I got kicked out of a candy store tonight.

Or rather...I was asked not to return.

It began innocently enough. It was a drizzly day here in New York City. I had spent the afternoon babysitting and was walking home when I passed a candy/ice cream bodega. I had never really noticed it before (despite the two-block proximity to my home), but today as I passed I got a hankering for sour candies. And I just had to have the ones that you scoop up into a bag.

I didn't need many. So I took a few sugar free gummies and then a few of the sour treats. The bag was light. I know this because I usually always get a heavy bag. Heavy. Always. But tonight, I just wanted a few--a few gummies to satiate the palate. 

So I headed to the front, placed my bag on the scale and waited to pay my few dollars. That's when the man (the owner, maybe?) declared my total to be $6.50. Double take. "Are you sure?" I said, "That's quite a bit." "Hang on," he responded punching in new numbers, "My mistake, it's four dollars."

Hmmm....four dollars. He had tried to scam me. But fine. Four dollars was still too much, but best to cut my losses and get out (after all I was holding him up from his pressing phone call--he hadn't even hung up). I handed him a twenty (a bill I received babysitting). "You don't have anything smaller?" "Nope," I said. "Nobody has anything small," he then muttered under his breath. 

Enough was enough. I wanted to out of there. "You know what, I don't want this." When he said 6.50 I had thought of getting an out right then and there, but I pressed on and was rewarded with nastiness. I was out. I didn't need his bad mumbo-gumbo gettin' all up in my gummie groove. I could get gummies somewhere else, thank you very much. He somewhat obligingly handed me my not-small-enough-bill and then told me to put my candy back. I stared for a second. "Okaaaay," I said slowly. I went to pour it back in, at which point he yelled at me, saying I would mix the candies (this was before they had even left the white paper bag (the non-see-through-white paper bag). He then proceeded to yell at me for mixing the candies in the first place. I didn't know. So I pointed to the two types (all the while he's waiving his phone in the air, wielding it like something of a weapon). Finally, he tells me to just set the bag down and to not come back next time. 

There it was. "And don't come back next time." "Don't worry, I won't " I said superior-ly  as I stormed out. The door closed behind me (not the kind you could slam. Darn.) And huffing my way home I pondered the fact that he had asked me--me the candy connoisseur--me the white-bread, innocent-enough customer not to return. 

Didn't he know who I was? Didn't he know that a good review from me and my wily, little blog could make or break him. Oh wait, let me pull out my inflated ego pedestal and try that one again....Didn't he know that a good review from me and my wily, little blog could MAKE OR BREAK HIM?! I guess not. Hmph.

So there you have it. The story of how Ms. Goody Two Shoes did in fact get thrown out of an establishment. Check that off of life's lists of things to do. So what if it was just a candy store? Just a candy store?! What am I saying? That's what makes the story so PERFECT.