The other week I went to go drop off a used jigsaw puzzle at the one resale shop near me (like always recently, I drew a picture on the back to show where the missing piece was, including its orientation and instructions with little arrows and short, easily legible descriptions like "3 over and 9 up").
The resale shop is kind of cool... It's like this big old converted parsonage with a creaky wooden door and a first floor with old rooms full of everything, and a big desk surrounded by huge tall Plexiglass panels at the front, where someone sits and doles out money and writes up a list of what they've sold that day.
On that particular visit, the (older) (thin) (short-haired) (white) lady with glasses and a tasteful sweater said they'd be delighted to take my jigsaw puzzle back, and she asked me what kind I do.
And, I told her.
"I always do a thousand pieces," she was like. "I got into them during the pandemic. I started with five hundred pieces and then I moved up, but fifteen hundred or two thousand is still way too much for me."
"How about that one?", chimed out from over in the foyer this one (hugely potbellied) (wrinkled) (old) (white) guy with (mildly darker) skin and glasses and a mud-colored beard and limp hair.
"Yes, my grandkids got me it," she was like. "It was a jungle scene, fifteen hundred pieces. That was a tough one! It was all vines, and sometimes an elephant."
And, she chittered on about that, and the older potbellied guy began chit-chatting with some (younger) (Asian) (foreign) college kids who were in the shop to buy some stuff, saying that the shirts he can get there are nice for sleeve size, but they don't fit his belly, but if they fit his belly, the sleeves are way, way too long.
And, the (foreign) college kids just stood there in the old house foyer, looking at him and listening.
No comments:
Post a Comment