I want to remove one of my toes. It itches constantly and keeps me awake. Perhaps it's my conscience.

Lots of stories, today. The little old people come and tell me about their friends' operations (a tumour that was Just About to pierce through his kidney, just terrible) How their mother sent fruitcakes to the boys at the front during world war two (possible use as alternate weapon? Incoming dried-fruit baked goods) How the government is trying to get everyone to register their guns so that they can later come by and collect them all when they declare martial law. Come on, this is Canada. We don't have a big enough army to declare martial law. We had to come back from the Gulf this time because our one helicopter fell in the sea. Another one I enjoyed was the little man who told me that the lottery is controlled by invisible beings, and that they talk to him while he's in line to buy his tickets.

So, I figure, either all this will rub off on me and I'll start sending fruitcakes overseas and wanting to talk about operations, or I'll have to use my unregistered firearms and talk some sense into these people. That's the problem with retail, on the whole, you have to just nod and smile and agree with them. I wonder if the customer can still be said to be "right" when he is talking to someone who obviously isn't there?