a mostly true history
Many linguists believe that as the ability to speak and communicate evolved from
grunts to words, one of the first examples of this clear communication was
between two cave dwellers, one of whom said, “Let’s open a cool store in Ann
Arbor. One that will defy simple description because of its eclectic inventory
which, ideally, shall provide a dazzling array of fine hand- and machine-made
goods from all around the world for the benefit and pleasure of our customers
and we shall call it Middle Earth.”
Many linguists don’t believe this, however, for reasons too detailed to go into
here.
Others, quite naturally, have other theories: the store is the spawn of the devil
mating with the MegaSupraMart heiress, or it was built by trolls moonlighting from
their toll bridge gigs.
Neither of those theories is true.
The truth, which allegedly will set you free but which can also land your ass in jail
for a long time, is that Middle Earth doesn’t really exist, except as a creation of
that Harry Potter lady, and we’ve all bought into it.
OK, that wasn’t exactly the truth either. Here’s the real story…the truth… if you
can handle it.
(pause here for dramatic effect)
A young girl, growing up in California, dreamed of the day she could open a
terrifically entertaining shop in Ann Arbor, Michigan So she worked and worked
and worked and worked and worked and worked and did. The end.
What’s that? You’d like a few more details? Like the time she went on tour with
the flying monkeys? Like the time she went on a buying trip to Central America
and ended up La Presidenta? Like the time she consulted for ---------------------.
(The preceding was deleted in the interest of national security. Thank you for
your understanding. Your NSA… working for you.)
Actually, it all started the day Cynthia was building a suit of armor for the big
battle reenactment the next day. What fun! Only 14 she was, and going off to
maim. With permission!!!
Things were going well that next day until a malfunctioning trebuchet caused a
rather heavy object to smack Cynthia upside the head and knock her out. When
she regained consciousness, her future was crystal clear: “I’m off to Brazil to play
futebol,” she cried. No Portuguese? Nāo tem problema!
Poets have said words simply couldn’t describe her futebol career. So we won’t
even try.
After the jailbreak, she and her pen pals put on eye patches and puffy shirts and
commandeered a ship that had been housing a crew shooting Survivor and
made it back to the States where the NSA—remember them?—offered her a
job… no, not just a job… a calling!
She was instrumental in shaping most of the key events of our time, including
In fact, her discovery of ---------------------------------------------------------------
changed the way the world sees----------------------------------------------------
(Again, thank you for your understanding. Your NSA… working for you.)
But she needed more. Actually, less. Something less stressful… something that
wouldn’t demand much of her time… something that would be easy and fun to
do… something that would make few demands on her, emotionally,
economically, and another word that starts with “e” that escapes me at the
moment. The came the eureka moment. The answer was clear: retail.
And the rest, as they say, is history, and will appear in Part II.
Part II: She opened Middle Earth in Ann Arbor in 1967, where she continues to
welcome customers and prosecute shoplifters.
