On the way home yesterday, I stopped to buy some tulips from a vendor down the street from work. The flowers were so beautiful, in several different colours, and I was thinking they would brighten up the kitchen considerably. So I rummaged around in my bag for some cash. The tulips were popular; there were quite a few people milling about the stall.
To the right of me, I saw a gentleman waiting, almost hovering. His hair was a bit scruffy and although he wore a respectable jacket, he looked out of place. He was missing many of his front teeth. I assumed any minute ScruffyJoe was going to ask me for some spare change, as is really common in our town. I clutched my bag a little more tightly. He told the florist he wanted to buy some flowers and she told him to select any three bunches and then pay him. I berated myself for jumping to conclusions based up on how people looked, and promised to say ten Hail Marys.
I picked out three different colours : yellow, red and a lovely purple shade and got in the lineup behind ScruffyJoe to pay. SJ was in quite the jaunty mood. He told the florist he'd forgotten to buy his wife flowers the previous day (Valentine's Day) and this would make up for it. He gave her a twenty dollar bill. The florist fingered the bill at little and told him she would not accept it. The bill looked normal to me, though I was standing about four feet away. He looked taken aback, harrumphed a bit and then left, with his 20 dollar bill and no flowers. I asked her if it was a fake and she sighed and reported it was the fourth such bill she'd handled in the past week. The texture of the paper and the watermark were dead giveaways. We looked round for ScruffyJoe but he'd vanished.
She lowered her voice and said "I can always tell. I can sense it". I placed her accent to be eastern European. She went on "They wait until you're busy with other customers then try get the bill past you." Well I was thinking, that's why outside vendors don't wear gloves, even in the cold weather, so that they can feel the dollar bills. Good on you, Mrs.
I took my bunches of tulips and walked through the dreaded mall. I hate malls; they are synthetic places, heaving with faceless humanity, I find them the loneliest places on earth. I stopped in Body Shop to get some smellies for the bathroom. I then unwittingly scared the bejesus out of the staff by regaling the story of the florist, ScruffyJoe and the 20 dollar bill. The two assistants behind the till were horrified and said they wouldn't have a clue how to detect a fraudulent note. One of them wanted to know a complete description of SJ right down to how many teeth were missing. I'm thinking if there's dubious bills in circulation, sure as eggs are eggs, Scruffy won't have all of them. Mr PinStripeSuit and MissStillettoHeels could just as easily have a rake of them.
I paid the Body Shop with a couple of crisp green ones, and ambled towards the BlogTrain. I decided that I didn't need to say any Hail Mary's for misjudging ScruffyJoe but I'd throw in a Glory Be as he might need praying for anyway. But Scruffy, mark my words, I'm on the look-out for you....
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