Slow queue this, isn’t it?…

But first…
Dulltown, UK: Today’s wrinkled old black and white snapshot is the one of me and James Dean trying on leather jackets outside a used clothing store near the La Brea Tar Pits, Los Angeles in 1954.

‘Excuse me, do you know any movie producers?’
‘Er, no… Do you?’
‘Unfortunately not.’
‘Hm, you see, I’ve had a really great idea for a film.’
‘Oh yes? By the way, do you come in this post office very often?’
‘Not really, do you?’
‘No… It’s very slow isn’t it?’
‘Would you like to hear my plot scenario while we wait?’
‘Your what?…’
‘That’s what they say… in the movie business.’
‘Is it? Do you happen to know how much postage a ‘large letter’ requires, first class post?’
‘Well I…’
‘I could just put the couple of stamps I happen to have in my wallet on it, and hope for the best.’
‘Yes, you could… you see, my story revolves around a maverick, strong-willed cop with insubordination issues…’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Yes, he’s a bit of a loose cannon in the department – he’s also good-looking in a time-worn craggy sort of way.’
‘The department? What’s that?’
‘The police department, they have their police in departments you know.’
‘Who do?’
‘The Americans of course.’
‘The Americans?’
‘Yes, it’s no good setting it in England is it? Who’d go to see that? You have think of the marketing!…’
‘You know, I wouldn’t mind visiting the toilet fairly soon, is there one near by? You could keep my place in the queue perhaps?’
‘You see, even though he’s a sharp-dressed good-looking guy, he doesn’t have a girlfriend, but…’
‘Let me guess, he has an ex-wife who he has regular arguments with, oh, and a delicate but stroppy daughter, who is a bit wayward, wears too much makeup, and doesn’t get on with her dad at all?’
‘Well! How could you have possibly guessed that? Are you sure you’re not in the movie business, you certainly seem to have your finger on the pulse!’
‘What about this toilet thing?’
‘Well, the nearest one is over there in the shopping centre, anyway, he’s on the trail of a serial killer who preys on…’
‘Ladies of the night?’
‘Why yes!… So, our tough uncompromising cop soon finds that…’
‘The killer is stalking his wife, who is very attractive, but with tired-looking eyes, or perhaps he’s also after the flighty ne’er-do-well daughter?’
‘Gosh! You can read my mind!’
‘I might just put it in the post box with no stamps on it at all, and let my gran pay the postage at the other end, she’s got plenty of money…’
‘Do you know what Joe Strang would do in this situation?’
‘Who the hell is Joe Strang?’
‘He’s my tough uncompromising cop.’
‘Has he got a gun?’
‘Of course he has!’
‘Let me guess, a three-fifty-seven magnum?’
‘No smart arse! It’s a different one!’
‘What is it?’
‘Oh, it’s an, ivory-handled, Colt, semi-automatic, something or other – as yet undecided…’
‘So, in this slow-queue post-office situation, I suppose your Joe Strang would whip out his as yet undecided gun and wave it around a bit, shoot a couple of rounds into the ceiling, to clear this log jam?’
‘No! He wouldn’t, Mr smarty-pants!’
‘Well, what would steely-eyed Joe do?’
‘How did you know Joe has steely eyes? You must be psychic… What Joe would do, is take your ‘large letter’ over to those scales over there, weight it, and find out the value of stamps required, come back, and borrow the stamps from me.’
‘You have stamps?’
‘I have plenty in my breast pocket – I always carry a few for emergencies.’
‘Ah, right… Yes… You know, I quite like the sound of your gritty anti-hero.’
‘Thank you… Shall I tell you about Joe’s trusty stocky sidekick Larry, who is always chirpy, and wears loud Hawaiian shirts…?’
‘Who gets shot early on, so that Joe becomes even more of an angry embittered loner?’
‘Yes that’s right. And there’s Joe’s department boss at the Precinct, he’s a loud mouthed hard-bitten sort of fellow, always chews on unlit cigars, but really has a heart of gold.’
‘Of course, now look, about these stamps…’
‘I’ll bet you can’t guess how the story ends…’
‘Joe, his lovely wife, and daughter, all die in a hail of bullets?’
‘No, no! What do you think this is – bloody Shakespeare?… Go weigh your letter!…’

About Dave Whatt

Grumpy old surrealist artist, musician, postcard maker, bluesman, theatre set designer, and debonair man-about-town. My favourite tools are the plectrum and the pencil...
This entry was posted in conversation, creation, drama, Film, humour, information, story, style, surrealism, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Slow queue this, isn’t it?…

  1. Oh I wish my queue conversations were like this! 😀

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