86. Getting hints.

“Look man, I know you hate my guts for some made-up reason, and by the way, you look mighty stupid for it, but this is too much,” I growl, “I’m not here to pick a fight with anyone. God knows I’ve got enough of those in my life, and I’m not looking for more in the near future. So, if you could please ring that thing up for me and let me pay for it, I’ll be on my way home and you can go on with your job.”

“Uh-huh, and you mean to tell me that you got enough funds to buy a $900 snow globe?” the young man who was starting to become the bane of my existence snorts, “yeah right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, making sure that my voice is calm and even. If he was insisting on being an immature idiot, I should be the grown-up here, lest we would end up fighting over the counter like a couple of kids.

“Look at you, man!” he says, flailing his hand at me. “You look like some kind of a hobo who just woke up from sleeping at a park bench. How on earth can you afford something like this?
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