Once upon a time when I was in grade seven or eight, I had a clever entreprenurial premise. You see, I've always had a fondness for carbonated sugar water and on this hot summer day I desired some, yet lacked funds.
In front of the no frills grocery store, I sat in the small shelter built for shopping carts and approached people as they were unloading their groceries. Some I just helped without word, others I asked. (I experimented with it) and then I offered to return the carts. My true objective were the shiny metal disks with moose heads on them. My business model is fuzzy, but I believe I offered the disks back, knowing full well that most people would offer to let me keep them, and those who didn't were wanting of them anyway.
At one point I offered to help a lady with a red shopping cart. You see, it belonged to the nearby Zellers instead. With a rather witchy look about her condescending face, she caught on to my dastardly scheme! Her words themselves don't remain in my memory, but the concept does. So I'll paraphrase. "Hah! You don't want to help me, you just want the quarter in the lock! Well ~MY~ cart is from Zellers!"
...
What? That's it. The story is done. Oh fine, if you insist on there being a moral for some sort of story time closure, like there was a standard structured regime for tales in which a moral must always end it...
Don't take candy from strangers.
In front of the no frills grocery store, I sat in the small shelter built for shopping carts and approached people as they were unloading their groceries. Some I just helped without word, others I asked. (I experimented with it) and then I offered to return the carts. My true objective were the shiny metal disks with moose heads on them. My business model is fuzzy, but I believe I offered the disks back, knowing full well that most people would offer to let me keep them, and those who didn't were wanting of them anyway.
At one point I offered to help a lady with a red shopping cart. You see, it belonged to the nearby Zellers instead. With a rather witchy look about her condescending face, she caught on to my dastardly scheme! Her words themselves don't remain in my memory, but the concept does. So I'll paraphrase. "Hah! You don't want to help me, you just want the quarter in the lock! Well ~MY~ cart is from Zellers!"
...
What? That's it. The story is done. Oh fine, if you insist on there being a moral for some sort of story time closure, like there was a standard structured regime for tales in which a moral must always end it...
Don't take candy from strangers.
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