He was standing right at the entrance. I gave no indication of any hesitation as I quickly cut to the aisle that sold pens as I heard "What can I help you find?" My reply was "Nothing. I know where what I want is."
I think I might make it my goal just to be out right rude to him. Unfortunately, he's the jackass with the key to all the good stuff. Although, I've only ever needed his key services three times in about four years. Maybe, it would really really bother him if I were to be rude to him and then have him open up some cabinets for me.
I'm in there probably once every two weeks, he has to recognize me as a common occurrence. He must be trying to get into my head. I must defeat him. I must! I must.
Next time he speaks to me I'll just say "Bug off, you wanker."
Or maybe I'll always take him up on his offer to help me and ask for a bunch of stuff that I'll never buy.
I really wish I had that evil gene; the one that allows you to actually carry out all your evil schemes, especially the ones that are just, at the most, irritating.
"Yes. I need paste and blue file folders and round fluorescent orange stickers and I'd like to look at that digital camera on sale and I would like a sales flyer and some gummy bears and some packing tape and some catalog size tyvek envelopes and a six inch plastic ruler and the physically largest flash drive you have because as you know you can easily loose the little ones. Oh, and I need a cash register, and a map of Chicago, and a forty watt light bulb, and a box of twenty four crayons, and some malted milk balls. Oh, wait. I don't have any money and I left my wallet in my other pants. Sorry. But hey, I might come by tomorrow to pick this stuff up."
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