World Domination - One Street Corner at a Time

So, by now, you've probably heard of my plot to take over the world. I was thinking about just a modest few lines of longitude, but, then I thought, "Why take only a few slices when you can have the whole orange?" I didn't need any more convincing.

The problem with conquering the world is finding a starting point. It's like ordering a large pepperoni at the pizzeria. When it is delivered on one of those wobbly, dented pie pans, you spin it around until you find a slice worthy of your appetite. Then, you tuck in. The same thing with conquering the world, except you don't have the pain of hot cheese slapping against your chin,

So, I figured I'd start at the local Eckard's.

I started by taking the back entrance to the drugstore, but ended up in the Arby's parking lot. This was going to have to be a ground assault. The parking slots were all at diagonals - facing AWAY from my car. So, I had to do that awkward, hand-over-hand drive-reverse-drive-reverse-drive-reverse-drive maneuver. I am sure our alien masters watching from above, upon seeing me, shrugged their shoulders and said "This is a planet of idiots." Great, I have single-handedly turned Earth into the Baltic Avenue of the solar system.

After finally parking my car and stealthily avoiding the glare of the Arby's short-sleeved manager, I stormed the automatic doors of the Eckard's. Not much of a defense. I figured some cool-handed espionage would allow me to avoid suspicion. Only after I had taken over the strip mall and a few Subways would I have the bombast to order a press conference and shake a threatening fist in the direction of the department stores. Know what? This conquering the world thing is going to be hard work. I'd better get in shape.

Anyway, there I was by the Miss Clairol, preparing to storm the photo lab. Suddenly, I was spotted. A jolly manager and pimply-faced assistant manager were eyeballing me from that cube-shaped crow's nest. I disappeared around the corner, pretending to play with the plastic M&M's dispenser shaped like a foot. I could feel the hot breath of the pharmacist only two, three...maybe 50 feet away. I quickly grabbed a bottle of Fleet and a box of Anusol. To disguise my ruse, I engaged the pretty young girl in my aisle in conversation about the products I was holding and asked if she would recommend them. She struck a vaguely familiar martial-arts pose and dropped a lot of F-bombs. These people just won't go quietly.

I decided to just go for the gusto and shanghai the front register. The girls behind the counter, in their fascist powder-blue smocks, smacked their gum like Chernobyl Geiger counters and gossiped back and forth about guys half my age and twice my level of cool. I reached for the rack of bargain CDs, preparing to fashion some sort of Frisbee-like weapon out of The Best of Johnny Mathis and Freedom Rock, but, the damned CD case caught in the shelving and everything spilled to the floor in a symphony of failure. I decided to ask for a pack of cigarettes to get them to turn their backs to me and grab it from the shelf behind them, but, clever people that they were, they asked, "What is the year of your birth?"

They were on to me.

Apparently, in an effort to curb underage sales of tobacco products, they are asking even obviously older people like myself the year of their birth. And they're strict, too. In the line next to me, there was a bearded gentleman waving his arms frantically shouting, "But,I'm freakin' Methusela! I don't HAVE my ID on me! Ever hear of me? Old guy? Bible? Likes to hang around for a thousand years or so?"

I figured this was the time to put my world domination on hold and skidaddle out the door. Think I'll get me a slice of pizza.