Yesterday I wandered into one of the seasonal Halloween stores that pop up this time each year. I was looking for a couple of accessories to complete the costume idea that hit me the night before. While I was there, I saw a little witchy broom that was amazingly priced at under $5 (probably the cheapest thing in the store), so I decided to buy it. It wasn't for my costume; it just seemed like something I ought to have.
The clerk at the check-out line was rather "spirited."
"Did you find some goodies?" he greeted me cheerfully.
"Yes," I answered plainly.
He began to ring up my items.
"I like your earrings," he said.
"Thanks," I replied, remembering that they were skeletons.
He started to bag my items. Handling the broom, he said, "Now, you know, if you're going to be flying this thing, you'll need a license."
"Oh, I won't need it," I said without skipping a beat.
"I dunno," he continued to attempt to charm me. "Those Raleigh police are everywhere these days."
I smiled slyly. "They won't even see me."
He laughed. "That's the best answer I've heard so far."
He didn't know who he was dealing with.