|
Today's candidate for retail immortality was buying metal roofing. Let us skip past the "the twelve-foot is how much? And the eight-foot is how much? Now, you said the twelve-foot was how much? And is that cheaper than the eight-foot?" bullshit, the general "you don't know shit and I do" attitude he displayed, and his showing up in a Datsun pickup (yes, it was that old) with a cross-bed toolbox (which shortened the effective length of the bed from six feet to four) to haul long sheets of metal forty miles down the road...and focus on his "Bad Boy" tattoo.
Or, more accurately, his washed-out, blotchy "Bab Boy" tattoo. That's how it was really spelled.
I kinda hope he got that in prison or in the bathroom at school or something.
|