Dave and I are at the info counter.
“How’s it goin’?” he asks.
“I’m a bit wobbly, to be honest.”
“Like a Weeble? You know they don’t fall down.”
“I remember really liking Weebles.”
“You ever notice how when they stopped making Weebles, terrorism spread? Maybe they should do Weeble drops on hotbeds of discontent.”
“Yeah. It might do some good.”
James Spader browses through Science Fiction and Fantasy. I don’t recognize him until Rosa points it out. He’s wearing a dark blue hat. He’s with his son. Just chillin’. We don’t speak to him at all, but we do consider browsing just ahead of him and seeding the section with copies of Mannequin.
An Italian woman and her son. She’s got purple lipstick, matching clothes–a kind of hip Euro-blossom appeal. Whatever that means. Her son is a whirlwind of attention-grabbing dialogue. She’s been asking me for comedies that are smart and funny. On VHS. Oh, and gay. “I love gay men,” she says. “Gay men have a better sense of style than women. They are so wonderful.” So I hand her The Birdcage and Priscilla, neither of which she’s seen. She adds them to the stack of Hendrix videotapes in her hands.
Her son, meanwhile, has three DVDs in his own hands. Pirates of the Caribbean, Jason Goes to Hell and The Matrix: Reloaded. “Why DVD?” she asks him. “I like DVDs,” he answers, and prompted by my own suggestion, he adds, “They’re cooler.”
“You know I don’t have a DVD player. Just videotape.”
“Look at those movies in your hands. Why? Why do you want them?”
“Because I want to see Jason go to Hell.”
“No, no, why do you want DVD when you know I can’t play DVD?”
“Because it ticks you off.”
“Yes, I thought so.”
“I’m just kidding. How long have I know you? Eleven years, yes?”
“That’s right. Almost twelve. I’m just kidding. You know I love you, Mama.”