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...cheated on Robert Patterson.
Okay. I get it. Cheating is a bad thing. But it should be a bad thing for both parties, not just the woman.
I have yet to read a single article that criticizes the 41 year old, married director with TWO children who she cheated with.
She gets flayed alive for making a mistake but no one says anything about him.
It's so irritating.
Furthermore, why is it anyone's business if she had an affair? She's not Bella. She's an actress. People act as if she's ruined Twilight.
Get a grip folks. Stewart is entitled to a private life and she's allowed to mess it up just like any other private citizen.
My sister and I needed a new TV.
Well… perhaps “needed” is too strong a word. We didn’t need it, say, the way one needs air or food, but when the phony wood paneled, heifer with the 4 inch convex screen started to die, it seemed pretty vital. We knew our quality of life was going to take a big nose dive if we didn’t replace it fast; which is ironic since, neither my sister nor I watch much TV. None the less, if Maslow were alive today, “flat screen TV” would have figured into his Hierarchy of Needs, somewhere between sleep and sex.
So, in an effort to remain civilized, we head out to Brandsmart.
I had never been to Brandsmart before, although I had seen their ads on TV (back when it had worked.) I wasn’t prepared to deal with the electronic Mecca I was about to enter. I wasn’t even one foot in the door when I was assaulted by a monolithic 80 inch, 4 color, smart tv. I felt depressed watching those buttery yellow reef fish swim by. It reminded me of the first time I had visited Akihabara, Japan. Electric City as it was called. It was shiny and glorious and held everything in the world I wanted but nothing I could afford. Akihabara reminded me of Japan of course, which in turn brought to mind George Takai. He began to laugh at me. Asking me if I could see the yellow on my TV and then informing me over and over that I couldn’t. I decided to leave before I saw red.
My sis and I made our way to the properly sized (and priced) TV section. As we were reading sales tickets, trying to figure out the difference between plasma, LED, LCD, and a host of other confusion jargon, a Brandsmart salesman walked up to us.
“Can I help,” he asked.
He was a young man from the Middle East, all teeth and glossy hair. He seemed very eager to assist. I was already in a bad mood and I distrust salespeople; especially the overly helpful ones. I tend to think they are out to destroy me. Not in a “magnum to the forehead” way of course, but a devious and subtle “make you spend more than twice your budget” sort of way. Tricky buggers. Chatting with salespeople is like waging psychological warfare with your money as the hostage.
Or perhaps I am crazy.
Either way, I was expecting trouble.
“Absolutely,” I responded with a wide grin of my own and unleashed more questions than Scheherazade had stories. Abdul, as we shall call him, because his name escapes me at the moment, listened to everything I said and patiently answered every question. I had to admit. I was impressed. He knew his stuff and he seemed more than happy to keep us within our budget. He didn’t push for the more expensive TVs or try to sell us junk we didn’t need. I found myself enjoying our conversation and learning lots of information too.
After ten minutes I started to notice a really annoying pattern with his speech. He would always begin comparisons with the classic, “good news, bad news” set-up. He must have said the phrase at least four times in ten minutes. It doesn’t sound like a lot, but trust me, it is.
“Well there’s good news and bad news” he would begin, “the good news is this TV has a sharper image the bad news is it has a smaller screen.”
After a while it went from annoying to distracting. I was very difficult trying to concentrate on what he was saying when he was saying it wrong. You see, Abdul always opened with the good news.
I hate that.
It’s not right or wrong per say but I like to be given a choice. If not, I figured any news is always better after bad news.
After an hour of examining every single set within our budget (the sis is very thorough) we settled on one we liked. We decided to catch some dinner at a nearby izakaya and think about our decision. By the end of dinner we had decided we wanted the TV right away. Rather, I had decided. My sister was okay with thinking it over some more, but I wanted to take the sucker home. I have a healthy list of virtues but patience is not one of them.
We returned to Brandsmart and found our sales guy. As we head back to the TV section an elderly couple came out of nowhere and flanked us. They began to ask our guy questions. He answered politely and turned away but the couple was relentless. When one question was answered, they tossed out another. They approached question asking as if it were an Olympic sport and they had been training for the gold. I almost expected them to yell, “pull” before hurling inquiries like clay ducks. Our salesman looked apologetic and excused himself,
“I’ll be right back,” he said. Of course, he wasn’t. As we waited we started looking at other TVs.
Suddenly all could see were all the TVs that we weren’t buying. This one was a little bigger, this one had no glare, this one had a 120ghz refresh rate. The choices were endless. By the time our salesman escaped the clutches of the chatty geriatrics we had picked out a slew of other sets we liked.
It was another half hour before we finally settled on another completely different set; a remarkable feat considering Grandma Chatty was giving me the stink eye the whole time. As Abdul went to get our TV for us, Mrs. Chatty grabbed her husband’s arm and dragged him over to the TV we had just purchased. She suddenly seemed very keen on it. She walked past it several times, fixated on the screen in way that instantly brought to mind a shark making passes around a struggling tuna. I was tempted to tell her that her Bermuda shorts and rhinestone glasses made her look like a refugee escaped from some sartorial hell, but I thought better of it. It’s a rather difficult insult to work into a conversation.
Abdul returned some ten minutes later with an even more apologetic look on his face.
“Well,” he began.
Here it comes, I thought.
“I have good news and bad news…”
Abdul went on to say he could get that TV by Wednesday because he didn’t have in stock at the moment. Why he phrased it that way instead of the reverse I will never know. It’s a small thing, but the small things tend to count for a lot in daily life.
At any rate, it was Monday, so Wednesday seemed pretty doable. The sis and I went home.
Well, Wednesday came and went and I didn’t get a call from Brandsmart. Naturally I was expecting one because how else would I know when the TV had arrived? By Thursday it had been four days since we had last watched Tiger and Bunny and the sis and I were going through anime withdrawal. I dug through my jean pockets and fished out the number Abdul had given me. I dialed. After a minute of the most irritating hip-hop music I have ever heard in my life (noted because the voice on the other end told me to “enjoy the custom tunes”) Abdul picked up. I told him I hadn’t gotten a call yet. He apologized profusely and asked me to hold.
And held; all the while slowly being driven mad by the ribcage shaking cadences of mind numbing hip-hop. Finally, after 15 minutes of “custom tunes” hell Abdul returned.
“Listen,” he said in that way people do when something is wrong, “Something’s up. I’m going to have to call you back.” He apologized and said he would be right back.
So I waited.
Another twenty minutes later my phone rang. Before I had even said “hello,” Abdul started talking.
“I have good news and bad news,” he said. “The good news is…”
I cut him off.
“What’s the bad news,” I asked.
“What’s the bad news? Err… ehhh…”
Abdul was hesitating. Either the news was really bad or he was physical incapable of giving anything but good news first.
“We sold your TV,” he blurted, running the words together.
“But I never got a call,” I said sweetly. “No one told me it was in.”
I get very calm when I am pissed.
“Yeah, I know,” Abdul said. “It arrived on my day off and no one marked for you so… Chuck sold it.”
Chuck!? Who in the nine fiery hells was Chuck!? And who got my TV? Oh-MY-God!! I’ll bet it was that yappy old couple!! I was going back to Brandsmart right now and EAT CHUCK’S FACE!
“I paid for that TV,” I continued inserting a little giggle. “The payment went through. I can’t cancel it.”
“I know. But…!” Abdul paused for dramatic effect. “I spoke to the manager and explained to him that it wasn’t my fault…”
Way to CYA dumbass…
“…and it certainly wasn’t your fault...”
No shit Sherlock.
“…so he agreed to give you this year’s model for the same price as the other one.”
You see how it works Abdul? “We’re giving you a new TV cus we sold your other one,” just doesn’t have the same effect.
So in the end the sis and I got a brand new(er) TV and Abdul learned how to correctly make use of the phrase, “good news / bad news.”
It was win/win.
The translation according to ANN:
"Dear Luffy-sama. Don't look back, don't be limited by common sense, don't stop at any barriers, and move towards a future with eyes set on our dreams — that's what you taught us. A future that only we can make for ourselves... Nihon Seimei."