Fangs for Nothing (Vampire Hunting and Other Foolish Endeavors) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Xander agreed. “If I was going to snuff it, I think I’d go carbon monoxide . You know, die in my car. Everything else just sounds too painful.”
    “What about your head in the oven?” I asked.
    “I don’t think I could handle the smell.”
    “And you think carbon monoxide poisoning doesn’t have a smell? Besides, what are your parents supposed to do with your car after you croak in there?”
    “What are they supposed to do with the oven?”
    “Stop it, you two,” Grandma barked. “Suicide is not something you joke about.” She actually sounded pretty upset.
    “Sorry , Mrs. Lehmer.”
    “Sorry , Grandma.”
    She went on, “I only brought it up because I know that teenagers sometimes get stupid ideas in their heads. You start thinking, everyone else is doing it, I should do it, too.”
    “ Um, Grandma? We don’t think like that,” I told her.
    “Yes, you do . You all do. You start thinking something is the big, hot fashion trend, and the next thing you know, you’re in the shower with a straight razor. Do you have any idea how awful this is for that boy’s poor parents? His grandparents? His brothers and sisters? His friends? Everyone he’s ever known?” Her voice started to waiver, and I knew she had been thinking about how horrible it would be if I did something that stupid.
    “Grandma, I know I’m just a teenager and easily influence d by stuff and all that, but I promise you, I would never kill myself. Okay? Never.”
    “Me neither,” Xander said from the backseat, reaching forward and giving my grandmother’s shoulder a squeeze. “I mean , there’s too much I want to do, anyway.”
    “That’s good .” Grandma sniffed. “Now let’s stop talking about it. I need to get ready for the market.”
    The West Side Market has been publically owned since 1840. That’s pre-Civil War, baby . The current building, a massive blimp hangar of yellow brick, was built in 1912. Grandma likes to launch her first wave of attack on the main building, haranguing the meat and fish vendors. Then she gains a psychological advantage over the fruit and vegetable vendors with a crushing flanking maneuver, attacking them from a small side door rather than coming at them straight on from one of the main passageways. After brawling for a lengthy period of time with Eastern European immigrants over every last brussels sprout, she’ll wheel around and charge the bakeries, forcing them to surrender their freshest breads and handmade pastas.
    Grandma doesn’t just stumble into the place dressed like a bum , either. She comes prepared for combat, always wearing her nicest coat, depending on the weather, a solid pair of walking shoes, and some type of hat, usually affixed to her head with a sizable hatpin. She’s not opposed to using the pin to remind people of their manners if the crowd gets too thick or she feels someone has cut in front of her in line. A lot of the clerks, especially the butchers, remember her by name and call out a courteous, “Good morning, Mrs. Lehmer,” when they see her bearing down on their counters.
    If all goes well and a table is available, we’ll get a snack at the cafe. There are usually some pretty good specials, and by that point, Grandma really needs to get off her feet. Once we’ve refreshed ourselves and she’s paid the bill, tipping the waitress exactly one quarter, we head for the candy counter. If I’ve comported myself according to Grandma’s expectations, she’ll buy a half pound of hand-dipped chocolates from The Candy Corner or Campbell’s Popcorn Shop for us to share. But if I’ve displeased her, for example the time when she caught me adding a couple bucks to the tip, then we bypass the dark chocolate turtles and coconut haystacks and head straight for the car, with me staggering under the weight of her hard-won victory.
    I always like the crisp smell of the market when first entering the main building. In the winter, they turn up the heat and the transition from