Attention, small Record Shop aroiund the corner from my work:

Do not force me to take my CD business to the Wherehouse in the future, as you did today. Do not tell me you have the two new Tom Waits CDs, and even gesture to them, sitting mere inches from my sweaty paws, only to deny me their Waitsy goodness because they "haven't been entered into the computer yet". Don't send me off to the uncaring abyss of the Wherehouse. I hate the Wherehouse, which sucks all the cool out of you like some hideously dull vampire.

Don't tell me to come back later, and act like me wanting to give you thirty dollars is inconvenient for you at this time.

The Wherehouse got your thirty dollars, and the Wherehouse sucks a mountain of ass. Just remember that.