GCom
05-14-2008, 12:37 PM
Let me start with this: I hate ninjas. Passionately. Completely. Utterly. I've never had a good experience with anyone claiming to be a ninja in any capacity. Some people can joke about being ninjas, and that's fine, but every so often I run into someone claiming to be a ninja who just takes it too far.
Today I'm working on my shipment of new comics in the back of my store. We're near done with the comics when one of my Filthy Assistants wanders in and says "You aren't going to believe this. Ninja Master is in here trying to impress people."
Ninja Master is a local man. He wanders around now and then wearing a denim jacket that has in gold letters on the back "NINJA MASTER." He has a martial arts school somewhere in the area... it's a ninja school, so it's hard to find. Scuttlebutt is that he's hurt a lot of people who were "students" with his ineptitude (broken arms, burns, ripped scalps, etc.). I know from personal experience that he's not what I would deem intelligent (I saw him once take a battery-powered drill to his groin. Twice.). He's probably physically in his late 30's, maybe his early 40's. Mentally it's anyone's guess. Emotionally I place him in junior high.
"Cripes," I mutter under my breath. "What's he doing?"
"Dancing around, making noises and getting ready to slap a lot of product around." I'm told.
I head out and along the way I hear high pitched Bruce Lee noises. Not a good sound to hear.
I get onto my store's main salesfloor, and there he is, in a wide stance of some kind, doing weird wavy things with his hands, his handlebar mustache flapping away in the wind from his mouth. People have given him a wide berth, and one of my Filthy Assistants is moving towards him with a pained look on his face. My Filthy Assistant sees me coming down the aisle (later described as "Moving like a angry locomotive." and gives me one of those subtle "I-got-this." nods.
I stop at the top of the aisle and cross my arms. My employee closes in to about 18 inches of Ninja Master and says something I can't hear.
"I'm not doin' nuthin." says Ninja Master.
I don't now what my Filthy Assistant says next, but I understand the pointing toward the door gesture.
"I ain't dun nothin'!" declares Ninja Master with a belligerent look on his face as he stands up and puts down his jazzhands.
I started to move forward, with the intent of getting involved when my Filthy Assistant gestures at me with the "Wait-A-Minute" finger without looking at me. He then turns around, walks a few feet to the counter where he picks up a phone and very dramatic manner dials three numbers.
Ninja Master turns and leaves with a disgusted look on his face.
The customers give a nice peasant cheer of "Yaaaaay...." that would have made any Monty Python writer happy.
I look at the Filthy Assistant and say "Good work." in a loud manner, then head back into the workroom to start on what's left of comics followed by toys.
I really hate ninjas.
With Tolerance For Ninjas...
GCom
Today I'm working on my shipment of new comics in the back of my store. We're near done with the comics when one of my Filthy Assistants wanders in and says "You aren't going to believe this. Ninja Master is in here trying to impress people."
Ninja Master is a local man. He wanders around now and then wearing a denim jacket that has in gold letters on the back "NINJA MASTER." He has a martial arts school somewhere in the area... it's a ninja school, so it's hard to find. Scuttlebutt is that he's hurt a lot of people who were "students" with his ineptitude (broken arms, burns, ripped scalps, etc.). I know from personal experience that he's not what I would deem intelligent (I saw him once take a battery-powered drill to his groin. Twice.). He's probably physically in his late 30's, maybe his early 40's. Mentally it's anyone's guess. Emotionally I place him in junior high.
"Cripes," I mutter under my breath. "What's he doing?"
"Dancing around, making noises and getting ready to slap a lot of product around." I'm told.
I head out and along the way I hear high pitched Bruce Lee noises. Not a good sound to hear.
I get onto my store's main salesfloor, and there he is, in a wide stance of some kind, doing weird wavy things with his hands, his handlebar mustache flapping away in the wind from his mouth. People have given him a wide berth, and one of my Filthy Assistants is moving towards him with a pained look on his face. My Filthy Assistant sees me coming down the aisle (later described as "Moving like a angry locomotive." and gives me one of those subtle "I-got-this." nods.
I stop at the top of the aisle and cross my arms. My employee closes in to about 18 inches of Ninja Master and says something I can't hear.
"I'm not doin' nuthin." says Ninja Master.
I don't now what my Filthy Assistant says next, but I understand the pointing toward the door gesture.
"I ain't dun nothin'!" declares Ninja Master with a belligerent look on his face as he stands up and puts down his jazzhands.
I started to move forward, with the intent of getting involved when my Filthy Assistant gestures at me with the "Wait-A-Minute" finger without looking at me. He then turns around, walks a few feet to the counter where he picks up a phone and very dramatic manner dials three numbers.
Ninja Master turns and leaves with a disgusted look on his face.
The customers give a nice peasant cheer of "Yaaaaay...." that would have made any Monty Python writer happy.
I look at the Filthy Assistant and say "Good work." in a loud manner, then head back into the workroom to start on what's left of comics followed by toys.
I really hate ninjas.
With Tolerance For Ninjas...
GCom