On the outside chance that you already really, really hate me and never want me to come into this place again, may I perhaps dare to offend you just a wee, little bit?
When I came in here I was looking for a can of paint. But not just a can of regular paint, nor a regular can of paint. You might say that I was looking for an irregular can of very out-of-the-ordinary paint. I wanted paint.
You knew exactly what kind of paint I wanted, you insolent fool. I wanted the most unusually-shaped can filled with the most highly unorthodox paint...a paint that I could be proud of using in the strangest of ways. If I wished to paint the town red I would have used the sub-par paint that you offered me, you mindless simp. I was looking for paint that would allow the spirit to soar...paint that would take my soul to new heights of ecstasy and rapture. Paint that would offer veritable orgasmic joy to the painter. I wanted paint.
Yet when I asked for paint, THIS is what you gave me. Look at it, will you. This is a cylindrical can with a paper label and a paint smudge on the lid. I suppose you were even going to give me a pine or ash so-called "stirrer-stick" to go along with it, and perhaps one of those little pry-bar churchkey thinggies. You ass. Paint of the sort I want will only deign to be contained within crystalline, tourmaline or spent uranium vessels in the shapes of internal organs and wrapped in naturally-tanned seal skin labels. And as far as stirring goes, I would expect nothing less than a bucket-brigade paint container pass performed by a synchronized capoeira revue. How dare you insult me. A prybar? You simple-minded oaf. I would demand explosive bolts and a retina-scan entry and egress system, fool.
So this is where it stands. I will pretend that I was offered no dodgey little can of crap-for-paint. I will pretend that you did not smile as you handed me this foul excuse for a can of paint. I will pretend that we could still be friends despite the injustice and pain that I have been caused to bear this day. I will pretend that when I leave this establishment you will forget as well, but that you will not cease to echo your "mea culpas" against these four walls until the setting of the sun on this most unfortunate day. Oh dreadful day! Oh cursed iniquity! For to redeem this coupon, you gave me paint! Oh day, verily cursed!
I will leave you now. Indeed, I shall leave. I will take my search elsewhere, and when you think back on this episode, I do promise that you shall rue the day...you shall rue the day wherein to satisfy the most sublime desire for the most sublime paint you gave what one should never see.
I wanted paint.