Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #524

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Awkwardly-Clingy ticket-taker at the Toulouse-Lautrec Metro Station in Paris: “Madamoiselle, I don’t know why you felt compelled to leap over the turnstile whilst bellowing something in Swedish, but I can’t have you running amok in the bowels of this city without acknowledging fair trade agreements. It’s anarchy!”

PETA-defying Greta: “Let go of me, you Soviet gym teacher. I simply must be on the next train to Montmartre or Salvador Dali will produce a sculpture of my personal landing pad that will be unflattering in an asexual but shockingly sexist way.”

Ticket-Taker: “I have no idea what you just said, so it must be above my pay grade, but I cannot let you board the Metro unless you have purchased a ticket. By the way, we don’t call them trains, we call them metro cars.”

Greta: “It’s idiotic statements like that which explain why your country surrenders within two seconds of a war being started.”

Ticket-Taker: “I must take offense!”

Greta: “And I must take the train to Montmartre.”

Ticket-Taker: “I refuse to allow your aggressive behavior to dominate my lifestyle.”

Greta: “What? Do you really think it’s necessary to turn this situation into a proclamation about the latent lesbianism you haven’t discussed with your clueless husband?”

Ticket-Taker: “How in the world did you get there from here?”

Greta: “Let’s just say that I’ve visited every station on this line, multiple times, and if I’ve learned nothing else I’ve surmised that most people are in denial about what they truly want. Since I don’t have a lot of free time, I like to get to the point as soon as possible, especially when dealing with people that I don’t really care about. Let your love fly, like a bird on a wing.”

Ticket-Taker: “Oh, glory be. I find myself in the midst of a powerful personal revelation as you speak such wise and wonderful words.”

Greta: “No, I speak of a Bellamy Brothers song that won’t be released for another fifty years. Now, unhand me, Nikita, so I can rush forth and stop Salvador from denigrating my hoo-hoo in Italian marble.”

 

Originally published in “Crusty Pie” on 05/16/17. No changes made. But speaking of changes, I have finally surmounted the wretched virus that tormented me so for the last several days. I’m a new man! Not new enough to bother with making an original post, but stay tuned!

 

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35 replies »

  4. I know I’m always going to find myself reading sentences here which could never be found anywhere else (unless you acquire your own personal plagiarist somewhere along the line). In this case, ‘I simply must be on the next train to Montmartre or Salvador Dali will produce a sculpture of my personal landing pad that will be unflattering in an asexual but shockingly sexist way.’ And yes, the hoo-hoo one, too.

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    • And that’s why I created Bonnywood Manor, where we can all share extraordinary lines that perhaps should not be shared anywhere else. (It’s a safe place where we can all relax.) As for Salvador Dali, I would have been more than happy if he had wished to sculpt any part of me… 😉

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  12. You know, it was only last week that song finally left my head, and then you go and do this. Honestly Brian. I thought we were friends.

    Even with a vacant stare, Greta is lovely. Though one must wonder if she has a Bellamy Brothers song stuck in her head. 😉

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  15. Could be worse, could be denigrated in ginger marmalade. That was during Picasso’s Burnt Toast period – he was known to be difficult in the morning, making it very similar to the rest of the day, except for the angle of the light.

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