Cruise not-fic
In which Hayes purchases the Pimp Pink Hat of DOOM. For great meta. Also serves as an example of why Sares should not be allowed writing materials while on crack. Warning for stupidity.
It wasn’t his first thought, nor even his second one, and this was the bit that was worrying poor Dennis so.
His first thought was: there was an apparently drunk young man making his unsteady way towards the gift shop counter.
His second thought was: ah, well, it wasn’t going to be that painful, then.
And then thought three rushed in, dragging sense along behind it, and beat thoughts one and two senseless while screaming furiously that this was not supposed to be less painful, and only seemed less painful in comparison to the all the other crazy things he’d witnessed in the course of this cruise, and that if he didn’t do something soon he was going to get used to these people and sanity was going to be lost forever.
The young man dropped a hat on the counter.
It was pink. Overwhelming so. And had a band of fake diamonds.
Thought four poked thought three nervously, and pointed out that in light of this bit of information, might they all like to go get completely drunk once the shift was over?
Dennis stared. If it weren’t for the price tag attached to the thing, he’d have doubted this was something the little ship gift shop actually had in stock.
“’s not for me,” said his newest customer. “You know. Ver’ embarrassing. Yeah. ‘s a present.” His grinned widened at the last word, and he started laughing quietly at some private joke a second later.
“I’m sure they’ll be… very happy,” Dennis said awkwardly. He was faced with a bit of a dilemma here. On the one hand, he could not, he felt, in good conscience allow anyone to spend money on such a hideous monstrosity, much less permit them to then spread the pain on to anyone else. On the other hand… this was all rather too much, and he very much felt that the less he had to do with this, the better.
The young man frowned. “Oh, no. No. Not happy, right, ‘cause then there’d be no point. Waste of time, see. Whole point of the thing, you know, not supposed to make him happy. Because--” He paused to lean forward onto the counter, and delivered the next sentence with the air of someone revealing the meaning of life. “It’s pink.”
“Ahah. Yes. Very pink.”
Dennis’s sense told him that he ought to just ask the man for the money now, and have done with it, save himself a bit of pain.
Dennis said, “But what sort of a present is that, then?”
He’d always thought too much, that was the problem. He’d have saved himself a lot of trouble if he just didn’t ask so many questions. Sense curled up in a fetal position in a darkened corner of his brain.
His customer gave him a strange look. “Well. Hat. Pink, yeah? I mean. I mean, who’d want a pink hat?”
“Indeed. Who would?”
Dennis earned himself a glare for this interruption. “No one! No one would want a pink hat, yeah. Yeah, right. ‘Cause it’s stupid. And. And thing. So.” There was a short pause for that chuckle again. “So I’m giving it to Mr. Vichy.”
Dennis blinked, and wondered vaguely why he was trying to hold a conversation with an intoxicated young man who, he thought, there was a good chance might not be sane even when he was sober. “I’m … afraid I don’t quite follow.”
The other man shook his head sadly. “Crazy.”
“Wait. So, what you’re trying to tell me is, you are buying a pink hat as a present because it’s stupid and nobody would ever want a pink hat. And because of this, you are giving the pink hat in question to … Mr. Vichy.”
He beamed. “Yes!”
In Dennis’s head, sense burst into tears.
“And he’s your friend?”
“He’s a bastard.” Beat. “Except. Except not tech-ni-ca-lly. ‘less he is. Dunno. But thing.”
This was, Dennis decided, as good as things were going to get.
“… That’ll be seven dollars, sir.”
Afterwards, Dennis thumped his head against the table a few times, for good measure, and decided that he was going to use the next hour to compose a long death threat in letter form to the hat manufacturer, and then go drown himself in alcohol. With any luck, he wouldn’t wake up for a week.
Within the next half hour, there was a hideous pink hat sitting outside the door of Monsieur Juilliard Vichy’s room, with an almost completely illegible note pinned to it.
There was a smiley face drawn on the piece of paper.
By some miracle, the universe managed not to implode from the excess of stupidity.
Why, the world would never know.
END
It wasn’t his first thought, nor even his second one, and this was the bit that was worrying poor Dennis so.
His first thought was: there was an apparently drunk young man making his unsteady way towards the gift shop counter.
His second thought was: ah, well, it wasn’t going to be that painful, then.
And then thought three rushed in, dragging sense along behind it, and beat thoughts one and two senseless while screaming furiously that this was not supposed to be less painful, and only seemed less painful in comparison to the all the other crazy things he’d witnessed in the course of this cruise, and that if he didn’t do something soon he was going to get used to these people and sanity was going to be lost forever.
The young man dropped a hat on the counter.
It was pink. Overwhelming so. And had a band of fake diamonds.
Thought four poked thought three nervously, and pointed out that in light of this bit of information, might they all like to go get completely drunk once the shift was over?
Dennis stared. If it weren’t for the price tag attached to the thing, he’d have doubted this was something the little ship gift shop actually had in stock.
“’s not for me,” said his newest customer. “You know. Ver’ embarrassing. Yeah. ‘s a present.” His grinned widened at the last word, and he started laughing quietly at some private joke a second later.
“I’m sure they’ll be… very happy,” Dennis said awkwardly. He was faced with a bit of a dilemma here. On the one hand, he could not, he felt, in good conscience allow anyone to spend money on such a hideous monstrosity, much less permit them to then spread the pain on to anyone else. On the other hand… this was all rather too much, and he very much felt that the less he had to do with this, the better.
The young man frowned. “Oh, no. No. Not happy, right, ‘cause then there’d be no point. Waste of time, see. Whole point of the thing, you know, not supposed to make him happy. Because--” He paused to lean forward onto the counter, and delivered the next sentence with the air of someone revealing the meaning of life. “It’s pink.”
“Ahah. Yes. Very pink.”
Dennis’s sense told him that he ought to just ask the man for the money now, and have done with it, save himself a bit of pain.
Dennis said, “But what sort of a present is that, then?”
He’d always thought too much, that was the problem. He’d have saved himself a lot of trouble if he just didn’t ask so many questions. Sense curled up in a fetal position in a darkened corner of his brain.
His customer gave him a strange look. “Well. Hat. Pink, yeah? I mean. I mean, who’d want a pink hat?”
“Indeed. Who would?”
Dennis earned himself a glare for this interruption. “No one! No one would want a pink hat, yeah. Yeah, right. ‘Cause it’s stupid. And. And thing. So.” There was a short pause for that chuckle again. “So I’m giving it to Mr. Vichy.”
Dennis blinked, and wondered vaguely why he was trying to hold a conversation with an intoxicated young man who, he thought, there was a good chance might not be sane even when he was sober. “I’m … afraid I don’t quite follow.”
The other man shook his head sadly. “Crazy.”
“Wait. So, what you’re trying to tell me is, you are buying a pink hat as a present because it’s stupid and nobody would ever want a pink hat. And because of this, you are giving the pink hat in question to … Mr. Vichy.”
He beamed. “Yes!”
In Dennis’s head, sense burst into tears.
“And he’s your friend?”
“He’s a bastard.” Beat. “Except. Except not tech-ni-ca-lly. ‘less he is. Dunno. But thing.”
This was, Dennis decided, as good as things were going to get.
“… That’ll be seven dollars, sir.”
Afterwards, Dennis thumped his head against the table a few times, for good measure, and decided that he was going to use the next hour to compose a long death threat in letter form to the hat manufacturer, and then go drown himself in alcohol. With any luck, he wouldn’t wake up for a week.
Within the next half hour, there was a hideous pink hat sitting outside the door of Monsieur Juilliard Vichy’s room, with an almost completely illegible note pinned to it.
There was a smiley face drawn on the piece of paper.
By some miracle, the universe managed not to implode from the excess of stupidity.
Why, the world would never know.
END