Cat Food

"Do you sell cat food?"

The local stationary store/post office reinvented itself as an off-license and this was the first time I'd visited since the transformation.

The young Asian man at the door just stared at me, so I asked again, "Do you sell cat food?"

"Yes!"  He gestured at me to follow him.  "This is to buy?"  We were almost jogging down the aisle.

"Yes."

He looked pleased and nodded, as if confirming to himself once again that customers were simple creatures.

We reached the end of the first aisle (there are only three in the store).  He paused, then turned and we jogged down the middle aisle, till he stopped and pointed at the top shelf, like a tour guide pointing out the Tower of London.  

"Here you are.  We do sell cat food!"   He ran back to his post by the door.

When I went to pay for it, the older Asian guy at the cash register smiled and said, "So, you know we sell cat food!" 

I nodded.  "So handy!"

The two guys exchanged ecstatic glances as I left with my cat food.

In case you want to buy cat food, here's the address.

The missing book

The clerk stood behind his information desk, staring at the bookshelves as if he expected the books to tumble out the second a customer distracted him with a request. After my encore "Excuse me," he sighed quietly and looked down at me. (I was the only other person in the store.)

"Do you have Peter Ackroyd's history of the Thames?"

He tilted his head and took off his glasses to clean them; if we'd been in the poetry section, I would've said this act symbolized thought. As it was, we were closer to the DIY section, so probably it just meant they were dirty. After he put them back on, he said, "You know, I think we do. No, I'm sure of it." He glanced one last time at the Self-Help section, as one would at a dog after telling it to heel, and bounded over to History. "I remember seeing it in the computer the other day...it said we had one copy left." He went over each row, and then shook his head. "I could swear we had one copy left."

"Maybe it's just in the wrong section?"

"No, that wouldn't be it. Someone's probably knicked it." He went back to his desk. "See, the computer says we have one copy left." He stared at the computer. "But that's wrong, because now I remember someone asked for it last week, and it said then we had one copy left, but we didn't. Yeah, quite a few people have come in asking for it, now that I think of it." He shrugged. "I don't know why the computer keeps saying we have one copy left."

He perched his fingers on the desk and resumed his observation of the bookshelves.

I asked, "Are you going to order it?"

"Hmm? Oh yes, I've been meaning to do that. Good idea. I'll do that right now."

I wonder how long that bookstore will stay in business.

Failed retail therapy

So, here's the story: I drove to Laguna Beach, because I'd never been there before. I stopped at two bookstores, where I chatted with some nice people about books, and then on my way back to my car, I noticed The Sunglass Hut and decided to get new sunglasses. When I went in, the fat guy behind the counter was telling his lone customer, a middle-aged lady, about polarized lenses. At the end of his speech, she said, "Gosh, I'd never even heard of polarized lenses before."

"They're not for everyone."

"Well, I'm going to have to think about whether I need them or not." And she split.

I said, "You're lucky -- I already know I want polarized lenses." I meant it as a little joke, but his cell phone rang just as I said it.

Then I did at least four laps of all the cases while he told someone, "I need the money before Friday! You can transfer it to my account! I gotta have the money!"

He hung up, said, "Sorry," and drummed his fingers on the counter. After a moment or two, he asked, "What are you here for?"

"Sunglasses."

"Do you want plastic frames or wire frames?"

"I'm not sure. But I do know I want polarized."

He then launched into the exact same polarized spiel he told the other lady. I kept trying to tell him I already knew I wanted polarized lenses, but he just talked over me.

Finally, I said, "Cut the spiel. I've heard it already. My last pair were polarized. I like polarized. I am going to buy polarized."

He stared at me. Then he asked again whether I wanted plastic or wire. I said, "My last pair was wire, but there's a chance I might find them again, so I'm thinking I should get plastic this time. I have a small face, though, so wire maybe looks better on me."

"And...the answer is?"

"I'm not sure."

I went from case to case, pointing and asking, "Is that polarized? How about that one?" He answered yes or no so quietly, I almost thought I was just imagining the tension.

Every so often, he'd say, "You know, it'd be a lot easier on me if you'd just tell me whether you want plastic or wire."

"I'm not sure."

Finally, when I asked to see both a plastic and a wire frame at the same time, he yelled: "How am I supposed to help you when you refuse to tell me whether you want plastic or wire??"

We stared at each other a moment, like two animals contemplating mutual destruction. Then I said, "I've changed my mind. I don't want to buy sunglasses today." I started heading out.

"You know what? F--- YOU! F--- YOU!!!!"

I turned around. "Pardon?"

"F--- YOU AND GET OUT OF MY STORE!!"

"This is your store?"

"F--- YOU! GET OUT OF MY STORE!"

I thought, once I explain things, he'll feel bad.

"What did I do?"

"I asked you, do you want plastic or wire frames! You don't answer. I try to tell you about polarized lenses. You call it a spiel! Well, f--- you, bitch! Get out of my store!"

I waited until he paused for air, then said, "You know, today is the anniversary of my mom's death, and I'm a bit distracted. So, I'm sorry I didn't seem sensitive to your spiel."

Maybe if I had come up with another word besides spiel, it would have worked, but my heart was pounding and it was hard to think. Anyway, it just set him off anew. "I'm sorry about your mom, but you were rude to me. I want you out of my store!"

Then...I can't believe I said this, but...I said, "Someday, after your mom dies, if she's not already dead," (I tried to look sympathetic as I said this, thinking maybe he was an orphan and that's why he was so horrible), "maybe you'll remember this and learn to be a bit more polite."

A couple walked in just as I was saying that. I am not really happy I said that.

He screamed, "You come in here, you try and make me guess what you want, plastic or wire, you won't let me tell you what polarized means, and now you're insulting my mom. F--- YOU, C--T!!!!"

The woman shook her head at her husband and they left.

Suddenly, I had an insight: "Are you on drugs?"

He screamed just like that Democratic candidate in the last primaries, who lost the election when he went, "We're going to Ohio, then Nebraska, then Wyoming! AAAHAGAHGAHTEYAAA!" Then he ran out from behind the counter into the backroom, waving his arms. I really thought he was going to come back with a gun or something. So, I left.

Shoe shopping

Mom and I were shopping at a desert outlet mall and wandered into one of the more expensive shoe stores. The place was empty, except for a salesman who coalesced out of the darkness. He didn't acknowledge us, and we didn't acknowledge him, but he seemed caught in our orbit as we moved from shoe to shoe down the right wall. We took a step; he took a step. We hurried our pace, and silently he hurried his pace. By the time we rounded the back corners, Mom and I were almost running. But he was right behind us, reaching out and tapping the odd display shoe as if it were some effeminate sport.

It was such a relief to get back out into the sunshine.

"Shall we go home now?" Mom asked. I nodded. It was the first we had spoken since entering the store.

"I didn't really like that store, did you?"

She shook her head. "Not at all."