Guest Post: Life's Small Treasures

Brought to you by T James:

This is a true story.

On Friday night I met mike and a girl he liked named Katie (aka Katie from Marshall Feilds) at O'Donovan's for beers. At one point in conversation, KMF mentioned something about pirates, and I said that I have a friend who actually is a pirate; her name is Patra the pirate and she works at the Blue Moon Cafe. KMF asked me if Patra has a treasure chest. Of course, she has several, I replied, but they're buried throughout the small, uninhabited islands of the Caribbean. Doy. Well, said KMF, some friends of mine gave me a treasure chest and I keep my jewelry in it.

Knowing how much Patra---the second coolest smooth jazz singer ever (that's right, I'm talking about Billy Ocean)---would love that treasure chest, I offered KMF $20 for it. She turned me down. I said $50. KMF said no. I said $100. No. $300. No. $500! No! Then I said, KMF, I will give you ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS for that treasure chest.

mike shouted, he's crazy, he'll do it! but KMF said, I won't sell it for anything!

Right away I devised a plan for mike to have sex with KMF and then steal the treasure chest while she slept, but I was pretty sure mike didn't have enough of a criminal mentality to appreciate the diabolical nature of my plan, and thus the treasure chest eluded my possession.

On Sunday, when I went to the Blue Moon, I told Patra the story of how I almost got her a treasure chest. She was very glad that I didn't pay ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS for it, but I told her that KMF didn't know what she was up against and that I would get that chest if it was the last goddamn thing I ever did. I swear on the graves of Billy Ocean's children that I will get that damn treasure chest, Patra, I said.

Fast forward to last night.

I wanted to buy a new black dress shirt to match the sweet skull belt that I bought last weekend, so I stopped into Savers on Lake Street. If you've ever been to Savers, you know that as soon as you walk in the door, the donation bins sit immediately on the left.

When I walked in, in one of the bins, I swear to God, was a treasure chest. I almost shat a brick of gold when I saw it. It was perfect: kind of small, wooden, a round top, rusty latches. I bought the chest ($2), two dress shirts ($6), and a Yoda-shaped drink-topper ($1) for mike that I'm now giving to the first homeless man I can find to punish mike for not going to the Electric 6 show tonight, mike you jerk.

I first went to Target and got some wrapping paper and some note cards, and then over to the Blue Moon, thinking that before I did my homework I was going to wrap the chest, put one notecard on the outside of the wrapping that said "Patra~ I didn't want to kill her..." and one inside the chest that said "... but she left me no choice", and then leave it there for her to open tomorrow. (Had I shat a brick of gold, I would have turned it into dubloons and put into the chest, too.)

What clever and excellent plan, I thought, a clever and excellent plan, indeed. Patra will go into work, see the gift, read the first card, tear open the wrapping to reveal the chest, see the chest, think that something's amiss, open the chest to reveal the second card, and be left wondering how I procured the chest from KMF. HER MIND WILL REEL WITH TERRIBLE UNCERTAINTY! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Yes, excellent indeed.

But Patra picked up someone else's shift and was working. Thinking on the fly, I wrapped my jacket around the chest, walked in and sat down and said, you can't tell anyone about this... and revealed the chest.

Upon seeing the chest, Patra had several violent heart attacks all at the same time, at least three or four or five. I was also pleased; seeing Patra's reaction was like seeing the warm smile of a homeless man drinking through his new Yoda-shaped drink-topper: priceless.

I tried to explain to Patra the story of how I got the chest at Savers, but she refused to believe any story that didn't involve me forming a hot air ballon gang to make a heist from KMF's apartment, which I might still do.

Making lesbians have heart attacks and homeless men smile---it's what I do. Just like Billy says:

'said open the door(Get in the back)Tread on the floor(Get on the track)Yeah (Yeah) Yeah (Yeah)Yeah (Yeah) Yeah (Yeah)Let's goOoooh, woooow, yeahI'll be the sunShining on youHey CinderellaStep in your shoeI'll be your non'stop loverGet it while you canYour non-stop miracleI'm your manGet outta my... Get outta my...WooooooooooooohGet outta my dreamsGet outta my dreamsGet in to my car

the end.