>be me at Cabelas
>literally 30 year old boomer with mustache and Gadsden hat
>four workers are chatting at the gun counter, give 'em a nod and a smile
>start checking out revolvers
>guy comes over, "Can I help you?"
>Haven't even taken a number yet, wow!
>"Sure thing buddy, mind getting that Uberti out for me?"
>I spend about fifteen minutes fingerfucking revolvers until I find one that scratches my cowboy itch, give my ID to the fella and let him go box up my wheelgat
>look over and notice some pock-faced zoomer wearing full flecktarn and coke-bottle glasses staring as hard as he can at the lowers on sale
>He's not making eye contact with the employees
>I'm chatting with some old man who works there about .44 magnum
>nobody helping the Flecktarn Avenger, who looks about eighteenish
>another worker comes over to ask if I need help, give her a smile and tell her I've already been helped, she gives me the little datapad thing to enter my info on so I can get done more quickly
>jovially chat with workers as I get my shit sorted, go to the other counter to make my purchase official, walk back over to the gun counter
>long talk with everyone about how it's nice that there are so many durr this yurr
>Flecktarn Avenger still staring at lowers increasingly passive-aggressively, shooting me hateful stares
>Give him a smile and a "howdy bud".
>He mumbleglares at me
>Wander over to gun library to fingerfuck mosins and mausers, consider buying a 12gauge but I already have one
>Wander over to archery section and camping gear, buy a folding chair too because why not
>Flecktarn Avenger is still there like an hour later and the workers are still talking
I'm not sure what happened, but he was basically just staring at lowers for an hour and change while the staff walked by him. Maybe he was a ghost.
