10 and an interrogation
So i went to guitar center today. when i got up to the counter, this 20 something emo dude with a creepy flesh colored beard is my checker. He was nice enough to let me go up behind the counter to look at the picks myself. (i know it was a nice thing because he made sure to tell me.) I usually buy my picks individually, but i saw a few that i liked and thought what the hell...i wouldnt mind havin 12 of these lyin around. I step back around to the other side of the counter, hand him my two bags of picks and he rings me up. $9.46 for some fucking guitar picks! Fair enough, whatever. and plus, whos gonna argue with a flesh colored beard? I dish out 10 bucks and he wants my address, phone number, date of birth, mothers maiden name, blood type, soul of my first born child etc... Since when did the invasion of my privacy become so necessary and mundane. I get this shit at the mall, the shoe store, the book store...atleast you can still get a burger and fries without an extensive game of 20 questions.