The Junkyard of Bad Ideas, continued from The Mahattama Kane Jeeves Salvage Yard, S.J. Melvin, Proprietor…
S.J. Melvin, an avuncular, somewhat sleazy, portly and terribly silly-looking man, again sat behind his 1950’s over-sized aluminum desk, rocking back and forth in a creaky, wooden desk chair that came from the same 1950’s emporium of bad furniture as his desk.
He stared lazily at the calendar nailed to the plywood walls of his office. The highly- coveted “Gatzco Transmissions’ 2015 Pin-Up Gal and Product Showcase Extravaganza Calendar Catalog.”
“That there Saul Gatzco is a fuggin’ good idea man,” Melvin coughed out to an empty room. “Why in the hell can’t I do a-summin’ to advertz-ize mah salvage yard?” he continued.
Picking up the phone, he called over to his right-hand man, and sole employee, Hank double-clutch Grizniack. Of course, the repair shed where Grizniack was standing was a mere several yards away, but Melvin liked using the phone, it made him feel important.“Dubbah-clutch! I needs your ideaz for some advertz-izements I wanna do. Come ovah!”
Grizniack was standing before Melvin moments after the phone was placed back in the cradle. A thin, weaselly-looking fellow, Grizniack won no prizes for neatness, but he was, in fact, a decent fellow, and far too honest of a man to be otherwise employed by the slippery Melvin. He tucked an oily rag in the back pocket of his greasy overalls, and waited for Melvin to being flapping his yap about whatever scheming nonsense he had in mind this time.
“What’s on your mind, Mr. Melvin?” Grizniack wearily asked and braced himself for, if nothing else, a few minutes break from re-flanging that ’86 Chevy transmission he was unknowingly in the middle of making never work again.
“PRO-motions! We need to drum up some fresh business, Clutch! Look at what that fool Saul Gatzco does with his calendah gals!”
“Ok…but what I can do about that, Mr. Melvin? I don’t want to be in a calendah….”
“You been huffin’ the gasoline again, Clutch?? Imma not puttin’ you in a calendah! But we need to think of some new ways to gets us some new business!”
“What about the free beer while idea you had dee udder day, Mr. Melvin? So customers could drink while they looked through the spare parts yard? Did Pennypacker come through with that alcohol dispensin’ contract he bragged about havin’ with the City?”
“God dammit! NO! That fool was wastin’ mah time! He didn’t have a contract with the City. He had a damned line of credit at his neighborhood six-pack store! Not the same thing! Not by a mile!”
“Well I don’t have any ideas, Mr. Melvin. I fix old cars, and refurbish car parts. But maybe you can call Pennypacker’s friend–that weird lawyer guy he hangs around with: Galusha Peppes, I think his name is?”
“Galusha. Yes. I’ll call Galusha,” Melvin muttered–remembering just at that moment, that Pennypacker’s strange legal friend wasn’t just a member of the bar. He also had a side business. He was the owner of a bar–a strip bar.
Oh, this was going to be a great idea, all right.
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If you want to continue the shenanigans, you ought to be here.