. . .was being himself in a store. It was obvious to everyone the transaction wasn’t going to go his way. Well, obvious to everyone except him. Even when the manager said what he wanted done was impossible he didn’t believe it. I have a feeling he wouldn’t have believed it if the founder himself ruled on it. Finally, to calm the tension of the jittery mob, the manager said there was nothing more he could do and called the next person. Me!
I step forward and the guy puts his hand on my chest.
“Back off.” Probably not his brightest move. “I’m not going until I get what I want.”
“I’m sorry sir, there’s nothing more we can do for you.” The manager smiles the smile of a guy tired of putting up with folks like this. Otherwise known as customers. I step to the counter.
“I’m going to get my way.” The guy bellows over my shoulder. I spin around.
“No you’re not.” I say. “And do you know why? Because you’re a bag of shit sealed in a can of shit buried underneath a pile of shit.”
The guy stands there mulling that one over as security walks up and moves him out of the building. Every few seconds he turns around and looks at me. Yeah, I have that effect on people.