Mastiker
09-26-2005, 02:37 AM
This is a continuation of the "my family" thing I started. Hope ya guys like it.
As a child my dad loved going to the local flea market, Rietta Ranch. Rietta was... odd. If you look hard enough, you can find anything you would want to get at a flea market... for a dollar. My dad would haul his junky truck full of crap and then he, Laura, and I would drive down for another grueling day of ruckus. As a kid, I found it fun. Of course, as a kid, I also believed in Santy Claus and thought that if I worked hard enough, I could make it into heaven.
A series of unrelated events made my father stop bringing Laura and I to Rietta. Almost a year after my parent’s lovely divorce, he started bringing the two of us to Rietta. (You may be asking yourself: “But Mastiker, what about your other siblings?” It’s simple really. Geo and Marc are eight and six years older than me, and Laura is only one year younger than me. Laura and I end up getting tossed around in divorce court. It’s a fun time, I should tell you guys about it soon.) Well, after turning fourteen, I realized that waking up at five in the morning in the freezing cold, and then burning my ass the rest of the day (yay New England summers!) clearly wasn’t as fun as my six year old mind had made it out to be. For the past two years, I’ve been spending nights at my friends. That stopped working two months ago after my friends parents pretty much kicked me out, because they’re stupid. That’s unrelated though.
At Rietta Ranch, there are several types of people selling and buying stuff:
The Specializers: These are the people that have one thing that they sell. That’s it. They sell, trade, and buy in that one particular area. There is everything, from Porn, to clothes, to cards, to weapons. These people have no life, and will have no shame in telling you that they have no life. Avoid talking to them for prolonged amounts of time, or you may turn into one of them.
“Junkers”: My dad just happens to be one of these. These are the type of guys that think that they have a gold mine of treasure, when in reality its just moldy boxes and rusty tools. What’s really pathetic though, is that people actually buy this crap. One time when watching my dad’s stuff while he went to the bathroom, someone held up a rusty wrench and asked “how much for this rust colored wrench?”... Not rusty, rust colored. Not knowing what the price my dad wanted, I shrugged my shoulders and said “20?” The man smiled with glee and paid the full twenty. When my dad came back ten minutes later and I told him what I sold, he nearly beat me because I should have started at 50 bucks. I almost cried when I realized that the guy would have paid it too...
Vacuums and Porn: Actually, this is just one guy. But I fell that he is so awesome he deserves his own category. Now, me being a sixteen year old boy, automatically I’m drawn to anything slightly sexual. Can’t help it. So when I see a giant sign reading “Adult Videos!” I can’t help but go over to it. When I see the sign, I automatically assume that all this guy sells is dirty dirty things. Nope.Right next to the huge tub of porn, is a long line of vacuums. That’s right. Vacuums and Porn. All in one convenient location. Now I don’t have to drive all the way to Wal-Mart to buy that Orveck after I’ve just rubbed one out to some nice lesbo skin flick.
The Parental Figures: Rietta is the main cause of my hatred of children and anything small. Ever been on the street and see a mother yelling at her crying child, and for a moment you think “why can’t she control her kids?” Well, if you spend the entire day near that parent and child, you realize why she can’t. Her kids are the fucking anti-christ. The good thing about seeing them on the street is that they go away. But when you spend the entire day next to them, IT IS HELL. Makes me wanna kick a toddler...
Blasian?: At Rietta, it is very common to see minorities, but the real fun part is when you see a minority that is unsure of which minority they are. Just today, I say an Asian man, dressed in “SeanJohn”, speaking spanish. It was such a cultural mesh, that everything that I found good and sacred in humanity was shredded into a shit pile. And he’s not the only one, there’s at least five guys like that a day. The Vacuum and Porn guy seemed like a fucking civil service in comparison.
Mini-Shops: Ever gone by a tattoo parlor, or a piercing shop and think, “ya know, even though it is a painful experience that I would much rather have in the safety and privacy of a room, I would SO get myself pierced at a second-rate version of the same thing” then there are some really cool spaces you need to check out at Rietta.
Out of all of my experiences at Rietta, the one I must tell you all, is of my trip to the bathroom. Nature called, and even though it was a really bad time, I answered. He told me that I needed to make my way to a hole of some sort, or my pants would become five pounds heavier. I decided that a toilet would be the best option. So I run to the bathroom, and pause long enough to read the sign by the door: “Make sure you really have to go, and be prepared for some nasty stank.” I thought it was just a joke, so my naive mind continued inside.
The bathroom was fairly safe looking, even if it was public. There were only two stalls, and one was occupied. Lucky for me, the other was empty. I quickly sat down and my pants were at my ankles. As soon as I had done my duties, the walls to my bathroom stall shook and quickly a stank like none I had ever stanked before, stank up the room. My first thought was “please say someone died, please say someone died..” but it just turned out to be the guy in the stall next to me. No big deal, right? After a sigh of relief, I began to pull my pants back up, when I heard another one of these wall shaking farts, only this time added with some nasty water effects. It was possibly the grossest sound ever, not to mention the guy did a little “ooo” noise. Ooh, and the smell wasn’t getting any better. As I burst out of the stall and quickly washed my hands, I saw another sign on the door. This one read: “What did I tell you?! WHAT DID I TELL YOU?!” God I hate toilet humor...
As a child my dad loved going to the local flea market, Rietta Ranch. Rietta was... odd. If you look hard enough, you can find anything you would want to get at a flea market... for a dollar. My dad would haul his junky truck full of crap and then he, Laura, and I would drive down for another grueling day of ruckus. As a kid, I found it fun. Of course, as a kid, I also believed in Santy Claus and thought that if I worked hard enough, I could make it into heaven.
A series of unrelated events made my father stop bringing Laura and I to Rietta. Almost a year after my parent’s lovely divorce, he started bringing the two of us to Rietta. (You may be asking yourself: “But Mastiker, what about your other siblings?” It’s simple really. Geo and Marc are eight and six years older than me, and Laura is only one year younger than me. Laura and I end up getting tossed around in divorce court. It’s a fun time, I should tell you guys about it soon.) Well, after turning fourteen, I realized that waking up at five in the morning in the freezing cold, and then burning my ass the rest of the day (yay New England summers!) clearly wasn’t as fun as my six year old mind had made it out to be. For the past two years, I’ve been spending nights at my friends. That stopped working two months ago after my friends parents pretty much kicked me out, because they’re stupid. That’s unrelated though.
At Rietta Ranch, there are several types of people selling and buying stuff:
The Specializers: These are the people that have one thing that they sell. That’s it. They sell, trade, and buy in that one particular area. There is everything, from Porn, to clothes, to cards, to weapons. These people have no life, and will have no shame in telling you that they have no life. Avoid talking to them for prolonged amounts of time, or you may turn into one of them.
“Junkers”: My dad just happens to be one of these. These are the type of guys that think that they have a gold mine of treasure, when in reality its just moldy boxes and rusty tools. What’s really pathetic though, is that people actually buy this crap. One time when watching my dad’s stuff while he went to the bathroom, someone held up a rusty wrench and asked “how much for this rust colored wrench?”... Not rusty, rust colored. Not knowing what the price my dad wanted, I shrugged my shoulders and said “20?” The man smiled with glee and paid the full twenty. When my dad came back ten minutes later and I told him what I sold, he nearly beat me because I should have started at 50 bucks. I almost cried when I realized that the guy would have paid it too...
Vacuums and Porn: Actually, this is just one guy. But I fell that he is so awesome he deserves his own category. Now, me being a sixteen year old boy, automatically I’m drawn to anything slightly sexual. Can’t help it. So when I see a giant sign reading “Adult Videos!” I can’t help but go over to it. When I see the sign, I automatically assume that all this guy sells is dirty dirty things. Nope.Right next to the huge tub of porn, is a long line of vacuums. That’s right. Vacuums and Porn. All in one convenient location. Now I don’t have to drive all the way to Wal-Mart to buy that Orveck after I’ve just rubbed one out to some nice lesbo skin flick.
The Parental Figures: Rietta is the main cause of my hatred of children and anything small. Ever been on the street and see a mother yelling at her crying child, and for a moment you think “why can’t she control her kids?” Well, if you spend the entire day near that parent and child, you realize why she can’t. Her kids are the fucking anti-christ. The good thing about seeing them on the street is that they go away. But when you spend the entire day next to them, IT IS HELL. Makes me wanna kick a toddler...
Blasian?: At Rietta, it is very common to see minorities, but the real fun part is when you see a minority that is unsure of which minority they are. Just today, I say an Asian man, dressed in “SeanJohn”, speaking spanish. It was such a cultural mesh, that everything that I found good and sacred in humanity was shredded into a shit pile. And he’s not the only one, there’s at least five guys like that a day. The Vacuum and Porn guy seemed like a fucking civil service in comparison.
Mini-Shops: Ever gone by a tattoo parlor, or a piercing shop and think, “ya know, even though it is a painful experience that I would much rather have in the safety and privacy of a room, I would SO get myself pierced at a second-rate version of the same thing” then there are some really cool spaces you need to check out at Rietta.
Out of all of my experiences at Rietta, the one I must tell you all, is of my trip to the bathroom. Nature called, and even though it was a really bad time, I answered. He told me that I needed to make my way to a hole of some sort, or my pants would become five pounds heavier. I decided that a toilet would be the best option. So I run to the bathroom, and pause long enough to read the sign by the door: “Make sure you really have to go, and be prepared for some nasty stank.” I thought it was just a joke, so my naive mind continued inside.
The bathroom was fairly safe looking, even if it was public. There were only two stalls, and one was occupied. Lucky for me, the other was empty. I quickly sat down and my pants were at my ankles. As soon as I had done my duties, the walls to my bathroom stall shook and quickly a stank like none I had ever stanked before, stank up the room. My first thought was “please say someone died, please say someone died..” but it just turned out to be the guy in the stall next to me. No big deal, right? After a sigh of relief, I began to pull my pants back up, when I heard another one of these wall shaking farts, only this time added with some nasty water effects. It was possibly the grossest sound ever, not to mention the guy did a little “ooo” noise. Ooh, and the smell wasn’t getting any better. As I burst out of the stall and quickly washed my hands, I saw another sign on the door. This one read: “What did I tell you?! WHAT DID I TELL YOU?!” God I hate toilet humor...