Camera Store Page #3

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joint here.

Just so you know, people that

use the word class...

Usually do not have that which

they purport to invoke.

No, I got no time for your

conundrums today, all right?

I got an installation

to supervise.

Eyesore?

That's what I said.

Well, no, actually what

you said was...

"Your store," meaning mine,

Ray Lapine's store...

Is an eyesore in your mall.

Your, in the latter sense

meaning you...

Felix Potemkin, mall manager.

Now, that's exactly what you

said, isn't it, little junior?

You got no cause to demean...

You know, we should straighten

this out, all right?

Firstly, this is not my store.

Right?

I'm simply the manager.

I'm like the

financial custodian.

Like the president of a bank,

for instance.

Yes, or something like

that, that's what I am.

And secondly, this is not

your mall.

What you are is a bouffant

jerk who walks around...

In squeaky cheap shoes listening

to the musak all day...

And the carping of old ladies,

and occasionally...

You do make yourself useful when

you spread that pink powder...

Over puddles of puke

you encounter...

Before you have the janitorial

staff scurry over...

Like it's a f***ing train wreck

and actual lives...

Are at stake, all right.

What you are, Felix...

No cause!

Do not interrupt me, all right?

You are a functionary.

Which is one step above

lackey...

Which is a first cousin

to flunky...

Which is only a gnat's

eyelash from being the chief...

Counter monkey at a

Kentucky fried chicken.

I'm having a serious talk

with Mr. b.

Yeah, fine. Call him in boca.

See if you can get

him off the 19th tee.

Excuse me, are you Ray?

Half hour.

We open at 9:
30.

Oh, no, I'm not a customer.

I'm here to work.

Yeah, all right, fine.

I know who you are, all right.

So you weren't looking where

you were going...

You got mud on your clothes...

And now you want money from me

for dry cleaning.

Sir, I'm here to work with you.

And what are you? Some rump man

sent over by employment?

Is that what, relief?

Right? And you want in?

I mean, you want to be here

on Christmas f***ing Eve day...

To what, stand by the register

and collect commission...

While I spend 364 days...

No, f*** that, 23 f***ing

years setting this up and now...

You're going to swoop in,

take money out of my pocket.

Is that what money means to you,

young man?

Let me tell you something.

You make a mistake.

When you make money, you're god.

I'm sorry, i...

And if you want in,

you have to ask.

You have to have the

brass clock-knockers to say...

Mr. Lapine, I want in.

Well, Mr. Lapine, I want in.

F*** you.

But Mr. bibideaux said...

Yeah, he's in Florida.

No, he's here.

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