A short older woman, maybe five feet tall, stands in doorway while a paying customer lingers by the register.
"Do you work here? Do you work here? Do you work here?"
"Mmmhmm, what can I do for you?"
Getting an unbalanced vibe off her.
"I need to walk across the street."
Emboldened, she enters the store.
"I was hit by a car," gesturing at a ratty old plastic lace-up anke brace, "and someone stole my money. I need to go across the street to see if maybe its there. You see my umbrella?" Pointing at a sack of random junk sitting on our windowsill. "Can you watch it for me? In case someone tries to steal it?"
"I'm not going to be responsible for your stuff, no."
"Can I leave it there while I go across the street?"
"Sure, but I'm not watching it."
With that she shuffled out the door.
The customer, with absolutely zero functional radar for spotting the mentally ill, said "Wow, she was hit by a CAR? I hope she's alright! And someone stole her money!"
I refrained from comment, settling on a noncommittal grunt.
Now she's across the street, yelling at some random guy "HEY! DID YOU TAKE THE TWENTY BUCKS OFF THE FLOOR? HEY, YOU!"
Just another day in paradise!