Sharp as a river rock and about as dense.

So I’m sitting behind the counter doing my thing when a customer walks in.

“Do you have any Playboy videos?”

Nope.

“You don’t have any soft-core porn?”

Not that I’ve ever run across in the store. It’s just not something that my store has much focus in. Our porn is hard-core. We might get someone walking in looking for something softer perhaps once a year. Unfortunately, this is not frequent enough to make it worthwhile to stock.

“Cause I’m looking for a couple Playboy videos.”

I nod. Yeah, I apologize but we don’t carry that line.

“Do you have these titles [insert about seven to eight titles]?”

What fucking part of “we don’t carry that line” is beyond your bloody ken?! I’m sorry, we don’t have them. As I said, we don’t carry that line.

“I have the first of [this series] and the second of [another]. Do you have any others of the series?”

Nope. At this point I’m thinking perhaps a ball-peen hammer applied to the small bones of his hand might center his attention long enough to discern my words instead of nodding at my patient tone of voice.

“Where would I find movies like that?”

Somewhere else. I don’t know who does carry those series, but I do know we don’t.

“I found a couple at [name of competitor].”

Fantastic. I’d check with them then. Sure buddy, because every adult store has a magical pipeline to every other adult store so I can just pop through and sell you a movie out of their stock. Hate to burst your bubble, but just because another store reportedly has it, it does not mean we can instantly have it too.

“So where would I find soft-core here?”

Alright Socrates, I’ve about run out of all patience. You don’t. We don’t stock it. We actually do have a few things that might be considered soft-core, but no bloody way in a caramel-filled hell am I interested in selling to you anymore.

“You have no soft-core.”

As I’ve said from the beginning, we do not.

“Well, I actually have a couple of them in my backpack. You can look get them out of my bag if you want so you can see what they look like if you get any in.”

Fuck no! Thank you but no. Oh yes, because it’s so difficult for me to gather information about a particular production company or series. It’s not as if I may be employed in an industry that keeps tabs on that sort of information. It’s not as if I have a stack of trade magazines and catalogs at my disposal. Not to mention the whole liability crap I’d be opening myself up to going through your squalid backpack.

“You sure? You’re welcome to.”

I’ll pass, but thank you.

Then this gleaming beacon of astute intellect goes to look at playing cards featuring porn stars. He asks me if I’d open a pack so he can peek through them. Sure, he’s that much closer to being out the door and being a continuing annoyance. At worst, he’ll babble at me more. At best, I make the store a few bucks. Predictably, he chooses to make it the former rather than the latter. He monologues through about which ones he recognizes and who his favorites are and why.

Joy. I can feel my eyes glazing over, losing myself to visions of authoring his grisly, lingering demise.

But then he goes on to say he’s looking for trading cards featuring porn stars.

Excuse me?! If you were looking for TRADING CARDS, why the frothy fuck were you looking at what was clearly marked as PLAYING CARDS! Do not expect any sympathy for your disappointment that they were not what you hoped they were. I’m too busy praying your testes wither into pathetic husks.

He bought nothing but did tell me he’d “definitely be back for the cards.”

I doubt it. Sometimes the public’s off-hand habit of bald-faced prevarication pays off.