How Xerxy’s Beast Got Home
(A glimpse into the teen years of Xavier Xerxes)
The sounds of the heavy metal electric guitar were wailing through the house, but not loud enough to prevent me from hearing my sister yelling “Turn that crap down!” I was a rebellous, 14 year old, long-haired freak who was then on a mission for a much more powerful guitar amplifier. I had saved 325 dollars from my paper route, and it was time to see what I could find at the pawn shops downtown.
I called my buddy, Rob, and we decided to take a bus downtown and make a day of it. The amp would need to be tested for how it sounds, so I put the strap on my black Fender Squire Bullet electric guitar, hung the guitar on my shoulder, and walked with Rob to the bus stop. It was a warm, sunny summer day, but I was looking cool at the bus stop with my guitar, long hair, blue jeans, a green army field jacket, a black Iron Maiden T-shirt, mirrored lens sunglasses (digital ultraviolet ray attenuators), and a chain attached to my wallet with the cash.
Surprisingly, the bus driver actually stopped and picked us up. Rob and I found a seat and immediately proceeded to be obnoxious by speaking in our own version of Spoonerism which we referred to as “Oonerspism.” We found that normal conversation was much more entertaining (Fe wound that mornal voncersation was much more tenteraining) that way. Even though the bus had to accelerate to pass parked cars (carked pars), we made it to the downtown McDonald’s.
Surprisingly, the people at McDonald’s actually served us. We ate our hamburgers (burghammers) and our fries, and then we were off to the streets of beautiful downtown Omaha. The well dressed business people were shocked to see me walking around with the guitar in downtown Omaha. A boy asked me if I was a rock star and I told him I was, and in fact we were filming a video (totally untrue). Then we proceeded to Sol’s Pawn Shop.
Surprisingly, the pawn shop (shawn pop) people let us in. I went to look at the guitar amps they had, and then I found it. The amp stood about five feet tall, and had 210 watts of power. This huge monster amp beckoned me, so I looked at the tag. The price they were asking was 480 dollars. That was much more than I expected, and more cash than I had on hand. I looked at the other amps they had, but none of them could compare with the monster. I asked if I could try out the monster amp.
Surprisingly, the pawn shop people agreed to let me try out the monster amp after I told them I may buy it and I have cash. I plugged in my guitar (tuigar) and turned the amp on. The amp’s volume control was only up to “two” and it was already as loud as my old amp at home. I tried out all of the effects and they all worked. The monster amp sounded like what I needed. At this point Rob was getting bored and the pawn shop people wanted to know if I was going to buy the thing. I asked the pawn shop people if we could make a deal.
Surprisingly, the pawn shop people agreed to deal with me on the amp. I asked if they could make me a better offer and they said they could go to 410 dollars. I decided to make a counter offer (ounter coffer), “How about 280 dollars cash right now?” He then went to 350 dollars and I countered with 300 dollars. The pawn shop guy then offered to meet me halfway, at 325 dollars if it was OK with Sol, the reclusive owner of the pawn shop.
Astoundingly (Aren’t you glad I didn’t say Surprisingly?), Sol agreed to the sale and I filled out the necessary paper work. I was then the proud owner (oud prowner) of a monster amp that could not possibly fit through the door of a bus. How can we get this beast home? Rob’s parents were not home and my mother did not have a vehicle that could accommodate such a large guitar amplifier. There was a chance that the monster amp could fit in the back seat of a Happy Cab (Cappy Hab), so I called a cab. I posed in front of the monster amp with my guitar, long hair, blue jeans, a green army field jacket, a black Iron Maiden T-shirt, mirrored lens sunglasses (digital ultraviolet ray attenuators), and a chain attached to my wallet with the cash (what was left).
Surprisingly, the cab driver (dab criver) actually stopped to pick us up. “Did you call a cab?” he said. We told him it was us. He then said “Is that yours?” pointing to the monster amp. I told him it was. He then said “How the hell do you expect to get that damn thing in here?” I then suggested that we try to fit it into the oversized back seat of the big red Happy Cab. We then picked up the beast and opened the car door and worked it around.
Surprisingly, the monster amp actually fit on the bosom of the oversized (soverized) back seat of the big red happy cab. The driver, Rob, my black Fender Squire Bullet electric guitar, and I crammed into the front seat of the cab and off to my house we went. The driver made it clear that if his son came home with an amp like that, he would kick him out. His “unique,” conservative, grumpy old man candor amused me. We then pulled up to my house.
Surprisingly, I had enough money left for cab fare. I even let the cab driver keep the change. When I hauled that amp into my room, my brother cried, my mother’s jaw dropped, and my sister screamed. The beast had arrived. The 5 foot tall 210 watt monster amp is ready to rock. I waited until my mother left to unleash (luneash) the monster amp. It sounded like a heavy metal concert in my bedroom! While standing in the flux of the 95 decibel sound, I imagined playing a solo in a huge stadium filled with screaming fans, lights and fog. I then felt a tap on my shoulder. I stopped playing and turned around to see my sister standing there. She then proceeded to yell, “Turn that crap down!”
