“I KNOW!” I wanted to scream in agreement. “IT’S LIKE AISLES AND AISLES OF EMPTINESS! I COULD NOT AGREE WITH YOU MORE! MY GOD! WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE? LET’S GO GET SOME WHEAT GRASS SMOOTHIES AND CALL IT A DAY.”
“Except--” he said.
“Well, I might like an electric guitar. One that’s my size.”
“You might like one?” I said. “Or you really, really want one? Because an electric guitar is a pretty big deal.”
There was one Gus-sized electric guitar in the store. A toy, basically; it came in a box with a picture of a vaguely enthusiastic kid of unidentifiable ethnicity on the front, and the box was sealed, so there was no way to turn the guitar on and play it. I called Larry and laid out the situation.
Ever the voice of musical reason, he suggested I leave the store immediately and go across the street to Sam Ash where they sell real guitars. Real guitars that Gus could test drive before buying.
Sam Ash had several options suitable for a little guy like Gus, and the nice young man who was helping us ran down the advantages of each.
“What about this one?” I said, pulling a shiny black Squier off the wall.
“Well,” the Sam Ash guy hesitated. “That one has an internal amp. So if you don’t want to plug it in, you can just turn it on and play it. And it sounds like this--
He played a few chords to demonstrate.
The sound was loud and trashy and, according to Gus, OH MY GOD LIKE TOTALLY AWESOME.
“Mom,” he said. “Call Daddy and tell him I just found my choice.”