I try to sneak by them, thinking that the rush of other customers will distract from my presence. But being the only honky around tends to attract attention, and anyways the staff of this grocery store exist only to watch every person passing by them like hawks. I hover over the dumpling selection for just a second too long, and suddenly one of them is upon me, existing all up in my face, chattering at a constant pace about this and that sale and about how my dumpling intake could be so much greater if I would just give in and go for the quadruple pack. I reach for one package and the woman, old and possibly kindly and in another life maybe someone who would enjoy needlepoint, refers back to her training and very nearly smacks the package out of my hand. Her face is awash in disgust as she gestures virulently back to the quadruple pack.
It is her duty. I am not being served properly unless I am being thoroughly accosted.