Joss Whedon is my master now

So I got this shirt from thinkgeek.com, and I wore it in public for the first time tonight. I have a lot of t-shirts with wacky slogans on them. I’m not ashamed, especially of the nerdy stuff. Until tonight. I was walking out of Ralph’s, which is a supermarket in California, and since I’ve moved out here, I’ve been a little wary of shopping at night. In Pittsburgh, I didn’t have a problem skateboarding in a dark scary parking lot by myself. And, in fact, I did, and they put up a sign saying “No Skateboarding” all because of me! How cool is that?!
Anyway, we were shopping so late that they closed the side door by where we parked, meaning after our shopping, we had to walk a long way sort of into a side street where, say, there wouldn’t be a lot of members of the public to see you if you got shanked by a vagabond.
There was just such a vagabond sitting randomly by my lone parked car, looking just the type to shank me and steal my freshly purchased celery.
I tried to keep my cool, since I don’t want Justin to think I’m a pussy or something, but I tried to pack up the car as fast as I could. The guy then got up and started to cross the parking lot, which involved him rounding the back of my car where I was. Just as I was inconspicuously looking for one of the sharper stalks of celery, he exclaimed,
“Joss Whedon? Who’s that?”
I suddenly was thrown back into high school when something like a PlayStation controller or deck of Pokemon cards spilled out of my backpack in front of the entire lacrosse team. I just kind of gaped there for a moment, searching frantically for a descriptive phrase that didn’t involve the words “Buffy” or “Firefly,” both of which would take much longer to explain than a quick stab wound would shut me up.
“Uh, he writes science fiction shows.”
“Oh,” he said, not breaking his stride, but breaking a smile. “Is he good?”
“…Yeah. I like him a lot.”
And thus ended our brief exchange.
In the car, I began to question myself as to why I would be so embarrassed for wearing a shirt that I was so proud to get. It struck me that I wore it so that I could exchange high fives with my nerdy brethren, or whatever nerdy brethren do. Slap graphing calculators perhaps. But until now, I guess I forgot that other people read my shirts, too.
Maybe next midnight shopping spree I go on, I’ll wear my Shoplifter shirt, so the only people who look at me funny are the workers who are calling the cops on me.

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