"What’s the price tag say?" I deadpanned, not bothering to make eye contact.

"Fifty."

"Well then… I’ll take fifty for it."

"But it’s been up on that wall for some time now, don’t you want to sell it?" he countered, apparently forgetting the first rule of haggling: Do not piss off the seller.

"Oh, I’ll sell it eventually. I’ll sell on precisely the last day it’s here, in fact, and I’ll sell it for exactly fifty bucks," I replied with as much mocking customer consideration as I could muster. I don’t think he’s been back into the store and I don’t care.

But at least he could read the friggin’ tag, which is better then some of the inbreds who come into my shop. One customer, he was either from Poland or Russia, I can’t be sure; anyway, after finding a couple of esoteric (read: shitty) international albums (the second-most hated section of the store, just a hair behind folk), asked to see the Beatles Singles Collection: Australian 20th Anniversary 1962-1982 box set which was displayed in a customer-can’t-touch area. I dutifully brought the precious item down onto the counter and he pawed over it with great admiration and interest.

"Is this the price?" he queried, pointing to the obviously confusing $200 sticker right on the box.

"Excuse me?" I gently hissed while trying my damnedest to raise up one eyebrow like John Belushi.

"This, how much is this…it this the price?" he repeated, once again pointing directly at the crystal-clear price tag.

Teeth clenched, I turned and took the three steps over to the set. "Look, this is a price tag," I bellowed with the tolerance of a teacher about to send the class clown down to the principal’s office. "Price tags tell you how much something costs. You see this price tag – see it? What does it say? See, it says two hundred dollars. Why? Because this costs two hundred dollars. Get it?" It’s no surprise that my next move wasn’t going to the cash register and ringing up $200.

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