I realize that’s a word that isn’t seen very often these days but that clearly describes Harry Harriman, a lifelong member of the Nutjob Hills Motorcycle club.
He’s always been very particular about everything. Things always have to be just so, he has to get clothes from a certain manufacturer and a certain retailer. The modern term for this is of course, Obsessive Compulsive. Folks around here just call him persnickety ’cause that’s what he is.
A good example was had when an unfortunate traveling salesman encountered him at the Nutjob Hills Diner. Said salesman saw him ride up on a motorcycle and practically bowled him over as he came in.
He jumped right into his sales pitch for the new Japanese brand of motorcycle helmets. He went on about how safe they were and how a lot of famous riders are using them. Harry looked him in the eye and said, “Sorry son, I don’t use anything but helmet shop helmets and them fancy foreign things sure didn’t come from there I’ll guarantee you that.”
They went back and forth for a while until finally the salesman had to know exactly why it was he would only buy from the one shop. “Why ain’t it obvious?” Harry replied, “The name of that shop has the same initials as me, Harry Samuel Harriman.”
As the salesman stood there stunned into silence (finally! good job Harry!), Harry moved on to take a seat and order his sauerkraut sloppy joes (because it was Tuesday you see.)
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