"Oh! thank you! Such a gentermen!"
You're welcome. Big fucking grin.
"Thank you! So velly nice!"
You're welcome. Blushing like a fiend.
I walked in and was immediately accosted by the lovely Denise, an older black woman.
"Can I help you, young sir?"
I'm looking for where you keep the fish oil?
"Right back here." She pointed to a short corner beside the cash register, and I grew uncomfortable. It was a large wall covered in different brands and, although I knew which bottle I wanted, searching in front of her for too long would lead her to intervene. Basically, it was a race between how long it took for me to look over-stupid and for her to take pity.
Sure enough, a few minutes of looking later:
"Is there something in particular you're looking for?"
Yes, I see the Carlson gel tablets but I need the liquid product.
"It's just to your right."
Oh, thank you so much! I'm so retarded, I apologize.
Just ring me up, Denise; ring me up and let me leave this florescent dungeon.
"Do you have a store card?"
No. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
"It's free, you should get one and you'll start accruing points with every purchase!"
Sure, I'll take one.
"Alright, and what's your last name?"
After five minutes it was done. Painless, non? Non. The entire time she paraded my own politeness in front of me, (like a pack of goddamn Mummers who stop every block to dance around and sip more flask-whiskey) never failing to mention my holding the door for the velly nice radies, pleasant vocabulary, and overall geniality.
"You're mother raised you to be a true gentlemen! You should thank her for me."
Denise. Jesus. No. No on both counts. My mother raised me to be introspective, anxious, and self-destructive. By relaying this praise it will only serve to remind her of my failures, not to appreciate my first-impression charm. It was flattering, okay? You saw me blush, so why take it further? Can't I just suck down on fish oil without having to have my own shit fed to me every time I need a refill?
...
I'll be sure to! By the way, are you hiring?