The following stories are all kind-of related, but taken at once it's a long read, so I'm breaking them down into four installments.
Enter The Dragon
Two men came into the store to see if I would buy their used scooter. One guy was grizzled and leathery. He had the skin tone of a chain-smoker, tanned and loose. His ragged shirt with torn-off sleeves was unbuttoned halfway down his wrinkly chest. His arms were covered with old, faded tattoos. They were the variety of tattoo you would see on members of the Manson family: Cryptic symbols and words, haphazardly spattered over the forearms-- like he had done it himself with a needle and a bic pen.
This guy was interesting, but the second guy even more so. He had curly white hair in a sort-of mullet, like a mall Santa in the off-season, or like a slightly more flamboyant Kenny Rogers. He was portly, but not jolly. He wore a flannel shirt and jeans, and in his arm he cradled a little chihuahua, Paris HIlton style.
They approached me and asked if I would buy a "Kwinchki" scooter. I think they meant Quingqi, a Chinese Sh$%box of unparalleled crappiness. I matter-of-factly said no, and the first guy asked me why. I explained that they were really crummy scooters and I could buy them new for less than $300. They left, the first guy muttering something about "less than $300" under his breath.
They were such an odd combination, that taken together I can only assume that at some point the pair were crowned King and Queen of a Prison Prom.