So last night was pretty slow, my DVD's were off by one and I met a general Manager named Francisco. He was a very loud and touchy Italian.

At 12, it was pretty much dead, except for one guy looking for a DVD with a girl in it, someone who he didn't remember her name, didn't remember her production company, just her face. He had me leaf through the few books we had, and when he didn't see her, he decided to go back into a booth.

Now, he was back there for a few minutes, when he comes back out and starts sorting through the DVD's again. When he came out, I had been singing Metallica's One, because it was on the radio, and that sparked a whole discussion on Metallica.

Then he started to head back to the booths, when he turned to be and said:
"Would you watch? Please?" I turned a few shades of fuschia and politely declined.

Later, after Mr. Watch Me was gone, I had to deal with this drunken New Zealander. He was nice enough, just very inebriated, and returning two "defective" DVD's. Uh Huh, sure... They were defective and I'm Lindsay Lohan.