So, my mother and I are walking through the shops at the Prudential Center when I decide to stop by Teavana and buy two ounces of rooibius tea.
The saleswoman pours the loose tea in the bag, puts the bag on the scale, and sees that she has put too much. She pours out some of the excess tea. Let's read that last part again together, shall we? She pours out some of the excess tea. My mom glares at her and says "[I]One[/I] would [B]think[/B] with [B]ALL[/B] the tea [I]we[/I] buy here, a [I]little[/I] extra tea wouldn't matter." She then asks the saleswoman "And how long have [B][I]you[/I][/B] been working here?"
One might thinking from reading that last part, with the usage of the bold and italics that I'm trying to make it seem like my mom was saying this in a "Don't you know who I am?"-tone of voice. If that is the case, I must apoligize profusely for creating such a wrong impression. It was much, much, much more insulting then that. It wasn't a simple "Don't you know who I am? Don't you know that the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was having a tea party with the Empress of Japan, and they both called me to ask what tea should be served and how long should the tea be stepped? Don't you know that I am the honorary head of every tea company of the world? Don't you know that my reviews single-handedly decide the fate of the entire tea industry? Don't you know that because of me, next year England is going to formally apologize to every single citizien of the United States of America and make arrangements for fifty tons of tea to be annualy sent to Boston free of charge for the next five hundred years at the very least?" kind of question. No, no.
It was as if someone had done something so incredibly offensive and lacking in the most basic intelligence required for one's profession that one is genuinely asking how long they've been at their job.
Like, if one worked at a top-secret government agency solely tasked with keeping The Elder Ones Who Sleep from taking over the world, and you were in this isolated New England village, and you stumble upon this guy with tentacles for arms screaming "I have seen beyond the world of flesh, the architecture of blood and bone marrow!" while a horde of people around him are whipping themselves into a frenzy around him while shouting "[I]Ia! Ia! Cthulhu f'tagin![/I]" and you just know that the wrong move is going to make the guy with the tentacles explode into a hideous biomechanical abomidation that would make H.R. Giger himself run away screaming in utter terror, and then the new guy on your team says "Hey, what if we just tell the guy to calm down?" You would use ask "And how long have you worked here?" with the same tone of voice that my mom used.
The saleswoman somehow recovered and said "Well, some people come in here and buy five pounds of tea, you know." My mom says (with her nose high up in the air) "We buy from you on-line all the time, you know." There is a implication in this sentence that she has single-handedly kept this company in business with her patronage, and with more of a "They try so hard, the poor things" kind of [I]noblesse oblige[/I] then any semblance of brand royality.
After taking a short break from the exertion of properly describing my mom's tone of voice, I took a look at her forum and her version of the story. She says that she was merely upset that her son, who is surely the only young man in the entire Bay State who actually is a loyal costomer, was being fleeced. I noticed that several snooty people in her forum are responding with posts of "I say, good show, madam" and "It's about time someone shows those cheapskate salespeople what for, what". Also, my mom spells "explain" as "exsplain".
I'm looking forward to what you people have to say about this.