The Customer is Always Wrong... Right.

So, as freaky as Friday gets, Mondays are becoming the new Fridays, which used to be Wednesdays, and were Thursdays before that. We're not quite sure what day it was before the invention of time, like, you know, more than 30 years ago.

So, ol' Herr Starr ain't feeling the best today. Bad cold make Starr grumpy sumbitch. So the last thing I needed was an uppity asshole trying to tell me how to do my job.

Imagine if you will... It's raining outside when a grey-suited business-type man prances into the store, huffing and puffing and shaking water freakin' everywhere. Whilst he's dripping everywhere and trying to slick his greasy hair back into place, he stumbles up to the counter, and seeing me on my own, proceeds to ask me (in a gravelly geeky voice) "Excuse me, do you have the 300 Annual?"

I stare at him for a few seconds, giving him the usual half-lidded stare.

"Do you mean", I say, "the 300 hardcover?"

"No, no", he insists, "Frank Miller drew it as an Annual years ago and then released it after that into like, a collected edition" he says, sagely nodding at his idiotic incorrectness.

I sigh, and decide to correct him. I don't know why, and I really should know better, but I do it anyway. It's like sticking your testicles into a Shine-O-Ball-O. You know you shouldn't do it, but the fascination is there. So, I very levelly say "No, it's a hardcover. It's only available in a hardcover format. You can't get it any other way".

Nup. Gray-Suit ain't buying it. "Look," he says, "I've done my research. It was an Annual."

I sigh again. Fine. It's an Annual. It can be the freakin' Shroud of Turin. I just want this to end.

"So, do you have a copy?" he quips, still dripping like a sweaty shark with slowly expanding body odour, not unlike a fetid swamp in the middle of summer... on Mercury.

Now, this is the point where, in the back of my head, i start rubbing my hands. Nothing feels better than correcting an inane, self-important twit who's seen a film and all of a sudden wants everything connected to it - now. Right now.

"I'm sorry mate", I say, with every ounce of false apology I can muster, "we're out of stock".

He stares at me for a full five seconds, before he stammers on. I could've read 'War and Peace' in the interim. "What do you mean you're out of stock? How can you be out of stock of the most popular book in the world?"

I pause. "I'm sorry, we don't stock the Bible".

While he stares at me somewhat dumbfoundedly, I continue. "And about, oh, several thousand other people have come in, purchased the 300 hardcover, and that's why we're out of stock". I didn't bother telling him it's also out of print. He may not know what this incredibly technical term may mean.

"We should have some more by the end of the week," continue. "Maybe."

He finally smiles a little, thinking he's in, and his worries are over. "Okay, can I have a copy set aside for me, and I'll come and pick it up?" Smiling, I say "No, I'm afraid we can't do that. We don't hold books. Just come on past and we'll see what we can do."

At this time, he just sorta half-smiled (slimed) and stammered again. "Uh, okay, yeah, I'll try that. Thanks. Yeah". He turns to leave, and before he hits the door to finally leave the store and possibly my life, he turns around and says "Are you sure you'll have copies this weekend?"

Help me Obi-Jeebus Kenobi. You're my only hope.