Review Summary: Like a hobo hopelessly naïve thinking a bottle from a trash can will be accepted in a supermarket bottle return unit, so was I going into this expecting quality.
This one time I was taking out garbage and encountered a homeless man. Well, maybe he was a homeful man with a particularly miniscule sense of hygiene and style, or in a poor financial situation, or perhaps he was a bottle enthusiast, to whom it gave an utmost pleasure pushing glass bottles down those glass-bottle-pushable holes in supermarkets and the financial reward was just a nice bonus. Although his appearance and the fact that he didn’t know that if one is to take out the trash with glass bottles in it, chances are, those glass bottles are unreturnable. Nevertheless, he did approach me. He contemplated for a while, as if the address-undwelling folk can ever be shy. Then, after his ruminations of topics of whether or not to approach a man who might just throw his (as was explained above) rather vague chance at getting a returnable glass bottle to that wretched glass-bottle-pushable-holes in supermarkets, into the bin, from which it’ll be quite difficult to retrieve that treasure, he approached me.
“Be thy bottle for me, young lad?” began the smoked-through harsh baritone.
The exquisite usage of words, the magnificence of the construction of that sentence, the elegance with which he secreted those words from his mouth, the educated intonation and the wonderful choice to use the word ‘thy’, all made me believe I should respond accordingly. I need to show my admiration to his choice of approach. So I said, “Huh?”
“The grainy flagon you possess as of right now, the one in the bag I spotted from afar, and to which my attention was drawn. Could I, if thee be so kind, come into possession of that piece of glasswork?” answered the hobo.
So baffled I was, so amazed at the uniqueness of his voice and the pronunciation of the goodness of the words he had. I had to respond to that too. “Huh?” I asked.
Rather weary of either communicating with me or of being in contact with another human being for now longer than he was used to, with a sense of impatience and annoyance, he sighed, exclaiming “I would like to take that delicate bottle of yours you were just about to throw into garbage container and hope that that glass-bottle-pushable-hole in the supermarket down the street accepts it.”
The beauty of his language and the imposing intonation in his voice faded of exhaustion of talking to the unresponsive me. “Uh,” I replied and took out that glass bottle for that homeless man to take, “huh.”
“Thank you.” Were his last words before he strolled away towards the supermarket containing the glass-bottle-pushable-hole supermarkets usually tend to have. Naturally, it wasn’t a returnable bottle. In fact, it wasn’t even glass, it was just heavy. The poor fellow didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, but didn’t want to seem unseemly rude to either simply someone else or someone he deemed to be rather slow on the mind, or didn’t want to deal with me any longer, or hoped it’d just go through with the glass-bottle-pushable-hole in the supermarket. I was certain none of his attempts at pushing it through had worked. And I was correct, for I have witnessed the man exit the supermarket with the bottle still in his hands.
So the naïve fool with vocabulary didn’t get what he was looking for, most likely knowing he couldn’t, but he attempted to find it anyway. Naturally, he was given an equal amount of nothing.
Can you see the parallel?
