitting in a big 
chest in our attic for over a hundred an forty years. I was really 
hoping ta dump some of it today. My wife wants me ta pick up some 
groceries an I'm a little short on cash, ya know... what with the way 
things are an all.” 

“Yes I know,” answered the polished looking interviewer. “The economy is
tightening up and we could very well be headed for recession, but 
really now,” he reasoned. “Confederate money? How in the world did you 
come across it?” 

“My great, great grandfather Colonel Laurence I suppose. He did what he
thought was right at the time, I guess. The story goes, he never was 
much into hating anyone, he just didn't like changes. Hey,” I began, 
throwing caution to the wind. “Nobody's perfect right? Anyway, whaddaya 
think it's worth?” 


Click here to read the rest of this story (70 more lines)



Authors appreciate feedback!
Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Reid Laurence has 110 active stories on this site.
Profile for Reid Laurence, incl. all stories
Email: reidgaller@sbcglobal.net
Due to abuse, voting is disabled.
For a quick, anonymous response to the author of this story, type
a message below. It will be sent to the author by email.

stories in "humor"   |   all stories by "Reid Laurence"  






Nice Stories @ nicestories.com, support email: nice at nicestories dot com
Powered by StoryEngine v1.00 © 2000-2014 - Artware Internet Consultancy BV