Norton's mom called me today, she wanted to know why her son wasn't talking about his big trip. I like the old bird, so I tried to be nice ... I hung up on her.
This will be the last time I mention the "event" mainly because I don't like to dwell on the past (that and I'm still seeing red, and I don't want to kill anyone). I think I told you all of the boxes I needed for the trade show were neatly stacked along the wall of my garage. There I was, a few hours from opening, and I was standing around looking foolish.
While I was fuming about how to kill Norton without leaving any visible marks, my cell rang. It was Margaret:
"Did you know that your boxes were outside?"
I said I knew that.
She said, "You know it's raining here and has been since this morning?"
I said I didn't know that.
She said, "Those boxes are pretty wet. Were those boxes important?"
I said a really bad word that sounded a lot like truck.
This trade show was where I showed off my handiwork, made contacts, and sold stuff - usually quite a lot of stuff. Enough to pay a lot of bills and buy a lot of pizza. All I had on me was my digital camera a black and purple sharpie, and about a dozen business cards. It would have to do.
Norton was just about beside himself trying to be helpful. We spend the next three hours preparing our table, and making signs and trying to look like we belonged. To put the weekend in a nutshell it wasn't a complete disaster - just a disaster. I was able to meet up with a number of customers from year's past, which was good. I had my camera, and Norton was able to make prints of a few dozen items I would have had along ... I was able to get some spec orders.
Mostly though I spent Friday, Saturday and Sunday morning glaring at Norton. The trip back was hell for Norton. I played Alice Cooper's Billion Dollar Babies album over and over and over. Every time "No More Mister Nice Guy" came on I'd crank it making the little Fargo's speaker's clip.
At least when I got home Clarence would be finished his meds ...
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