Private Shopping

I am a very private shopper. I don't like to be helped. I don't like to be asked questions and I especially don't like to have my selections commented on.

"So you like cereal," says the checkout girl. I stare sullenly straight ahead. Better that than "I was planning to mix the cereal with rat poison to kill somebody. How is your day going?"
I particularly have to grit my teeth when they try to read my name from my credit card and pronounce it. LIKE IT'S ANY OF THEIR BUSINESS WHAT MY NAME IS.

"Yes thank you, Mrs., uh, is it Moe-tow?"
"Smith. It's a Welsh spelling."

I hardly ever rent movies, but those people constantly comment. "Oh, I've seen this. It's pretty good."
"Thanks. Did I ask for your opinion? More to the point,DO I LOOK LIKE I WANT IT?"

Picture me when they ask for my phone number. I've solved that problem, though. I give them a fake one.

"Here, why don't you take my social security number and my blood type and college transcript and prescription records? Oh go on. You know you want to."

I guess I'm a grouch.

Soon I'll be posting about the Christmas season. Then you'll really see the Grinch.

a bientot