My Bookstore Adventure
    I had been meaning to purchase a nine volt battery for several days,
  I even wrote myself a reminder in my little notebook that I write these
  things in. I decided, as all must do, that things must be done. And, as
  a person of action, I must do these things. My journey would bring me
  to the university bookstore - a corporate owned store in the middle
  of campus.

    As I headed towards the batteries, the university bookstore
  was silent, except for the low background music on the overheads. The
  selection of batteries was quite poor, only two brands were stocked and
  the cheap brand only had the double A batteries. I quickly found the
  nine volt row. Five eighty eight - that's how much this battery would
  cost me. I didn't recall batteries being so expensive. I wandered over
  to the medical section. They do not stock large bottles of Advil, which
  seemed odd. The whole store was starting to seem more and more eerie
  as I noticed the way it differed from a normal pharmacy. Unsettled,
  I meandered back to the middle of the room, where a magazine rack was
  standing. A magazine rack in the middle of the floor? I didn't know
  what to do. After a momentary pause, I made it back to the batteries.
  I did not want to delay my departure any longer!

    Staring at the batteries, a new problem arose. How was I to decide
  which battery was the best?  It can not be that all batteries are 
  the same. Which battery would perform the best *for me*? I picked the
  first three batteries off the rack and laid them side by side on the
  floor. I started by examining their packaging. My scrutiny yielded
  no results; the packaging was the same on all of them. Failing the
  eye exam, I decided to try and discern the quality of each battery
  audibly. I listened intently. No difference in the silence they
  produced. Disappointed, I had to fall back on numbering. I chose the
  third battery picked, as three is a more agreeable number than two
  and certainly no one can argue that one is better than three.

    Satisfied, I headed to the cashier. She was extra nice; perhaps
  she realized that she was not dealing with an ordinary customer,
  but, rather, with a consumer of the highest standards. The total 
  came to six dollars and thirty five cents. I paid with a ten dollar
  bill, two dimes and 3 nickels. As soon as the transaction finished, 
  I fled the store, battery in hand, her fading cry following me out
  the exit: 'Would you like a bag for that?'