Point: Amazon.com

I am relaxing at the café in Barnes and Noble in Raleigh. I am enjoying my wholegrain bagel with cream cheese and trying to read the first few pages of the book I am buying, but distractions keep pulling my eyes up and away from the book. My attention is divided between trying to discern what language an elderly Indian women is teaching a college-age girl sitting to my left and a couple of loud, older Russian gents drinking coffee and playing chess sitting to my right (I can’t help but sneak frequent glances their way to see what the board looks like).

But the most distracting, is a younger guy - baggy jeans, black ball cap pulled low, wearing black sunglasses (inside, at 6:30 PM). This guy is sitting in front of me and he is flipping through a stack of women’s magazines. I occasionally look over his shoulder to see why this man is looking at all these girly fashion magazines and the longer I sit, the more I come to realize that he is not really interested in the articles but is taking his sweet time studying any photo of a hot, scantily clad chick. I am annoyed because he has a whole stack of these magazines on the table in front of him and the longer he sits and stares at the pictures, the more I expect that he will start to touch himself at any moment.

As I glance over, still trying to figure out why this tool doesn’t go somewhere other than a book store to get his rocks off, he reaches into his backpack in the seat next to him and pulls out a dark sweatshirt. Now, it was 103 degrees today in NC and this guy is already wearing black boots, jeans, and a long sleeve, button-up shirt. As he fiddles with the sweatshirt, I expect him to put it over his lap to hide whatever perverted thing he’s got going on there, but as I sneer at him, my scorn turns to confusion because he actually pulls the sweatshirt over his head. I sit and stare as he puts the sweatshirt on, trying to understand how this man could be cold; but then he reaches into his pack again and pulls out a square of black fabric. He folds the bandanna in half into a triangle, puts it up to his face and ties it around his head like a mask, covering his nose and mouth. So to clarify, this man is now in a black sweatshirt, black hat, and black sunglasses with a black bandanna tied over his face. Uh…umm… The next few seconds my mind searches for a reasonable explanation - maybe he is leaving the store and he is has a skin condition and can’t be in the sun, maybe he is highly sensitive to any dust in the air, maybe… no, no, no. This guy is just freaking scary. But in the few moments it takes for me to take in the situation and figure out what I should do (run, shout, duck) the guy picks up the magazine he was looking through and continues to flip pages. So I just sit and stare at this crazy fool while he drools over Jennifer Love Hewitt in a Hanes advertisement.

I ponder my situation - he appears to be alone; we are in a book store and not a bank; I don’t really have anything valuable on me; surely, if he were going to rob the place, he wouldn’t sit there this long, just waiting for someone to notice his bizarre appearance, right? And since I do not appear to be in any eminent danger, I continue to sit and watch because I know something is going to happen and the investigative reporter (that I never knew I had inside of me) is urging me to stay so I can file a full report of this incident to you, my inquisitive readers. Then I realize how stupid that is and so I get up to leave. I consider not buying the stack of books I am lugging and just bolting out the door, but this guy was creeping me out before he started dressing like a ghetto version of Al Capone and if something were to happen to any of the other shoppers after I just left without saying anything…

So I decide to walk right up to the guy and ask him to please state the nature of his business.

Only kidding - I head to the check out line and wait anxiously for my turn, expecting to hear some commotion coming from the café behind me at any minute. I get to the front and as the women scans my items, I casually ask if she had noticed the guy with the bandanna covering his face chilling in the back at one of the tables. She laughs a little and says a couple of the older guys that play chess there are sometimes odd, but I explain that this masked man is most assuredly not one of the innocents playing chess. She asks a few more questions (“He actually has a bandanna tired over his face?”) that I answer in a hushed whisper, trying to keep the entire line behind me from overhearing and starting a riot. She then politely informs me that I saved $3.10 with my membership card and that, as soon as she is done checking people out, she will be calling a manager to have a look at the guy. Unimpressed by her reaction, I reply, “Hope that works out okay for you. It is time for me to leave. Have a good night.”

As I walk out, I hold the door open for a heavy couple on their way into the store. I hear the women commenting on the crowded parking lot and she says, “this must be the place to be tonight.” I briefly consider warning them that, in fact, it might not be the place to be tonight, but I pass silently by them and don’t say anything - mostly because they didn’t bother to thank me for holding open the door. I toss by bag of books into my car, hop in, and literally drive off into the sunset.

(Yes, this story is a bit anti-climatic. For those disappointed by the true course of events, here is livelier ending: I ask the man to state the nature of his business but instead of replying he pulls out a gun! I use my Ju Jitsu skills to disarm him and then the Vulcan nerve pinch to sedate him! I searched his bag to see what other trouble he might be up to and inside I find a map to the missing body of Jimmy Hoffa! I am then awarded the Key to the City by the mayor of Raleigh and given free books for life from Barnes and Noble!)

Quote of the Day - Larry Stone, The Seattle Times: "Bonds won. He outsmarted technology, outlasted the critics, and outhomered the Hammer. Hail to the fraudulent king."

- lada doesn't miss the water until her well runs dry