Distraction without traction

Tonight, on this episode of "Riled America" we shall explore the most common evasion technique of the chapped-ass porn-store grazer when confronted by a predator; the fast-talk. Also known as pulling anything that seems even half-way plausible to their oxygen deprived neurons out of their ass in the hopes of avoiding the wrath descending upon their tender heads, it is most heavily employed technique in their arsenal.

I had the opportunity to observe the phenomenon at close range as demonstrated by a male in the prime of his species. He wandered within, perhaps displaced from his home territory by a rival or in search of a mate. Cautiously, he scented the air looking for immediate danger. Upon making eye contact with myself, he betrayed his nervousness, swinging his arms in unconscious distress.

Once he had reassured himself that I was not on the hunt, he proceeded to explore the area, returning frequently to the arcade area where he would spend a few moments alone in an open booth before venturing back onto the sales floor.

Of course such patterns of movement and furtive action garnered more focused attention until he fled the area, anxiously twitching.

This, strangely enough, is the precursor to the complete display; much like the spotted skunk adopting a hand-stand position sets the stage for the release of defensive musk. In this case, the careful avoidance of engaging any staff in more than transient dialogue in combination with refraining from touching any item within the store, sets up the pretense that "they haven't done anything" while also serving to gain them the confidence they have blended in with legitimate consumers. They have "primed the pump" if you will.

Upon his second appearance, he attempted to feign brazen innocence in striking up some chit-chat in passing, though his body flinched away at random and arms would abruptly start swinging in the stereotypical "casual" manner adopted by small children and cartoon characters. This time he set about browsing the shelves. There was little pattern to his movements, simply the disassembly of tidy ranks of merchandise where he lingered.

When approached, he would attempt to seek temporary refuge in the arcade, though he again refrained from actually spending any money in viewing anything. Neither did he approach another customer or attempt to sit out the remainder of another's viewing credits. Instead, it seemed his only agenda was to gain some breathing room from under the watchful eyes of the staff, as if the arcade was somehow outside employee purview.

Finally, the full scope of the technique was coaxed into display by the unavoidable use of "Is there anything in specific I can help you find, sir?" Suddenly, his mouth is running. He's just looking. It takes him a while to find what he likes. No, it's nothing specific anyone could direct him to. He'll know it when he sees it.

Sensing he has yet to allay professional dubiousness, he begins to volunteer details. It can take him several hours to find something he wants to watch for an hour. He's done the same thing at other local businesses. He tosses in some questions to give his mind time to cool down. Where are the four hour movies? When do we close?

At last seeing his bloody demise rapidly approaching in the steely glare of the staff, he flees like some epileptic deer only barely keeping to a walk lest it spur a chase response.