I hadn't seen Randy for a while, a pleasant respite which couldn't last forever.
He returned just now, making one of his trademarked flustered displays at the counter when I told him the catalog of Italian art he was pawing wasn't for sale, in fact didn't belong to the store yet- it was a deal in progress.
He picked up a two small pamphlets from the new arrivals, explaining in detail how he had sworn he would only buy one book today and the rational for his purchase of two instead. I eventually finalized the sale and went back to pricing, hoping for the best.
This being Randy, my hope was in vain.
"Um, excuse me, but could I have a BAG for these?"
Randy only likes paper bags.
And we only have plastic bags.
This has been true as long as he's been coming in to the shop, which is to say as long as the shop has existed.
Which doesn't stop him from requesting bags then wilting in disappointment when they aren't his preferred material. Likely the opportunity to express that disappointment is his goal.
So I place his two small pamphlets in our large plastic bag and he immediately starts tut-tutting.
"Oh my. My, my my. Don't you have any paper bags?"
"Nope, that's it."
"Oh, no, no, this won't do. This....this....this is the *opposite* of a good idea."
"Well, those are the only bags we've got."
"Don't you have any typing paper? You could tape two sheets together for me."
He plucked his two books from the hated bag, pinching it by the extremity of one lower corner, as if it might curl in his hand and claw at his fingers.
"Well, I'll just find a place in my voluminous pockets for them, although I would prefer a paper bag."
And he was off, hopefully for another several month sabbatical.