A modern American horror story

[Docwagon 856]

It seems like only two years ago when my wife made me go to the mall to buy new dress pants two years ago.  Somehow my dress pants stock appears to have aged two years, and some have not aged particularly gracefully.  My wife, who claims to do the laundry (I know a laundry fairy does it, but I play along), claimed that some of them were now inappropriate for public wear due to cosmetic issues like "hole in crotch" and "excessive pilling where your holster rides".  I didn't even know pants used pills, but regardless, this resulted in the time that every man dreads.  A true horror.  A trip....to...THE MALL!!!

For those who are strong of heart and have continued to read this harrowing saga, you may want to set down any hot beverages and make sure your chair isn't inclined to tip over backwards, for it gets worse.  My wife has some sort of card for Starbucks that gets points when she buys things and places OTHER than Starbucks.  Like the laundry fairy, I suspect magic.  It also gives her a credit for a free drink the month of her birthday.  She had her card.  We were at the mall.  There is a Starbucks in the mall.  It was inevitable.  Like being on a space shuttle leaking air, all I could do is wait for it.  "While we're here, let's go to Starbucks."  I considered faking a seizure, but I wanted to hold that card to play if she veered toward a shoe store, so like the brave little soldier I am, I took my Chai Latte like a man.

We walk into Starbucks and there's a middle aged white guy with a desert tan cordura guitar case next to him chatting up some woman in a black hoody.  You will never freaking guess what he had in that case.  I watched it like it was in slow motion as he reached in and pulled out...a guitar.  I then realized that I had fully expected it to be one of those discrete rifle cases and was 51% surprised a guitar case had a guitar in it.  I think the color and material did it for me.  Well, that and too much time on INGO plus a healthy paranoia.  He started to play and softly sing...and he was good.  Probably not "packing up and heading to Nashville to sign my new contract" good, but definitely "random middle aged white guy in a coffee house singing to a chick in a black hoody" good.  My wife and I enjoyed it for a bit until Mrs. Killjoy Buzzkillington of the Spoilsport clan told him it was against the rules and he'd have to stop.  He did, and then we could hear someone WITH a record contract caterwauling over the speakers again, and it was exactly 73.1% less enjoyable than listening to Random Guitar Guy who Had a Real Guitar in His Desert Tan Guitar Case After All.

Oh, and I got two more pairs of dress pants.  Don't expect a sequel until well into 2016.