Fear and Loathing at the Mall
Last night I was at the post-modern utopia that is the Nanuet Mall, and something hilariously disturbing occured.
My glasses fell apart in the latest battle in the continuing war between myself and inanimate objects, and I went to CVS for one of those little eyeglass repair kits that don’t work. The screwdriver in the kit looks like this:
He lifted my head and stared into my eyes, like a doctor would. Then he looked down at my hands and stared closely at the screwdriver. He exclaimed an obscenity of relief and began to apologize:
“I’m sorry, I thought you were smoking crack!”
That’s what happened, honest to goodness. I must admit, from the little I know about drugs from ABC’s primetime cop dramas, that screwdriver does kinda look like a crack vile. The thing I can’t figure out is what this gent would have done were I actually smoking crack in the middle of the mall. He was so frantic, so manic, I wonder if he would have called security, or asked for a hook up?