No thanks, I'm trying to cut down

Here's a new one.

I was setting up a new window display this morning, a job I simply loathe: the space is small and hot, and I hate the fact that people walking by in the paseo frequently stop to watch what I'm doing. I hate my fat ass being on display, not to mention my sweaty, dusty face. Anyway, I was setting up an elaborate Da Vinci Code display when I heard a sharp rap on the window. I turned around and saw a young man, a real gangsta type, staring at me. (I think he was staring at me -- his mirrored shades were facing my direction.) He was smoking a hand-rolled, and he took it out of his mouth and tipped it in my direction, as if offering me a suck on his spliff. Perhaps I should have been flattered, but all I could think was, "Oh, brother." I rolled my eyes at him and crawled out of the window. When I returned a few minutes later with the Dust Buster he was gone.

Despite anything Barney's might suggest, the world of window-dressing is not all glamour.