Sorry, not going to help you

I was sitting at the counter when a young man approached me. Upon asking him how I might render assistance to him that day, he responded that he was looking for a gag gift for a friend of his and might I be able to suggest something.

Bloody hell on a biscotti do I hate when customers ask me that question. You might think that it wouldn't be such a big deal. True, I am traditionally loathe to offer suggestions for entirely open, if not subjective, questions. As it happens, this is one of the customer inquiries kept in mind when I adopted this policy. For every one person who'd find a "Baby Jesus Butt-plug" to be hysterically amusing, there are a dozen who'd be mortally offended. I hesitate to contemplate the flood of vitriol and foamed spit that would be loosed by the release of a Mohammed masturbator. Humor is entirely too subjective to muck around with when you don't know a damned thing about the person involved.

Let me tell you, having someone storm in here, usually with some form of novelty clutched in their fist, in the vain hope of ridding themselves of the unexpected gift and getting some money back to buy something better suited to their tastes is rarely a pleasant experience. Embarrassment makes for very angry, very bitter individuals. All of whom want nothing more than someone to direct all that pent up emotion at.

Generally what vexes me most about the people looking for a gag gift is that it's usually mean-spirited. They come in with the expectation of finding something outré or threatening to their intended target. Their snide attitudes aggravate me immediately. Forcing them to cast about for something that fits their internal agenda not only lays the whole "prank" at their feet, but I get a small measure of dark entertainment. If you've ever watched a red-neck's smirk falter and grow sickly because it's patently obvious they're the only one in the store who considers them in the least bit funny, but they're being treated to that insincere almost-acknowledgment that is almost universally larded upon toddlers gleefully reciting one of the oldest knock knock jokes known to man over and over again like it's the pinnacle of human wit and is just as funny in the twelfth encore in half as many minutes as it was the very first time.

The young would-be wag spent several minutes wandering the store before leaving empty handed in much lower spirits than he entered.

Oh, and just for the record I do think a "Pocket Prophet" would be a good seller. If someone decides to make them, I want my percentage.