Sharp as a river rock

Teenagers are bloody stupid. Some may think I'm being unduly harsh, but it's nevertheless an accurate assessment as generalizations go. They seem to think they're invincible. I dare you to observe a high school once classes let out and tell me that the students don't strut out into traffic like oblivious lemmings daring the universe to hit them with a car. There are few things more pathetically aggravating than having some acne-ridden twerp sneer contemptuously at you after you've had to stand on the brakes to keep from wrapping them around your front bumper. If not for insurance premiums and laws, it would be utterly not worth the effort of taking one's foot off the accelerator.

What I mostly get here at work is their disbelief that anyone could have come up with so cunning a scam/joke as they have just hatched. Even if such an absurdity had occurred some time in the musty past by some undoubted genius of legendary stature to arrive at such a subtle and masterful design, there is no way that anyone will be able to ken the sublime nuances of their actions.

For example, not too long ago a young man came into the store. We happen to sell hookahs and related supplies. He wanted to pick up a package of butterscotch flavored hookah tobacco. This is all well and good, but I wanted to see his ID before I was willing to listen to his needs.

He nods and retrieves his wallet, hands me his license. He's a few months into being seventeen. Ballsy little bastard for trying to play it cool hoping I wouldn't notice. Not a fucking snack cake's chance in fat camp, Cubby. I give him back his card and tell him to come back when he's of age.

Then he plaintively asks if I'd sell it to him anyway.

Obviously, this is the premier way to enter my good graces and gain my sympathy. I didn't bother keeping my derisive opinion of his question out of my tone. I did settle for leaving it an emphatic no instead of investigating whether he was oxygen deprived at birth or suffered some form of brain trauma. He left.

This must have been when he arrived at his meticulously polished gambit.

No more than five minutes later a desiccated spokes-model for the long-term effects of toxic chemicals comes in. Immediately, she informs me that she's looking to buy a package of butterscotch flavored hookah tobacco. Directly on the heels of that statement, she informs me she's fifty-two years old and of legal age to purchase such an item.

Could have fooled me with the age thing. I would have guessed at least a decade more mileage, closer to twenty. However, I was neither born yesterday nor a believer in coincidence. I inform her I'll be with her shortly and stick my head out the door. What a surprise, "Tricky-Dickie" is hanging out in my parking lot.

I tell him if he's not out of my parking lot in the next two minutes, his night is going to get a lot less fun. As I turn around, I tell the hag she needs to hit the bricks. She attempts to feed me the party line one more time. I shake my head.

At least she left laughing. He looked completely shocked he was caught trying to slip one by.

If you're going to be arrogant, at least have some skill to begin with.