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There is a hermit crab vendor in the mall near my work.
He has large rolling cart with a sand pit full of embarrassed crabs forced to live out their short lives in a neon pink shell with flowers on it or one painted like the Batmobile. I don't like the guy much aside from the obvious, he reminds me of the creepy shoe cobbler who wants to sell everyone the "the red shoes."
I witnessed a perfect whitebread father-son pair walking happily away from the kiosk who had clearly fallen prey to the hermit crab hustle.
The boy beamed into the small plastic cage at his new crustacean friend. The father draped his arm across his young son's shoulders and smiled with pride and satisfaction. It was a postcard happy family moment, a vaguely sinister combination of Norman Rockwell and Church of the Sub-Genius.
As they passed me I overheard the following conversation:
"What do crabs eat Dad?"
"I have no idea son."
He has large rolling cart with a sand pit full of embarrassed crabs forced to live out their short lives in a neon pink shell with flowers on it or one painted like the Batmobile. I don't like the guy much aside from the obvious, he reminds me of the creepy shoe cobbler who wants to sell everyone the "the red shoes."
I witnessed a perfect whitebread father-son pair walking happily away from the kiosk who had clearly fallen prey to the hermit crab hustle.
The boy beamed into the small plastic cage at his new crustacean friend. The father draped his arm across his young son's shoulders and smiled with pride and satisfaction. It was a postcard happy family moment, a vaguely sinister combination of Norman Rockwell and Church of the Sub-Genius.
As they passed me I overheard the following conversation:
"What do crabs eat Dad?"
"I have no idea son."
