Magical Sailor Fuku

"Well, maybe you'd get a girlfriend if you talked to girls more often than your hand." Stew shakes his head. "I'm gonna see about reorganizing some of the displays. At least it'll help us kill time." He turns from Tony and tries not to remember the other times Tony used hand puppetry to get his point across.

No sooner does Stew head over to the displays--then a little old woman shuffles into the room. It's hard to guess her age for sure, but he would wager somewhere around 300, judging from her wrinkles. Guessing people's ages was perhaps not his strongest suit, though.

Regardless, she makes a beeline for him, looking expectant.

Stew saw the little old lady and sighed as she headed to him. The worst part about working in retail, was everyone expected service instead of a product. He adjusts the display a little, brushes his hands off, and gives her a smile. "How can I help you today?"

The woman does not return his expression or at least not that he can tell. Not with anything beyond a stare, at least. Not at his face though--at his nametag.
She does not answer his question either--save for with another question.

"You are Stew?"

He blinks at the old lady. "Um, yes. I'm Stewart." He coughs, making the staring feel all the more awkward. "Now, we have some nice samples for both interior and exterior paints, and we can match just about any color sample you have. So, what can I interest you in looking at today?" He grimaces inwardly. Great, another crazy old lady. As if one today weren't enough. And the way she was staring at him, he wouldn't be able to shove her away to Tony.

The woman narrows her already-beady eyes.

"Paint? Oh, yes..." She pauses. "What paint does Stew like the most?"

Stew blinks. "Huh. No one's really asked me that before. You're the first that hasn't come in with some idea of what they want." He turns and looks at the variety of paints available, then grabs two cans. "I can't really recommend any colors over others, but this brand is great for interiors," he points to one can, and then to the other. "And this brand is excellent for exteriors."

The woman looks between them with decided disinterest.

"And the color?"

Stew squints at the lady for a minute. "Ma'am, that's the part you have to decide. I don't know what you're working on, how you want it to look, or if you're even working on a project to begin with." He folds his arms. "What I do know is that I cannot help you any further than I already have. So, either tell me what color you want, or you can go back out the door and have a nice day."

The woman crosses her arms.

"What is your favorite color for...a restaurant?"

Stew raises an eyebrow at her. "Really?" He purses his lips and grabs onto the can of interior paint. "That depends on the restaurant, now doesn't it? If you have a burger joint, you want something neutral like teal. If you have an italian or mexican restaurant, you want a bright splash of color on one wall, preferrably something light. For an oriental restaurant, you want dark colors, red is popular. But for you, I'd recommend this." Stew reaches around the counter and pulls out another can of paint. "This is clearcoat. Since you obviously don't want to make any decisions at all, you can just slop this on your walls and no one will even know it's there. Happy?" He exhales loudly and stares at the lady.

The woman looks at him calmly, her expression never changing...and she takes the clearcoat.

"Very well, Stew, I will take this, for now."

Squinting at him, she smiles.

"You are a feisty one."

Before he can explode again, she turns, heads to the counter, and quickly leaves the store without looking back. The bells on the door clang as it closes.

Stewart's jaw hangs open as he watches the lady walk out of the store with her newly purchased paint. "Wha... What was that all about?" He shakes his head and cleans up a bit, shoving cans of paint back angrily since he doesn't really have anything else to vent his anger and frustration on at the moment. "Crazy old woman..."

It was a good question. Something about the whole exchange--maybe just that he was pissed--had made him a little dizzy though. Actually, scratch that--really dizzy!

As the chimes of the bells fade, they seem to echo yet louder in his head, massive, clanging....Dong....Ding....Dong...

Stewart leans heavily on the counter and holds his head. "Ugh... what the..." He flinches with each ringing of the massive bells. He tries to stand up straight and make his way to the break room or the bathroom. Anywhere he could sit would be fine with him. But the dizziness and the chiming of the heavy bells proves to be too much, and he falls to the floor.