Two boys walk in. They might be fresh out of high school, I mean, they look pretty young – and it’s clear by the foil sticker on their ball cap brims (why is everyone doing that???) that they still care about stupid things like being Cool.
First thing each one of them does is grab a silly little basket that you tote around the store. Those baskets look like something you put on your arm to take bread and yarn across the village. So not Cool. Something isn’t right.
“Hey there, boys. What are you up to today?” I look unconvinced before they answer.
They insist they’re just browsing. They even grab an ad to amuse you. Their baskets, their looting equipment, is that what tipped you or have you started to pass heavy judgment on young men?
Thirty seconds later they’re in the aisle behind you, shoving as many Dre Beats into those baskets as they’ll hold. Four hundred dollar headphones, boom boom boom boom boom boom boom. No account for color or kind.
“Okay team, we need to get over there. Don’t even leave their side. I mean, awkward small talk, babysit, get those baskets and try to sell them something until they give up.”
Questions about the products. Questions about discounts. But as many customer-like things they do they never make it to the part where they bring out their wallet. They’re not customers and we’re not police. They leave empty-handed. It’s the safest, money-forward technique.
I go over to the Dre Beat display just in case I’ve missed something. I set the headpiece over my ears and listen. All I hear is the unique sound of Monster tickling Will i Am's butthole.
I did them a favor.