Always great to have local fans

From time to time, my store will have the distinct pleasure of a random visit from some shrieking harridan. It's somewhat surreal to experience.

It will be a usual day at work. Consumers diligently looking over our offerings in anticipation of the orgasms to come while staff quietly take care of all the little chores that keeps the mechanism of transferring people's wages to our own pockets running smoothly. Behold the understated elegance of capitalism.

When suddenly, a shrill voice will erupt from the doorway, proclaiming we're sinners/homosexuals/abominations/kickers of puppies/defilers of girl scouts/etc. The epithet varies, though it is always a lone charge. You see, she never tarries at our portal. She will bravely scream one or perhaps two sentences if she's really inspired before sprinting away down the block or across the street doubtless in anticipation of angry people swarming out in pursuit for her deadly insult.

Gee and I thought folks usually outgrew "Ding-Ding-Ditch" before leaving grade school. To hear her bellowing from two blocks away while one of us gives the parking lot a once over to make sure she didn't decide to embellish on her verbal assault of our doorway, you'd think she was the biggest, baddest bitch to ever trod pavement. The challenges and threats come in a torrent, much like getting scolded by a squirrel in a velour track suit.

We ignore her as much as possible. Someday if they make a bug-light large enough, we may have to set one up by the entrance and wait for the lights to flicker while she does an impression of overcooked bacon.

Regardless, I find myself wondering if we're only months away from the fiendishly original "flaming bag of feces on the doorstep" tactic.