. . . And stood there.
The salesmen finished their discussion of sports and started on dirty jokes.
. . . And stood there.
Then the subject was the relative merits of the women they were dating. It might have been interesting, not to mention instructional, if I hadn’t been getting so annoyed.
“Do you get the feeling I’m not the only one who’s invisible?” Kalvin muttered sarcastically. When a Djin who’s used to sitting in a bottle for years starts getting impatient, I figure I’m justified in taking action.
“Excuse me,” I said firmly, breaking into the conversation. “I’d like to look at that bag over there? The small magik one in green canvas?”
“Go ahead,” one of the salesmen shrugged and returned to his conversation.
I stood there for a few more moments in sheer disbelief, then turned and marched back over to the bag. “Now you’re starting to move like a Pervect,” the Djin observed.
“I don’t care,’-‘ I snarled. “And that’s Pervert! I’ve tried to be nice . . . didn’t want to mess up their display . . . but, if they insist . . .”
For the next several minutes I took my anger out on the bag, which was probably the safest object to vent my spleen on. I hefted it, swung it over my head, slammed it against the floor a couple times, and did everything else to it I could think of short of climbing inside. I’ve got to admit the thing was sturdily made. Then again, I was starting to see why goods on Perv had to be tough. The salesmen never favored me with so much as a glance.
“Check me on this, Kalvin,” I panted, my exertions finally starting to wear on my endurance. “The price tag on this bag does say 125 gold, doesn’t it?” I may not be able to read many written languages, but numbers and prices have never given me any trouble. I guess it comes from hanging around with Aahz as long as I have . . . not to mention Tananda and Bunny.