[I am standing in line to buy cigarettes at my un-air-conditioned neighbourhood convenience store; there is a middle-aged man wearing his moustache and aviators as though either one of them will conceal the fact that he’s fifty-something; Moustache is talking to the female Clerk, and I have been watching him do so for TEN MINUTES]
Moustache:[perusing the impulse-items]
...Aaaaand...I think I’ll take one of these...
["one of these" is a meat-stick]
...And...well, I’d better get some gum too, right?
[chuckles and winks at Clerk; pores over the gum-choices like he’s determining whether or not to bet the deed to his house in blackjack]
Me: You’re not serious.
[looks quickly over his shoulder at me, but then resumes his gum-search]
Hey, this "berry-blast"...does it really explode in your mouth?
I believe so.
Moustache: [picks up a pack and looks it over]
I’m going to strangle you.
Me:I am going to choke you unconscious. Moustache:[looks at gum, but turns back to me again]
Are you threatening me?
In my country, "choke you unconscious" means "to hug".
[begins to turn back to the Clerk but stops and looks at me]
What country are you from?
[looks at me for a few seconds, and then, spinning back to the Clerk...]
Oh! I need milk!
My wife’ll kill me if I don’t bring home some milk.
[keeps looking at the Clerk, who is sighing in every way but verbally]
[Moustache nods toward the fridge containing the milk at the back of the store – apparently, he wants the lone Clerk to go fetch milk for him]
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?
[angrily turning towards me]
Who ARE you?
This is a set-up or something, right? Some grinning, white-haired talk-show host is going to come out from behind an aisle and tell me I’m on Candid-Camera or something...
[I look around for a camera; one look at the Clerk tells me that there will be no TV-time for RyGuy]
[I look at Moustache]
Well, then, go get your GODDAMNED milk your GODDAMNED self and STOP WASTING EVERYONE'S FUCKING TIME!
[Moustache stares at me, speechlessly frowning; I mimic the milk-nod he gave the Clerk]
Moustache:[turns back to the Clerk]
What do I owe you?
[The Clerk tallies up his purchases, and as he’s reaching for his wallet, he looks at me, and I theatrically blow him a kiss; his jowls clench, and his face turns crimson. He gathers up his stuff, and glares at me as he steps away from the counter]
Whoo, it’s pretty bright in here!
[looking at the florescent lights, then at Moustache]
Good call with the shades.
[Moustache’s face is now purple; he leaves without further incident]