A couple of years ago I found myself visiting a local shopping mall with a couple of friends. We happened to stop at an ATM next to an establishment with which I had a particular history. "Gene's Books," I said aloud, without making the slightest attempt to hide the scorn in my voice.

Behind me, though, another voice piped up in reply, "Yessir, the finest book store this side of the Mississippi!"

Surprised, I turned to find myself facing a bearded chap with a big smile on his face. Obviously he was just as pleased as punch with his experiences at Gene's Books. He nodded toward the store and said again, "Yessir, it sure is a fine store."

I smiled right back at him and said, "I beg to differ."

Now it was his turn to look surprised. The smile vanished from his face and he just stared dumbstruck at me. After fumbling with his words for a moment or two, he managed to sputter out, "What?" "I said, 'I beg to differ.'" I then stood back and drew myself up, and turned on my storytelling voice. "Gentlemen!" I said loudly to my companions, "Let me tell you about Gene's Books..."

It never fails. A crowd immediately began to form around me, my small group of friends, and the embarrassed man with the beard. "Gene's Books," I began, placing particular emphasis on each word, "used to be frequented by your humble narrator and his good friend Neal some -- my, some sixteen years ago at this point. How time flies! You see, we were young students in those days, with little money but a lot of time. Every Friday, like clockwork, we would cash our meager paychecks at a bank that used to be around the corner from here, and then we would take our earnings first to the comic book store, and then to Gene's Books. We had been going there for years, every Friday night, plopping down cash for $1.95 new releases [which shows just how far back this tale goes]. We would never fail to purchase at least one book between us, and often we would purchase two or three. We even knew every cashier by name, and every week they greeted us warmly.

"Our downfall, though, was that the owner, this so-called 'Gene', saw us in there every week with our bags from the comic book store, not as faithful regular shoppers, but as medicants who were bent on stealing bread from his table. One week a friendly cashier whispered to us, 'Guys, I just wanted to give you a heads-up. Gene has got it into his head that you're ripping him off and wants us to keep an eye on you.'

"'What a load of crap,' I told her, as in those days I was far less erudite than today. ' 'We shop here every week. We always have enough money to buy the books we want. Has anyone ever seen us steal something?'

"The poor thing looked pained. 'Of course not. We all trust you guys,' she said, referring of course to her fellow cashiers. 'But Gene's paranoid because you always have bags when you come in here. I just wanted to let you know.'"

"Now, I ask you," I said to the ever-growing crowd, "Is this any way for the owner of the 'Finest Bookstore East of the Mississippi' to treat his most faithful customers?

Here I noticed that the bearded man was looking rather uncomfortable about his prior statement and seemed to be fidgeting a lot, as though perhaps he wanted to recant his thesis and move along. I pressed on, though, and the crowd kept growing. "It was the very next week, and I was perusing some of the hardback books. Neal was in the back with a rather sizable handful of paperbacks that he intended to purchase. From nowhere an angry-looking man swept up to me and, in a very scornful and authoritative voice, growled, 'Excuse me, I would like to look in that bag.'

"'This bag?' I held it up. 'Why, if I may ask, do you want to look in it?'"

"'Just checking something,' he said. 'Show me what's inside.'

"A lady was walking past us at the moment carrying two big shopping bags with handles. 'Are you also going to look into that lady's bag?' I asked.

"'No,' he said. 'Just yours.'

"'And what if I don't want to show you what's inside my bag?'

"'Then I'm going to have to ask you to leave.'

"I thought about this for a half-second, and then said, 'Very well.' I tipped the bag's contents into my other hand and showed them to him. 'Here are three comic books I bought around the corner,' I said, 'and that little piece of paper is the receipt for those three comic books.' Without saying anything else to him, I turned and shouted at the very top of my lungs, 'NEAL!'

"Neal came racing over, quite alarmed. I pointed to the big pile of books he was holding. 'Put those down,' I said. 'We're leaving.' I turned to the owner, this Gene, and with my best scowl I told him, 'I have never had my integrity questioned this way, and especially never by someone for whom I have been a regular customer. That part is going to change. I will never, as long as I live, set foot in this store again.' And with that I turned and stormed away from him. with Neal in tow. I left the store, and for the past sixteen years I have refused to shop there. I will not under any circumstances give my business to a person who is so quick to accuse honest customers of thievery." I made a grand gesture toward the store and smiled broadly at the crowd. "Remember this tale, ladies and gentlemen, the next time you find yourselves in Gene's Books."

Disapproval rumbled through the crowd as everyone glowered in the direction of the book store. I bowed, a little apologetic for having taken so much of his time, to the man with the beard, and then hurriedly took my companion's arms. "Forgive me now, Sir, but we must be on our way. I'm afraid my little tale has made us late. Come, Gentlemen!"

They stumbled along with me as I ushered them away, their faces bewildered, and even more so as I broke out with a maniacal cackle. "What are we late for?" they wanted to know.

"Nothing at all," I answered, as my laughter echoed through the mall. My poor friends were quite at a loss. "What's going on?" they demanded. "Why are you laughing like that?"

"Because," I said, once I could catch my breath, "The fellow with the beard -- that was Gene!"