Dear nameless customer,
I would love to help you. Truly I would. I am very sorry that we were out of stock of the table you wanted. That does indeed suck, and I wish we had one to sell you.
However, when I have scoured the store and explained that no, we really don’t have one, giving me a plaintive look and saying “But it’s my birthday…” does not grant me the astonishing power to pull a full-sized drafting table from any of my orifices. Trust me on this one. The incantation required for that particular trick is a heckuva lot longer and requires at least fifty bucks up front and a working knowledge of Latin.*
Repeating that it is your birthday will not help. Nope, not the third time either, although it does start to get a bit…odd…at that point. Yes, the fourth time, too. You’re a grown man, dude. You’ve got five, ten years on me at least. Belief in the magical wish-granting powers of birthdays should probably have passed off by age twelve.
I am not the Birthday Fairy. I do not have the legs for it.
I hope that the rest of your birthday was not the cavalcade of disappointment that this experience obviously was.
*And I will be crabby for DAYS afterward.
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