What We Have Here Is A Failure To Communicate

I was trying to return some shoes to Walmart on Sunday night. There was this cheerful guy on the return desk running around hollaing at everybody. Most of the support desk staff are sort of surly, but this guy was On, baby. On.

"Got another abortion!" he'd holla. I have no idea what he was talking about, I suppose a return that was not completed? Anyway the whole crew would sniff disdainfully and move a few inches away from him each time he screamed this.

We got up to the front. I handed him the shoes. He lifted them up to check for wear.

"WHEREJA GET THESE TWO LITTLE BEAUTIES!" he hollered, looking at the shoes.

I looked at him like people are always looking at me.

To wit: I wonder what planet you came from?

"From The Sh-0e De-part-ment," I replied, carefully enunciating every word.

"I MEANT THOSE TWO LIL OL' KIDS THERE!" he hollered, pointing at the girls, who were staring at him fascinated.

"Oh!" I giggled uncontrollably. "Sorry!"