Cheese and its implications

I hope everyone is aware that one can purchase BOURSIN, the amazingly delectable cheese pictured here, for a mere $1.50 at the East Village Cheese Shop on 3rd Ave and 9th St!!! I myself wasn't aware of it until I saw the Boursin at Jill's house, and upon inquiry was informed of the bargain.

So, shortly thereafter, after a boozy brunch, Chris and I head over to the EVCS. We pick up the Boursin, and I gleefully rattle it gently in its box and admire it like the francophile I am. We go to the register, where we are behind only one person. Looks good, right? Well. It turns out that we are behind possibly the most unreasonable, rudest, most obnoxious, terrible man that's ever existed, possibly rivaled by Jerry Gaul, the @$$hole depicted on the blog linked to your right of this post: "Oh, rich people are so silly!"

This man wanted the following item: 2 pounds of coffee beans. 1/4 of that mixture should be one type (let's call it Arabian), and 1 3/4 of the mixture should be another kind (let's call it French). However, the people at the cheese store:
a) only have 1 pound bags
b) barely speak English
c) are not the brightest bulbs in the bunch.

Now, I know that it's frustrating not to get what you want. And the girl behind the counter JUST COULD NOT GRASP WHAT THIS MAN WANTED. This man, from the get go, treated the salesgirl as though she was a piece of garbage speckled with dirt and refuse. He spoke to her as though she was a hard of hearing 4 year old. This story is really funny in its lack of story, as what ensued was LITERALLY (I kid you not) 10 minutes of him telling her what he wanted in a nasal drone, repeating over and over and over, so that all I could hear really was, "ONE POUND FRENCH QUARTER ARABIAN POUND 3 POUND ARABIAN FRENCH ARABIAN FRENCH 3/4 POUND" over and over. Meanwhile, about 25 people in the cheese shop had joined the line, and everyone was getting into a panic. Irritation was frothing from the lips of the queue-ers, their eyes shooting venom at this man. It should be noted that the salesgirl was incompetent. But there comes a point where the man, for his own self respect and the respect of those around him, should have given up his quest for this precise coffee arrangement. But oh wait, rich stuffy grown ups must ALWAYS get what they want! Then, the man turns to me (as I'm next) and says conspiratorially, "I'll get it eventually, haha," implying that the salesgirl is the only one at fault.

I turn my back on him without a word.