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When I go into a store, I take no prisoners, especially if I like the merchandise.
I ooh, and awe. I exclaim loudly the attributes of a variety of items, asking
“Is this new?” “Are there any more?” “Is there a limit?”
I enthusiastically throw my shopping prowess all over the store in sorted ways.
“ONLY ONE!” I yell, holding up a lopsided pink flamingo. “I have to have it!”
I pop it into my cart, trying not to notice the sneaky old woman who is now following me.
The next time I see her, she and the pink flamingo are checking out, which pleases me to no end.
All the sales people rush to help me. I memorize their names quickly, and give them compliments.
They are whirling and twirling, not doing their jobs when the boss comes out of the back office.
“I wish I could BUY this store!” I yell.  The owner stops dead in her tracks, forgetting to chastise anyone.
“You can!” she says. “It is for sale!”
If I had a quarter for every time this has happened, I would be driving a new car, probably a Lincoln.
The next thing I know, people are bring me warm croissants, hair clips, and whatever else I need so I can
Shop “in peace”.
I am the only one who ever gets to use the employee restroom in some stores.
As they want me to BE an employee.
Sometimes the manager gets permission to take me to lunch and treat me.
I almost always get offered a job, because people seem to love enthusiasm.
Do not ask me why. I see it every day. I work with children.
By the time I am ready to leave this adventure, a favored store clerk is asked to put me on his shoulders and carry me to my car.
There is a little parade behind me, and the owner hands me a key to the store as I get into my old vehicle.
I wave all the way to the interstate with wild aplomb, and they wave back enthusiastically.
I watch them clap each other on their backs as they turn.
I am apparently the only one who knows I will probably never be back.
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