Staring paint...

It was, perhaps, my own fault for shopping at Wilkinsons. I was minding my own business at the checkouts, hoping to pay for some DIY fixtures and a bar of chocolate, when a voice behind me muttered, in no uncertain terms, "can I fucking put this down or what then?". I turned around to see a scruffy looking, tracksuited gent with a five litre can of emulsion in his hands. I stared at him, because I was of the opinion that he was an ignorant, arrogant c**t lacking in basic manners. "Don't fucking stare at me like that," was his response. I shook my head. He didn't hit me, so I claim the moral victory.