an adventure in customer service

There is a delightful indie record shop in my town. I won't name it to protect the innocent, but if you must know, it's called good records. I've frequented this shop since its opening in 2000. I love it there. Where else am I gonna get my indie fix on a Saturday afternoon? Or the odd Thursday?

Today, I could not get over the rudeness I encountered at my favorite record shop. Lindsay and I went in to browse. We listened to the new selections, perused the rows of CDs, and talked excitedly amongst ourselves about the latest discoveries, like this remarkable band. Unfortunately, being jobless, Lindsay and I opted not to purchase something. We were casually walking out the front door, when the man behind the counter, a man I've had numerous nice conversations with regarding good music, said smugly as we were leaving, "Did you get everything you wanted?" He glared at us. I smiled, thinking he was kidding, and said, "No, we didn't get anything." He gave me an annoyed grin and returned to his record shuffling, or whatever he was doing. Now, I won't name any names here, but his name is C.J. I've never felt so alienated at this shop, so overcome by pretention and accusatory rudeness. What, did he think we had stolen something? Or was he so flabbergasted that we took advantage of his store and (how dare we) not bought something?

I've decided not to return to said record shop until I cool off. Or perhaps I'll just completely convert to iTunes. Today's blatant arrogance was practically an invitation to do so.