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It's funny (and by funny I don't mean ha ha funny, I mean strange, bordering on institutionalization funny) what people will tell you when you can't, say, run away as fast as you can screaming at the top of your lungs and flailing your arms about.

When you're stuck at a bookstore for 80 hours per week, people tend to tell you things that
a. you'd rather not hear, or
b. you really don't care about
(and sometimes both at the same time)

For example, take the guy who, five minutes before closing after a very, very long week, found the need to quiz me with definitions of words and when I was too tired to answer (or care), he left disgusted with "And I bet you went to college" as his parting comment.

Or what about the guy who held me captive (and the only reason it was legal was because I had the key to the store and, in theory, could lock him out and/or call the police) for 10 minutes so that he could tell me that slavery was really BS and that "they" could've walked away at any time (his words/beliefs, not mine). Hey, I was just innocently pricing T-shirts that made absolutely no political statement that should've triggered this barrage. In his defense, he did tell me as he was leaving that he just got out of the hospital and had more painkillers in him than I would believe. So, maybe he was delusional, thinking that he was, let's say, HITLER.

There are others: the girl who offered to give free massages at my store (so MUCH more to that story that I may have to create another posting), the people who offer to "volunteer" here (of whom I'm ALWAYS suspicious, you've been forewarned), the people who LOUDLY state their political beliefs and then become frustrated when I won't engage (like a political vault, this one right here), and on and on until you reach the pinnacle of emotional and physical exhaustion.

Anyway, what was I saying? Please deposit another 25-cents...