Service With a Snarl

So, I go in a small retail store this evening. It's about 6:45 and the sign on the door makes it clear, in no uncertain terms, this store closes at 7 PM. The "OPEN" sign is lit, but, let's not get too giddy. The store will close at 7. I can live with that. I'm not moving in...just kinda checking the store out.
So, the clerk, in typical friendly clerk fashion says, "Excuse me, but you do know we close at seven, don't you."
"I can read," I reply politely. And I proceed to look around...somewhat thoughtlessly, I guess. I had the nerve to shop when the clerk wanted to vacuum the store.
And now, I'm feeling so remorseful. How dare I to think that I should go in a store where the clerks were looking forward to closing up. Who did I think I was anyway?
It's not the first time I've done something so cruel. I went into a restaurant recently. I can't say I went in under false pretenses. I knew full well that the restaurant was going to be closing in about an hour. And yet, with full knowledge, and total lack of regard for the waitstaff who were apparently running the place, I went right in, sat down, and even had the nerve to order something.
The way the waitress slapped the water glasses down on the table should have been a wake up call to me. If I had any human compassion whatsoever, I would have realized that this waitress was being forced (by me) to actually take an order and serve food, and with less than an hour left on her shift.
Why, I was so rude that night, that I didn't even lift my feet that high when one of the waiters was trying to vacuum under my table. It's a wonder they didn't just throw me out on my ear.
People like me shouldn't even be allowed to mix with the rest of society. If I had even a shred of decency, I'd never enter any business after noon. I'm sure from that point on they're just counting down the minutes until they can flip the old sign to "Sorry, We're Closed."
Why should I presume on these dear, dear folk. Don't they work hard enough as it is. I mean by the time they get the open sign set up and turn all the lights on, why these young clerks have hardly any time to themselves, you know, time to make those personal phone calls, and buff their nails and polish their piercings...you know the important stuff.
I ask again, just who do I think I am. The other day, I was in a store and I had picked up a few items that I wanted to purchase. Without any regard for anyone other than my own selfish self, I marched right up to the counter, plopped my items down, pulled out my wallet, and just glared at the two young people behind the counter.
What is wrong with me. Obviously, these two had important matters to discuss. One of them, the blonde, I think, had gone out with Greg the other night, and Greg is so cool, but she (the blonde) doesn't really think they hit it off all that much, and the other girl, the one with the really, really red hair, knew just what the blonde was talking about, because she used to date this guy and he really had a lot going for him, but somehow their just wasn't that, you know, that connection.
Rather than doing the right thing and quietly tip toe out the store without disturbing these two bright young people, I had the audacity to clear my throat. And it wasn't that little subtle throat-clearing. It was a loud, obnoxious harrummph. You know the kind that has some substance to it.
It did have the intended impact. Both young ladies interrupted their meaningful dialogue and one even got up and came over and rang up my purchases. I almost felt guilty asking them to take my money.
Again, I ask, just who do I think I am? A good-for-nothing jerk, that's who. Really, who other than a jerk would ask the clerk at Food Lion to do a price check when she rings up an item at a price significantly higher than that posted in the aisle. I mean, the cashier told me I was wrong. She made it clear that she had more important things to do than call someone over and interrupt their time to go check a price for me.
The fact that I was right is little solace when I stop to think about how much I expected of these people. They have jobs to do. They have personal agendas which keep them pretty busy, and yet, here I waltz into their lives like I'm some sort of prima donna saying, "Hey, look at me. Take my money. Wait on me."
So, here's an open letter, or whatever to all of you clerks and cashiers and waitpersons out there. To all of you, I humbly say, "Please forgive me. If at all possible, I'll never, ever bother you again."
Your humble servant,
Steve