Worms

Worms

“Excuse me, Sir?”

“Yes?” Harold said, to the woman by the door.

“You can’t bring that in here.”

“What exactly.”

“That bag, perhaps your lunch?” she pointed to a brown bag Harold was holding.”

“Was there a sign that no food was allowed in the auditorium? I don’t remember seeing one.”

“There is a sign. It’s in the front lobby.”

“Is that the lobby we were not allowed to walk through because they were painting it?”

“Oh! I apologize, I forgot. I’m new. I was trying to do a good job.” the woman said, now somewhat flustered.

“Well, you are doing a good job. And besides, this isn’t food.”

The woman smiled. “Thank you, I won’t tell.”

“No, no. I’m not fooling. This actually isn’t food, well not people food.

“Excuse me? I don’t seem to understand.”

Harold reached into the bag and pulled out a worm. “It’s armadillo food.”

The woman looked startled.

“They’re for the armadillo.”

Now she looked really scared.

Harold raced on, “The man doing this show brings his armadillo as a teaching tool. He’s my brother! He called and asked me to bring Sandy, that’s his armadillo, some food because he forgot to pack any!”

The woman looked confused, but not as scared.

“So, you’re bringing food for an armadillo?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” she said, sternly, “You can’t bring food in here. It’s the rules.”

“Ah...” Harold started.

“But,” she smiled, “I think I can,” she took the bag. “Follow me.”

It turned out to be a very good day for Harold, and Andrea, the new attendant, and for Sandy who got her lunch. Not so much for Harold’s brother Fredrick.

A friend of his told him to “break a leg.” He did when he walked through the lobby and tripped over a can of paint.