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|Changes (standard:humor, 1312 words)|
|Author: Reid Laurence||Added: Jan 06 2008||Views/Reads: 1764/1136||Story 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)
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