I took this photo at about 3:00 this morning, when Jenny, our friends Molly and Brian, and I were sitting in a Steak ‘n Shake in Indianapolis:
That’s right, this person had a semicolon tattooed on her right arm. Not to be outdone, her left was rocking a comma.
And I thought I loved punctuation. Next to her, I’m the editor of the company newsletter who tells his readers that “Smith Inc. is proud of it’s achievements.”
Sadly, she may be the only one who would find that joke at all amusing.
But she wasn’t even the most memorable person we saw there. In fact, she didn’t break into the top three. That would be some order of dominatrix meets The Gimp from Pulp Fiction (her muzzle was particularly fetching), man wearing the chicken hat and carrying a stuffed dragon, and woman dressed in fuzzy white minotaur pants.
These are the perils of booking a hotel through Priceline; you can name your price, but you can’t declare your fear of gaming conventions.
Why we were in Indy in the first place, however, may be the scariest part of the story: We went to a Rascal Flatts concert.
Somewhere, my Def Jam’s greatest hits CD weeps.