“Hey. Hey big man. You like music?” These were the first words I heard this morning aside from the standard good bye and I love you from my sleeping wife.So how are you supposed to respond to someone asking such a question; a question asked from a distance while I stood filling my tank.
“No, I don’t like music. And while you’re asking, I don’t like ice cream, Ansel Adams, or Braveheart, either.”
Gas pump handle clicky thing in place, I walked toward him. I had to if I wanted my standard breakfast of a Nutty Bar and Diet Dew that I get every time I fill my tank before work.
“Check it out, Big Man, this stuff is hot,” said Mr. Wake-n-Bake Breath while holding one new CD and another without a case.
“What kind of music is it,” I asked.
“Country.”
“Not my gig dude, sorry.”
“What about this one, Big Man. What do you like? Heavy Metal? Soft Rock? This is a mixture,” he says while hold the disc to my face and showing me the picture on the case.
Maybe big men inherently look less intelligent; who knows. But some how my BMSS (Big Man Spidey Sense) managed to tingle. It could have been the combo description of musical genera, or maybe it was the CD case photo showing one man holding an acoustic guitar. Regardless, I was not going to open my car and listen as he suggested.
His pitch continued after I paid for my Little Debbie snacky cake and walked back to my car. “I’ll make you a deal, big man.”
“Dude, I’m an ATM man. I have no cash. And plain and simply, I’m just not a big fan of the heavy metal, soft rock amalgam. If it ain’t Deep Purple, then I don’t want it”
“Alright big man, but you’re missing out,” he said as he hopped from his paper-box perch in search of the next sale. “This stuff is hot.”
