Serialization of the WACKY MISADVENTURES of WARBLE McGORKLE - CHAPTER 19 (of 70)
Warble Slides on an Anti-Freeze River Into a Pile of Tires
CHAPTER 19
Warble Slides on an Anti-Freeze River Into a Pile of Tires
Warble marches into the PriceBiz mega-warehouse store and makes a beeline towards the first 'associate' (PriceBiz's democratic-sounding moniker for a poor working stiff) he sees.
"Say, bud, do you have cartons of International Nut Company Peanuts?" he asks.
"Peanuts? Peanuts are on aisle 11. We have Planters, we have--"
"I don't want Planters. I want International Nut Company."
"No problem. I think we've got them, too. I think the Planters are on sale right now, though."
"I don't care about that. I don't want Planters at any price. I'm a loyal fan, advocate, and customer of the International Nut Company--best in the business! I do all my peanut trade with I.N.C."
The PriceBiz associate eyes Warble warily. "OK, whatever you say, sir," he says, pointing him in the direction of aisle 11.
In a scant few seconds, Warble spots the I.N.C. peanut boxes. Most of them are on the top shelf, out of reach of just about anybody not employed by the NBA. Warble considers whether to call one of the PriceBiz associates to help him, but quickly decides against it--he can scramble up there himself and get the nuts in the time it would take him to track down one of those sorry rascals.
Just as he's about to climb up onto the shelves to shove the boxes down to the floor, Warble catches himself in a tactical blunder. He realizes he had better make an account of his cash cache first to see how many boxes he can afford. After a quick inventory of his liquid assets, Warble sees that he's only got $314 cash on him. He could use his credit card, but he doesn't know how far he is from his credit limit, and doesn't want to go to the hassle of finding out (he would have to either call the credit card company--which would take longer than Warble's patience would allow--or call Mary, who would not be happy about him spending the last of their remaining assets on what she views as a scam).
Warble decides to buy as much as he can with the cash on hand; once he doubles his investment (when the I.N.C. pays up) and finds out how much credit is left on the card, he can make a bigger purchase the next time.
Calculating how many boxes he can buy, Warble jumps up as high as he can, trying to tip the end of the box with his fingers enough so that it will fall off the shelf. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts, Warble mutters under his breath, "Dad-blast my European-American blood!"
Irritated, Warble scales the giant shelf. On the way up, he knocks over some boxes of Pop Tarts and crushes some humongous packages of marshmallows with his foot.
Warble finally reaches his goal, and slaps down seven boxes with his right hand, while holding onto a vertical support on the shelf with his left. One after another, the boxes hit the floor. Bft! Bft!Bft!Bft!Bft!Bft!Bft!
A couple of curious shoppers look over, a little taken aback at Warble's quick-fire box-dropping technique and apparent obsession with peanuts. Just as a PriceBiz associate arrives on the scene to investigate the unusual goings-on, Warble leaps, catlike, to the floor.
The associate looks as if he's about to ask Warble what he's doing, but a look from Warble that falls somewhere between slightly surly to downright menacing (depending on your skill at interpreting such facial gestures) stops him in his tracks. As Warble stares him down and stacks the peanut boxes on the floor, the associate backs off and turns on his heels, returning to whatever it was he was doing (or not doing) prior to the commotion.
Warble sees he has the young man cowed. "Boy!" Warble barks out. "I say boy! Bring me a cart for these cartons."
Out of a mixture of fear of what Warble might do or say next and irritation from being yelled at and called 'boy,' the associate hesitates for only a fraction of a second and then takes off in the opposite direction, running like a bat out of Dallas (if bats could, in fact, run, that is).
Warble is like a bear when it comes to people running from him. His natural instinct is to chase them down, slap them upside the head, turn them upside down, and then shake them like a rag doll until all their change falls out of their pockets.
Warble spins around and dashes to the opposite end of the aisle, which is closer. He then turns left, running parallel to the direction of travel of the wayward associate. As he comes to each aisle, he looks down it to see if he can get a glimpse of the fleeing PriceBiz employee. "You can't get good help nowadays," Warble grumbles as he continues the pursuit.
One of the associate's associates (that is to say, one of the other store employees) hears Warble's complaint. Without missing a beat while she stamps prices on a crate of bread-and-butter pickles, she shakes her fist at him and yells, "You get what you pay for, you know!"
A third associate, who also hears the discouraging words pass Warble's lips, picks up a can of dog food and heaves it at him with all her might. The dog food canister misses its mark and, instead of beaning Warble in the head, as was her intention, knocks over an economy-sized jug of anti-freeze two aisles beyond him and to his right. The jug hits the floor with a mighty thud, bursts open, and gushes its iridescent cyan-colored fluid all over the floor.
Warble is just about to catch up with the fleeing associate when there is a juxtaposition of his path and that of the newly arisen river of anti-freeze.
It is a wonder that bananas have such a reputation as slip-inducers when anti-freeze works so much better.
Warble is on his back in an instant, sliding forward and spinning around counterclockwise at approximately equal speeds. Warble finally comes to rest--so to speak--when he slams into a bank of tires.
It could have been worse; the tires cushion the blow of the impact for Warble as he smashes into them, and the tires fall--to port, starboard, larboard, aft, and every which way. Besides Warble, two hillbillies and somebody's grandma are buried beneath the anarchy of rubber.
Warble looks around at the aftermath. He's glad to be alive. He is lucky, too: he just missed hitting a long, red, metal contraption that would surely have done him serious bodily injury had he smashed into it rather than the wall of tires.
The associate Warble had been pursuing, who has now apparently regained his courage, stands over the prone potential purchaser of piles of peanut packages, smiles broadly and points at the metal contraption. "There's your cart, sir; Have a nice day!" he says, and struts away, not even bothering to help his poor beleaguered fellow associate in the tire department extricate the 'guests' buried beneath and among the scattered steel-belted radials.
Wordlessly, Warble rolls over, inspects the damage, is disappointed to find he has no superficial marks which could lead to a windfall in a personal injury lawsuit case, and resigns himself to sticking with his original plan, the relatively small-time and tedious peanut double-refund opportunity.
Warble drags the cart behind himself with one hand and returns to the aisle where he left his cartons of peanuts stacked. Warble desultorily loads the cartons onto the cart and heads to the checkout line.
"What was that big commotion back there--did you see it?" the associate at the checkout stand asks Warble as she rings up his sale.
Warble glances at her and shrugs. "I don't know, for sure. I heard that two skateboarders and somebody's personal fitness trainer got into a big heated argument over tires, dog food, and anti-freeze. I didn't pay much attention; I try to stay out of other people's business."
The associate, disappointed with the man she considers a boring old fuddyduddy, and angered at the oblique rebuke, silently finishes ringing up the sale. Efficiently, coldly, in a workwomanlike fashion, she informs Warble of his total, accepts his money, and hands him his change.
As Warble pulls his cart away from the checkout counter, the clerk follows his progress with her eyes, a scowl on her face. She looks around at the associates and guests in the vicinity and, when she is certain nobody is watching her, sticks out her tongue at Warble as he walks away. He is, of course, oblivious to her disrespectful gesture.
Warble is about to step into the automatic-door-opening-zone at the store's exit when he notices a sign hung from the ceiling above the customer service desk. He parks his carton of peanuts next to said counter and approaches it.
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the Wacky Misadventures of Warble McGorkle is being serialized daily here on substack during the summer of 2021 (late June to early September).
NOTE: The second volume in the trilogy is the Zany Time Travels of Warble McGorkle; the final volume, now available on Kindle Vella) is
Warble McGorkle’s Delusional Visions of Paradise.
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