Picasso and Snickers - Part 1 - Valentine's Day

“Can I help you, sir?” said the girl.

“Yes,” said Rupert. “I’m looking for the Valentine’s Day cards.”

“You’re looking for a Valentine’s Day card now?” said the girl. ”It‘s eight o‘clock at night.”

“Oh?” said Rupert. “You don’t sell cards after eight?”

“No,” she said. “We sell cards all right. It’s just so last minute. Valentine’s Day’s over in a few hours. Besides, all the good ones are taken. I’ve been through them all. The best one we have at the moment is the card with the cartoon drawing of a couple working out at the gym, and the guy’s saying to the woman, ‘Will you be my sweatheart!' How lame is that? If my boyfriend ever bought me a last-minute card like that, I’d kill him.”

“Well,” said Rupert, “I’m not your boyfriend. Just show me where the cards are.”

Ew, thought the girl. Damn straight you’re not my boyfriend. You got turkey jowls just like my grandmother.

“Just lead the way,” said Rupert. “I’m sure I’ll find something.”

“Sure, sir," said the girl. “Follow me. But don’t say I didn’t warn you."

Rupert thought for a moment about the card the girl had mentioned.

A couple at a gym, huh? I can’t remember the last time Brenda and I broke a sweat over anything. Sex included.

Then he took notice of the young girl as he followed her down the aisle and he suddenly felt a pang of sadness.

He remembered when Brenda had a wiggle like that. Now it’s more like a waddle. Then he hitched up his trousers, which were slipping, and realized he had popped a button. Again. He tried to button up his sport jacket, to cover his embarrassment, but to no avail.

Rupert then found himself at the Hallmark display case and started fingering the cards.

“Doesn’t anyone ever put things back where they belong?” he said. “Half the envelopes are missing. And these cards are all topsy-turvy.”

How about putting you belly back where it belongs? thought the girl. Like inside your pants. I’ll bet he can’t even see his penis. That‘s so gross.

“We try our best, sir,” said the girl. “But on a day like today it’s almost impossible. Too many last minute grabbers. They swarm in here during lunch break and then they swarm in here on their coffee break. Then we get the crowd that comes in after work. It doesn’t give us a lot of time to clean up.

When did the world go so wrong? thought Rupert. Or was it always this way? Back in my time I’d have made certain everything was back in order. No excuses. We had managers back then. Not like today. Today we have baby-sitters. Yes, siree. Coddle the employee. God forbid if you weren’t loved by every snot-nosed kid who came in looking for a job.

“Would it be too much trouble,” said Rupert, “if I asked you to help me? I’m kind of in a rush. I have a long drive and it’s starting to snow.”

“Sure,” said the girl. “Though I don’t know how much good it will do. I told you all the good one’s were taken.”

What do I look like? thought the girl. His personal assistant? I don’t need this shit right now. I got my own problems. At least he’s got someone to give a card to. And, I swear, if that shithead Brian shows up here again with Gloria, I’ll fucking kill him. The cheating bastard.

“Here’s one, sir,” said the girl.

She handed the card to Rupert. Who read it and laughed. Though, to the girl, it sounded more like he was regurgitating some unwanted food.
On the front of the card was a Picasso-like abstract of a man playing half a guitar. In the center of the man‘s chest was a heart. When he opened the card it read,

Forgive me if I seem a little abstracted lately.
But my heart's in the right place.
Will you be my Valentine?

“I thought you said all the good ones were taken,” said Rupert.

“I didn’t get that one,” said the girl. “Where’s the joke?”

“Well, uh. . . Debbie,” said Rupert, reading the name off her name plate. “You see, the man in the painting is supposed to be a Picasso abstract. Get it?”

“That’s the part I didn’t get,” said Debbie. “What’s an abstract?”

“It’s not important,” said Rupert. “And now it’s getting late. I’ll just take both cards and make up my mind later.”

Rupert paid for his merchandise, adding a super-sized Snickers bar at the last minute.

“Good night, young lady,” said Rupert. “Thanks for your help. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” said Debbie. “And thanks for shopping at Johnson’s.”

My God, thought the girl. That candy bar might put him over the top. He’s lucky he don’t explode on the car ride home.

At the exit, Rupert held the door open for a young man who was frantically signaling to someone.

“If you want that box of candy,” said the young man. “You better hurry your sweet ass, Gloria. The store closes in fifteen minutes.”

Gloria ran into the young man’s arms and nuzzled his ear.

“Sorry, Brian,” said Gloria. “I was texting Debbie. I like screwing with her head.”

“Thanks, old timer,” said Brian. “C’mon, Gloria.”

Old timer? thought Rupert. Why, I ought to kick his ass. Disrespectful snot. But it is starting to snow. I better get home.

Rupert walked to his car, slid behind the wheel, and groaned. Even with the seat pushed all the way back, his belly still managed to touch the steering wheel.

The couple at the gym card it is, thought Rupert.

Then he tossed the Snicker’s bar and Picasso card in the glove compartment.

For emergencies, thought Rupert.