Diamond Dealer III: Spy Games

When I awoke it was a Sunday. I knew how Yahweh must have felt when he needed a rest after all his mysticism. I had been all the way to the darkest corner of the diamond buying world. I was very frightened, the things and people I had encountered when trying to acquire a diamond ring were almost unbelievable, as if made up. I had been nearly everywhere possible in central Minnesota and didn’t think there was much world outside of this small realm. I had two places left to go, Arthur’s Jewelers and Wedding Day Diamonds. I decided to investigate these establishments via the internet before I went to them. I didn’t want to get myself into a life or death situation, unless I was after the real thing this time. I checked them out, along with the other stores that I have already visited. I realized there was no point, this is an “in person” item. The websites all seemed nice, but I was sidetracked watching the story of George Brett shitting his pants on Youtube. I got myself presentable and got into my car. The car seemed to start just slightly before my key was fully turned. I dismissed the phenomenon since I had not eaten breakfast and easily could have imagined it. On my way to Arthur’s Jewelers I got too hungry. I decided to stop and get one of those gas station pizzas that have four slices.  Delicious. When I finished eating it, while I drove, I threw it on the floor of my passenger side as a momento. Whenever you throw something on the floor of your car, you must do it arrogantly and flamboyantly. It’s a rule I made, and will enforce. Pizza burned the roof of my mouth, that always happens in the car with hot stuff. My Garmin GPS was getting me on my way just fine, when things got hairy. Out of nowhere my Garmin started speaking in the british version voice. It also told me chubby boys can make it without car pizza. I swear it did. It fucking said that. I turned it off as I knew that my destination was in 1.7 miles on the right, that and I don’t need to be called chubby. I am aware of my flaws. Arthur’s was actually just off the ghetto. I found this odd for a jewelry store location. I parked the grand am and locked it. Then I did it again just to hear the honk. I’m classically conditioned, thanks to Pontiac; everytime I hear a honk I assume everything is safe. I’m not sure this is the point of the horn on cars, i could really get injured pursuing this notion of thought. Anyways. Arthur’s had one of those doors in which you needed to be buzzed in. Of course I never expect this and I jingled the handle several times. Everyone inside looks at me like I suck, I feel like they might not let me in now. I feel like I might suck? BUZZZZZ. I rush in before they change their mind. Once inside it seems normal. “For real” normal this time. I glance around, a woman approaches kindly and asks, “Is there is anything she can help with?”  I decline. She walks away kindly. Seemingly normal. As I look around, a ring here and there catches my eye and I linger over them for a few extra moments. Each time I delay my browsing for a few extra seconds I feel as if the sales team creeps slightly closer to me. When I continue forward, they seem to back off. I try to ignore this, as it’s not nearly as horrific as other things that have gone down in my shopping experiences. It grows worse and worse though. If I even slow down they start surrounding my like the bee’s on, My Girl. I walk in circles around the display cases for about ten minutes. I give up. I stop and they surround me. Their hands flail and poke at me, yet no one grabs or hurts me. It seemed like zombies who only want to poke at you, not eat you. This goes on for a while until I spaz and start getting violent. I push people off I tackle them down. I clear my way. Astonishly I am able to injure almost all of them. I try the door and the buzz sound goes off, but the door remains locked. I try again, same thing. Again fucking trapped. I turn around and notice that the injured sales team isn’t coming after me. They look like normal people who have just been hurt. I see one of them taking a surveilance tape out of the back. He says, “We’ve got him on tape.” I ask him whats going on, but he edges away from me scared and silently. I am scared now that I am going to be arrested for assault. It occurs to me that they could edit the tape, and that my half of the story would never be believed by a jury full of judges. I was edging away, trying to decide what my next course of action would be. A hand rests itself on my shoulder from behind. I whip around. A man, with a completely bald head, pale skin, small circular framed glasses, pink eyes and an impeccable grey suit faces me. He speaks english with a foreign accent, one which I don’t recognize. He says, “I have been waiting for you Mathew. Why don’t you sit down with me and talk about what you’ve seen so far.” We sat and went over everything. He then went on to try and trip me up and bash his competitors with weird certification acronyms like GIA, AGA, EGsomething and I started to feel confused. I tried to pick up one of his diamonds to look at it and he snapped. “Get your greasy fingers off!” I told him my fingers arent’ greasy. He reached into his coat and slid my pizza box from earlier across the table. “Nice try chubbs.” I tried to ask where he got it, but he reached into his coat again pulled out a dagger. “Why aren’t you interested?!” he probed. I replied, “I don’t like you.” It dawned on me what was going on. He was the white spy, from Spy vs. Spy. I didn’t recognize him at first since I hadn’t experienced one of the spies in ‘man’ form before. He stabbed at me, but I right trigger juked out of the way. This fight ensued, he laughed so creepishly in a whisper giggle that I was paralyzed from time to time. He had me on the ropes and his minion employees had grown talons and were ready to clean up any mess Mark the white spy at Arthurs was about to make. I was on my back pinned under special diamond lights that had been pulled down from the cieling. I was trapped and this was the end. W.S. Mark lifted his dagger after removing my wallet and pounded it towards me.  There was no way out. BAM. Blood everywhere.

I felt no pain. I was in a state of some kind of death shock, because I couldn’t see anything due to the blood in my eyes. I could hear some sort of struggle, but was confused. Moments later a 40ish latina, maybe indian, woman stood over me. She had lovely gold jewelry on her hands and around her neck. She wore a dark shirt and had long black hair. As I was about to thank this dark older beauty, she pulled out her own dagger. She thrust it toward my heart and stopped just short. Something slid down the blade of the dagger and landed in the center of my chest. She vanished into thin air. I waited scared for a moment before I reached for my chest. When I was able, I found the most beautiful engagement ring I had seen in all my questing. I gripped it firmly in my fist and stood up. With this new found happiness I easily fought through the remaining life of Arthurs minions and destroyed the surveilance footage. I left the store happier, and more excited than I had ever been in my whole life. I happily paid Wedding Day for their services. Kate and I are still engaged to this very moment.

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One thought on “Diamond Dealer III: Spy Games

  1. Bronze Lifter says:

    Alright Diamond Buyer, I have remained silent far to long. Here’s the skinny, you can’t fight the diamond business. Not now not ever! I remember when I was buying a ring for my sweet Gerty, who had the fattest hand you could ever imagine. The year was 1947 and the allies had just defeated the Nazis and in our victorious spirit America was drinking ham milkshakes by the gallon but I was young and in love so I needed a ring more than a whore needs a condom farm. Long story short we went to Mount doom and destroy the power of the ring forever. Congrats, now for the wedding night. Well I need to go make out with a female horse named Patches, so Bon Voyage! Oh yeah I would also like to say something directed at the Green Giant.

    Dear Green Giant and son,
    Fuck You.

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