Waiting in Line for the New Harry Potter Book is the Very Definition of Shame

July 23rd, 2007.

There are two situations in life where having a kid in tow is absolutely invaluable. They are as follows:

1. When you’ve lost your ID, but you absolutely, positively need a drink.
All you have to do is grab the nearest brat you can find and take him to a restaurant for lunch. Tell your waitress you need, “Apple juice in a sippy cup, macaroni and cheese, and a jack and coke. Then look at the kid, sigh heavily, and say, “Better make it a double.” You’ll get your drink with no questions asked.

2. When you’re standing in line waiting for the new Harry Potter book.
I tried this Friday night sans kid and it was incredibly humiliating. Have you ever had your pride stomped on? Yeah? Well try having your pride stomped on, urinated upon, and set on fire. That’s what it’s like standing in line waiting for the new Harry Potter book without a kid.

Honestly, it was sort of like standing in line waiting for the WoW expansion pack. Except, this time, I was surrounded by little kids dressed up like witches. And there was no booze.

My husband and I showed up at Walmart 10 minutes before the book went on sale and got in line behind a 13 year old girl dressed up as Dobby the House Elf. Is this what teenage kids are doing nowadays? Way to fucking rebel. Back in my day, we dyed our hair black and let boys feel us up at the playground like normal kids.

Briefly, I wished I would have shown up to buy the book wearing a ratty bathrobe and reeking of tequila. I could have magically thrown up on a toddler!

A Walmart employee was there passing out promotional pamphlets and bookmarks for ‘the event.’ Being the moron that I am, I actually took some of it without thinking. I looked over at my Husband and noticed his hands were completely empty.

“Hey,” I asked him, “Will you hold this junk for me?”

“No,” he replied, “The reason I didn’t take it was because I didn’t want to hold it.”

“Fine, then,” I pouted.

“What do they say anyway?”

“None of your business. You’re too cool for the Pensieve Challenge, remember?”

He shrugged his shoulders and plugged his head phones back in. Yes, my husband wore head phones to the unveiling of the last Harry Potter book. Apparently, last time he waited in line to buy a Harry Potter book, someone drove by in a car and yelled, “Dumbledore dies!” thus spoiling the book for him completely.

Personally, I don’t mind spoilers, so I thought his head phones were the epitome of dork overkill. I tapped him on the shoulder to tell him this when I suddenly had a mad urge to yell random, fake spoilers into the crowd of waiting of Harry Potter fans.

“Ginny Weasley dies!”

“Ron and Harry have gay sex!”

“Turns out, Voldemort is Harry’s real Father!”

I found this little daydream of mine incredibly irresistible. I wonder what would have happened? Maybe we could have started a Harry Potter mosh pit? I could have shoved some little brat on the ground, stomped on his fingers, and screamed into his tear streaked face, “GRYFFINDOR SUCKS!”

Now that would have been a kick ass Harry Potter party.

But, alas, I did nothing but stand in line and fume. Pity I didn’t plan ahead.

After what seemed like forever, we finally got our books. On the way out the door, some guy wearing a pair of jeans and a polo shirt asked to see our receipt. For some reason, shit like this really burns my Husband’s ass, so he curtly informed the guy, “No, you can’t.” Then, he proceeded to walk away.

Were I the one holding the bag of books, I probably would have showed my receipt without a second thought. It doesn’t cost me much to hold up a slip of a paper, so I would have seen no reason to get upset. My husband, on the other hand, has a tendency to get indignant if he feels as though he’s being accused of theft.

Still, I did nothing to dissuade my Husband from causing a scene. Instead, I hung back a little, amused. It’s always fun for me to see him getting irrationally angry about something for a change. Usually, I’m the one throwing fits over the most minor of offenses.

Of course, the guy in the polo shirt left his post to follow my husband. “Sir!” he chirped, “I’m going to need to see your receipt! Sir! SIR! I NEED TO SEE YOUR RECEIPT!”

My Husband kept walking until guy whipped out his wallet and flashed a badge. “I’m a cop! Sir! I’m a cop and I NEED TO SEE YOUR RECEIPT RIGHT NOW!”

At this point, my Husband showed him the receipt.

“Now was that so hard?” the supposed ‘Cop’ sneered.

“No,” my Husband proclaimed, “But I still shouldn’t have to do it.”

See, that’s the problem with my Husband. He never follows through with shit. One flash of a fake K-mart deputy dog style badge and all of his principles fly out the window. You can tell his parents raised him right; he crumbles in the face of authority.

Me? Not so much. If I had decided not to show my receipt, I wouldn’t have shown my fucking receipt. That guy would have flashed his badge and I would have told him to suck my fucking cock. The entire scene would have ended with me eating pavement while I simultaneously screamed, “I WANT MY LAWYER! I WANT MY LAWYER!”


Anyway, the new Harry Potter book was strictly average. The meat of the story was good enough, but the ending was so atrociously bad that it honestly turned me off to the entire series. Because I’m a kind and generous soul, I have taken the liberty of re-writing the last couple of lines of the book. Should J.K Rowling decide that my ending is better (And trust me, it IS), she should feel free to use it free of charge.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, last paragraph:

As Harry Potter stood by the train leaving for Hogwarts, it suddenly occurred to him that for all his childhood adventures, he ended up being just another worthless soccer Dad. As he waved goodbye to his children, he thought to himself, “I should have fucking killed myself when I had the chance.”

Seriously, J.K Rowling, no royalties necessary.

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