The balding man in glasses, rust-colored polo shirt and cargo shorts has a crowd gathered around him as he harangues the grocery store manager. As I walk away down the freezer aisle to pick up our ice cream, I hear him say excitedly, "I demand some compensation for my inconvenience."
Things have escalated considerably when I return with a half-gallon of cookies-and-cream: the manager has walked away, pursued by the angry man, who is jabbering away on his cell phone with all the privileged righteousness he can muster.
"Yes," he says, "the manager said that he would call the police if I didn't leave, so I'm calling first to tell you he is harassing me."
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