Dopes spring eternal

Not too long ago, I was closing down the store for the night and also happened to be behind schedule. It was well past the time when I should have been homeward bound with a well-deserved satisfaction of spreading more implements for naughtiness into the community.

Suffice to say, I was quite focused on the tasks still before me when there was a knock upon the door. Initially I ignored it on the assumption they would eventually interpret the expired hours of operation, unlit open sign, and locked door to mean we might be closed.

No such luck. They keep knocking loudly, so I approach the door before they decide to bring in a battering ram.

Predictably the very first thing the dolt on the other side of the portal yelled through the door was whether we were closed yet. I managed to swallow back my very detailed assessment of his deductive reasoning just in time, instead opting for the more civil "for over half an hour."

Apparently this sparked in the vast wasteland between his ears as an invitation for further business. Wouldn't I just sell him a pocket pussy real quick? It wouldn't take that long. He'd hand me the money right there.

It was a foreign concept for him that when a store is closed, especially for that long, every-bloody-thing gets shut down. The end of day reports have been run, the drawer is closed, the money is locked away. The moment of last minute shopping has fled a long time ago. Sucks to be you, sport. Try tomorrow after we open. Have a good night, thankyouverymuch. Bugger off you noisome little hobgoblin.