Joe took a moment to collect himself, evaluated the crates of stationary spilled on the ornate oriental rug. He sighed when he noticed one of the boxes had split open and stationary littered the floor. It was going to take forever to pick this mess up.
He looked at Mrs. Woo in defeat, “I’m Joe, sorry about the mess.”
He knelt down and set to picking up the boxes and loading them back onto the cart. Two tiny feet stepped forward and he felt Mrs. Woo’s presence just inches away from his head. He felt rather uncomfortable and looked up to see her wrinkled face at level with his own from his kneeling position, she looked puzzled.
“What all this?”
“Uhm,” Joe rifled through his pockets for the packing slip. He unfolded the thin yellow parchment and cleared his throat, “Ten thousand wedding invitations.”
Her face contorted in shock and she shouted at Joe, spittle catching him on the lips, “What the hell do I want with ten thousand wedding invitations?”
“I-I-I-I d-don’t know, miss, it’s just…”
“I kidding.” She said calmly, pinching Joe’s cheek, “I getting married.” She said it proudly, planting her hands on her sides and shaking her hips, causing her breasts to jiggle.
“Oh,” relieved, he stooped to pick up a box, “congratulations then.”
“Shit, congratulations to my fiancé, he get all these.” She said, gesturing at her figure.
Joe chuckled and set back to stacking boxes. Mrs. Woo didn’t budge, just stood there scrutinizing him, studying the back of his head apparently.
“I married sixteen times you know.” She continued.
“Wow.”
He went to both knees and began picking up the scattered contents of one box, packing them back inside neatly.
“It hard for a man to keep me. I independent business woman.”
“I see that.”
“Very successful.”
“I didn’t know stationary was doing so well.”
“What? I sell antiques.”
He looked at her, then about the store, “But it’s called Mrs. Woo’s Stationary.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, don’t you sell paper?”
“Yeah, in book.”
He shook his head, confused, “I’m not understanding.”
She sighed, “You know, stationary, like train stationary.”
“Ohh, okay, I get it…”
“Don’t be stoo-pid, Joe. You want tea? We talk for a while.”
“I’d love to, uhh, Mrs. Woo, but I have to get back to work.”
He stood up, having finished loading the cart and stretched his back out.
“No, you quit. You going to be famous writer. What kind of tea? Jasmine?” She turned and started walking away.
“Whoa, what?”
“Jasmine, you like it.” She busied herself with filling a kettle with water.
Joe walked after her, “No, about the writer thing.”
She gave him a confounded look, “You writer, right? You going to be famous.” Then she winked at him, “Mrs. Woo like you, she help out, no charge.”
YOU ARE READING
The Writer's Block
HumorWhen boring Joe Smith decides he wants to be a writer his fate is dramatically altered and all sorts of crazy stuff happens. There's an asian old lady in it. She's magic. And... and... it's funny?
