Just Call Me Mr. Smarty-mouth

Okay, so I've grown quite tired of the whole concept of clerks in stores feigning interest in my life so as to "enhance my shopping experience." I remember first encoutering this when I was a peon slaving under the blue and yellow glow of the Blockbuster Video sign, renting crappy videos to people for about $5.35 an hour evenings while I substitute taught during the day. One of the company policies was to call all "guests" (not "customers" - I guess they were stealing a page from the Disney employee, ah, cast member handbook) by their first names.

Let me say that again.

Call. All. The. Guests. By. Their. First. Names.

Nothing else, and I mean nothing, grated against the very fiber of my being more than this obnoxious display of fake friendliness. It seemed to say, "Hey! All us guys here at Blockbuster want more than just to rent you videos at exorbitant prices (and don't forget the hefty late fees, you schedule-impaired slacker!), we want to be your friend. You know, good ol' first name basis-type friends. Maybe you'll get off your fat can more often and come in here and rent some more videos! Maybe buy some PREVIOUSLY VIEWED tapes, too! Oh, and don't forget popcorn, friend!"

I categorically refused to do this, ever (which is why I'm blackballed from all those upper management jobs at Blockbuster I've been yearning to get into - 80 hour weeks, fifty weeks a year, the privilege of working for the almighty BBV - man, what am I doing teaching?) The worst had to be watching the obnoxious seventeen-year-old kid from Honors program at Mountain View High School (who, when I met him and told him I might end up subbing in his class someday, said, "You won't sub in my class." Oh, yassuh, massa honors English student! YOU'S knows wha's best! That silly ol' degree in ENGLISH LITERATURE an' dat TEACHING LICENSE doan mean nothin' compared to de likes of YOU, suh! I'll just mind mah own bidness ovah heah and read mah copy of Umberto Eco's Foucault's Pendulum, while you's be doin' much, much more intelleckchal-type book learnin'!), call seventy-year-old ladies by their first names. "There's your copy of 'Mr. Deeds Goes to Washington,' Blanche. I hope you enjoy it. Come and see us again, Blanche."

Today, however, I took my own revenge against the type of employee who, when you walk into the store, seems to need three references, a court order and a note from your mother to sell you something, all in the name of sounding friendly. I went into Radio Shack today, because I needed three triple-tap modular phone jacks. I'm not going to go into why I needed them - I can't imagine anything more boredom-inspiring than to explain the mechanical workings of my new Knowledge Bowl scoring boards. Anyway, I needed them. And I walked into the store, and said just that, when greeted with the standard, "Is there anything I can help you find?" (To which I've always wanted to respond, Fletch-like, "Can you help me find the head of Alfredo Garcia?") I didn't go this route this time - I simply responded, "Why, yes, good Radioshackling," (okay, I didn't call him 'Radioshackling'), "I need three triple-tap modular phone jacks."

The 'Shackling led me over to the phone accessories, and stepped right into the trap his superiors had inadvertently set for him.

So, why do you need these?

My mind whirled...how to respond? Smart-aleck or nice? Smart-aleck or nice?

Smart-aleck won.

"Well, to tell the truth, I'm using them for a secret government project, of which they are an essential part. I could tell you why I need them," dramatic pause, lowering of voice, "but I'd have to kill you."

The guy looked at me.

Blink.

Blink blink.

Um, okay. Well, here they are.

Cost me $25, but it was well worth it.

I'm turning over and over in my head what other things I can go buy, and what reasons I can give for buying them. Any suggestions?