(This is an excerpt from Nothing Much Happens, Diary of an Upstate Bookseller, a work in progress.)
New customer from the UK in today, a verbal salad shooter, manure spreader. “Bloody” this and “bloody” that and George W. Bush is a wanker. Obama is a wanker too, and John Wayne was a bloody wanker. Most of the the time I could understand him, but sometimes I needed subtitles.
He comes to the States once a year, entering from Canada with a suitcase full of hundred dollar bills to buy vintage cars and parts to ship back to the Island to sell at a profit. His name is Ford*, but he buys and repatriates Triumphs, Austin Healys and MGs not Mustangs.
Then the dreaded question, which I’m never prepared for, “Do you give discounts?” Continue reading “When bloody wankers ask for discounts”