Lucy, actually a duck rather than a goose (but that doesn’t rhyme), was standing just outside a snack shack door in Richmond Marina’s district yesterday. I was exiting said snack shack without my box of Pringles because the shack doesn’t believe in selling faux chips. The shack believes in charging 50¢ for any credit card charges under $20. Lucy sidled up to me while I was stuffing my money back in my wallet. She eyeballed the money. Our conversation was short.
Lucy: You. You there.
Lucy: Buy me some cigarettes.
Lucy: Do it.
Me: God, no.
Lucy: Don’t take the name of the Lord in vain.
Lucy: You heard me.
Me: Stop it. You’re a duck.
Lucy: More name calling.
Me: Not really.
Lucy: Willard! (And with that a male mallard waddled out of the bushes and stopped just short of my sneakers.
Willard: Do what she says.
Me: NO. I’m not buying cigarettes for ducks. I’m not buying cigarettes at all. Period. For anyone.
And I ran to the car. I stared at them through the windshield. Willard waddled back into a nearby bush, and Lucy stationed herself again at the door of the snack shack waiting for her next victim to con. In a few minutes, my friend joined me in the car.
Friend: See those ducks by the door?
Me: Yeah. They hit me up for cigarettes.
Friend: They wanted a bottle of that cheap Merlot from me. The kind in tiny bottles like cough medicine.
Me: Drink and fly. Birds these days.
Friend: Underaged I suppose too
We tried to forget about the scene, but the facts are a couple of thrill seeking ducks tried to toss us. And the scene of the crime is right across from the police station. We should have called the cops, but the ducks have staked this place out, and what would they do to us next time we needed chips, faux or otherwise.
Lucy: Take that, and that. How’d your toe like being on the receiving end that, my friend?