A customer came in yesterday. Nice enough guy. Quiet. He spoke no more than necessary. But something happened that gave me the uber willies. I noticed he had five little warts on his right arm. Something was peculiar about their placement. They were arranged in a semi-circle.
I spent most of the morning with him and kept looking at his oddly spaced warts. This was not my first experience with warts, so I couldn’t figure out what bothered me.

His phone rang and he held it to his ear with his right hand. And then I saw it. Each little wart had a fingernail. Baby fingers grew out of his beefy right arm.

I can’t imagine the decision he had to make years ago. Keep his twin sibling with him or have him removed. Damn, would x-rays show hair and teeth under the surface?

My imagination took over. Who was I really talking to? The large man who stood before me or a little baby Don Rickles look-alike living under his skin calling the shots?

As he talked I imagined the internal dialogue, “Tell him we’ll offer fifteen five, tax and all,” Baby Rickles said to his twin.

“Fifteen five,” the lumbering spokesman said. He seemed to be listening to a voice I couldn’t hear. “Tax and all.”

We yammered back and forth for almost an hour. I swear there was something squirming under his shirt. Finally I hustled him out the door, “I’ll call you later. Thanks. Have a nice day.”

I watch too may cheesy movies. It’s starting to affect my grasp on reality.

Click on the ads brothers and sisters.