Customer: “Let’s see what junk you have today.”
Me: “What… kind of junk are you looking for?”
Customer: “I’ll take a bottle of English Gold Label.”
Me: “Coming right up!”
Customer: “Not that it matters. They’re all the same junk.”
[Ed. Note: This impertinent blend of heirloom corrosives offers sparkling citrus top notes with hints of oak and black currant, rounded out by a chocolatey, turpentine finish…]
Me: “That’ll be $28.13. Would you like a receipt?”
Customer: “Nah. My credit card will send an alert to my phone.”
Me: “Okay, cool.”
Customer: “I have all my cards set up that way. I work in a prison, and trust me, the inmates will steal anything.”
And this is where I had to surrender and accept what a horrible person I am, because he only had one leg, and as he trekked away on his crutches, all I could think was, “Wow, he’s right. Those inmates don’t fuck around.”
Marjorie's Forgeries 
That just made me think of the prison break-out scene in Guardians of the Galaxy. “…and I need that guy’s fake leg!”
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if he had this bad attitude before he lost the leg, I’d say the inmates were justified for taking it.
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